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WE ARE ALL KILLERS


Those who have killed will tell you it’s not easy. It wrecks your heart and chips away at your fragile soul. The last moments though, as life creeps out of your nemesis, are ones to live for. I have always wanted to sit with men who have taken lives. I peek in their eyes as they tell what really happened. Did they feel something as the life rushed out of him? Given an opportunity, would they kill again? Do they think they will go to heaven or hell awaits them? Does fire and brimstone scare them or taking a life is worth all infernos in the underworld? Men who’ve killed, do they even smile? Or their nature doesn’t allow them to. All they do is seat in silence as ghosts burn up their conscience? Or they have a clean mind? And should the chance present itself, they would kill again?

Sometime back, I got an opportunity to hold court with three men who had broken the commandment on life. Men who’d painted the ground with blood from creations of God. If you’re wondering how I could have the courage to be with such people. Well, I am a killer in the first place. Don’t be fooled with this blog and think that I am doing some service to the society. You’ve been reading murderous literature. What do you think of the new-found realization that you’ve been reading stuff from a killer? Will you stop reading? Will you still recommend it to your friends or you will block me on social media? You will never want to see the stuff I post, I will cease growing as a writer and I will most likely collapse from depression. Will that make you happy? That guy whose been running a killer blog is dead. Tit for tat isn’t that bad after all. I mean, the holy book says that an eye for an eye.
But again, go slow with the judgmental thoughts about me, you reading this, are a killer too.

 Aiii, don’t act shocked sweetheart, I am cock sure that you have taken a life, and if you’ve not, then your father did and you’ll pay for that. If you’re thinking that all I am saying is bullcrap, just wait for judgement day. Sins of your ancestors will haunt you and when you think you’re going to heaven, God will pull the plug.

“Manyara! I said you’re going to hell, why are you trying to squeeze yourself in the heaven brigade.”

“But God, I was a good person, I always served you. I never missed service, I paid tithe with notes only.”

Angel Gabriel, who I think is the prefect on duty in heaven will thunder at you.

“You think you can bribe us with some notes. Damn humans! That stuff went to your pastors. In any case, this is why you are going to hell."

Manyara will move closer and God will bombard him with readings from the book of life.

“In your life, you slaughtered hens more than one hundred times. That’s equal to a capital offence you know. Your soul will burn up in hell for good."

Manyara, the argumentative bastard he is, negro will try to reason with God.

“Seriously holy father, you can’t be doing this to me. In Genesis you said that I give you birds for food. Why are turning on me God?? (Here Manyara would have started sobbing) Why Lord? If you’re judging me for the chicken I slaughtered and I am a kale, what about luhyas? More so Wafula?”

God will thunder on.

“There’s no hope for Wafula, and all Lunje people, those people massacred my creations without giving a shit. They are going to pay, trust me, they are going to pay. All of them.”

Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Accept it gang. it’s a tough pun, but think of it. All Lunje guys being paraded to hell because of the inhumane way of slaughtering chicken. And while toasting in the fire of fires, Nafula argues with Wafula.

“Aiii pwana! Findu fichenjanga kweli kweli.”
“Hii moto ni hatari pwana, angalau si mungu apunguzeko kiasi tu. Chehovah, listen to our cry please.”

But God will have moved to attend to other matters and our Lunje heroes will burn up as the rest of us sing songs of victory in heaven.

Waah! Look at how I have digressed, back to the story now.

Around mid-year, I was in my aunt’s place at Ngong preparing to join campus. I like Ngong, its dull weather, there are times it reads 11 Celsius in the morning. It gives me that ka “abroad feeling”, I harbor dreams of flying to the Americas one time. One, to publish a book, though I can’t assure you that it will come to pass. Two, to hunt down my number one crush, Nicki Minaj. Enemies of development will say that I am crazy, that I have lost focus in life but dreams are dreams. And Nicki Minaj is right on top of that. I mean which lady trumps her. I know you will say that it’s all fake and rubber but I don’t give a damn. I have a crush on Minaj, and I have to let it out really. It has been stewing in me since she released “high school” and Nicki if you’re reading, then know that I am yours. Stop rolling with those freaking rappers, all they will do is use you and dump you. We writers are the real deal, I’ll give you pure bliss for as long as you live my lady.

I am scheming through my phone, basically minding my own business and guess who is calling? Sareto, my chief wingman in this town. See, we normally don’t plan this shit but I go to some place and somehow, chief is always in the vicinity. Apparently on that day, his cousins from abroad were around, he asks me to join them for a small thingamajig on the streets of Ngong.  Our first port of call, Milele mall.

There’s this chicken inn joint and those guys serve epic chicken. Such chicken must have died while in jovial moods. Or how can you explain it? They are chicken which must have been pampered all through their lives. They had been allowed to live free. When adolescence came calling, they were allowed to have crushes and have their first kisses. Thus, when the hangman showed up, they were ready to die, they offered themselves freely. Drop in there sometime, the fries are so good that might you believe in humanity again.
 
Anyway, Sareto’s cuzos from abroad were cool people. They did not act like they were here to save us from some holocaust. Deep down they knew that they were Kenyans. And not for once did they act up like some negros from Atlanta.

“Yoh! What up my guy! What do you mean that we can’t pay in dollars.” (nigga accent)
“This is so fucked up man! They don’t even accept visa. This Africans are so behind man!”
“Where’s Starbucks?? They don’t even have Starbucks. We really need to go back home.”

Forgetting that their true home is somewhere in Ikolomani. In Atlanta, they are just visitors and Trump can chase them away at a moment’s notice.

Luckily, they did not have such drama. You couldn’t even know that ninjas are from majuu.  The guys are so humble. They speak thick kale from Lessos and what’s more, they laugh at Kenyan jokes. In between mouthfuls of chicken we regale ourselves with tales. Them offering us American folklore while we unleashed upon them the Kenyan story. We talked about this guy, let’s call him Mr. X.
Mr. X, was born in Kapsabet,a nondescript town in the annals of Nandi county. It’s a chilled place, people mind their business until you mention Ruto or Jubilee, then hell breaks loose. Like guys, what’s the deal with Ruto anyway? Its like this guy gave all kales some kamothe, no more Ruto talk. We don’t do politics here at Kinasisi. Mr. X, went to primary in Kapsabet and did his high school at Camp Laz, Kapsabet boys. Now the reason we were trolling him is that luck rarely comes his way. Guy wanted to do his campus education in the capital but kuccps had other plans. Our hero swore not to study outside Nairobi.

“Walai Osoch, campo ni jiji solo. Kama si jiji me siendi campus.”

I think some official at kuccps must have been eavesdropping. As Mr.X was posted to Moi university. Moi is good place to be no doubt. Movers and shakers in the Kenyan scene have graduated from Moi uni and went on to achieve great feats. Personally, I don’t have any beef with Moi university, most readers of this blog study there. Hello Stanley? How you doing Kimaru?, the Harmonize concert was a blast I gather.

We trolled Mr.X because he will develop in a Kalenjin fueled environment. Growing up in Kapsabet, studying in Eldoret, he will do his internship at Moi referral. Here he will meet some hot Kale chick from Kapseret who will run away with his heart. In his head he will have planned to shag her and run for the hills but you all know Kale chicks, you never run from them easily. They run after you and hold you down.

Life rolls on.

Eventually they will marry in some garden event at Kapsimotwo Gardens. We will attend the ceremony, post pictures of the event on our status as we hammer cake and waste ourselves on cognac, Hennessey to be exact. For a while, they will live in some town apartment but the angel of settling down will be chasing them. A few savings here and there and some loans, Mr.X will buy a crib in Elgon view estate. That would be it, a life in Kale land.

A bucket of chicken doesn’t stand a long lifeline when faced with five hungry boys. In no time, only bones were smiling at us. I am always on the lookout when I am in a restaurant, watching people and my eyes settled on this couple a few tables from us. The chick looked young, most likely in her 1st or 2nd year in campus. Oh, I can smell the type a mile off. The way they dress is just a harbinger and how they laugh. Okay, I over did that, but she reeked of campus callowness. Her date had the air of toughness around him. A seasoned Nairobi man who has been in such position before and knew his way around. He was older, in his late 30s or early 40s. Donned this lively smile but you could see it was hiding a broken side of him. A side he doesn’t want the world to see. A fire he extinguishes by chasing down young girls almost half his age. Chances are he could be married, or dating but here he is servicing this campus chick. That’s Nairobi men for you.

Photo credits [ Sareto and his Cousins.] I am not in that photo, don’t worry about me.


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