POISONED CHALICE
Life is so full of crap;seriously. There are days I wake up so full of zeal - days when I feel a little more stronger than than Tyga Power or John Cena or even Roman Reigns. On such days, I can effortlessly zoom a ball past De Gea (world's best goalkeeper) into the top corner of a goal net in the Old Trafford. Such are the days I feel like a man; a real man. Days when I pamper my ego and end up thinking that I can do seven shots under thirty minutes. (If you know you know). Man, those are the days I live for.
But again, like the weird doctrines of nature dictate, there are other days which implore me to regret my very existence in this amazing yet trouble-filled world. Such are the days which become evident as early as 5 a.m - when you get up from bed and realise that you don't remember where you threw one sock before you slept the previous night.
That aside.
When you find the damn sock after ten minutes, you hurriedly rush to the dining hall for breakfast. There you will find empty metallic kettles overturned on the tables in a veiled showcase of mockery. They seem to tell you, "Pole bro,ungekuja mapema." It is then that it becomes unquestionably apparent that you'll go for morning prep on an empty stomach.
Throughout the day, the clock seems not to be ticking. At one instance, the watch reads 12:00pm. After ten minutes of perceived real time, the watch still reads 12:02pm! Crap!
Well, yesterday was one of such days. Lethargy had chewed in on me big time. I didn't see the day come to an end but then by sheer grace of the most high, it did. The ember-ish sun had begun sinking slowly beyond the western horizon. Its blunt beige rays formed faint streaks on the tall transcendent buildings of Kapsabet High School. From where I sat, I had a fairly good scope of view of the suns magnificence on the planet earth. The sight was an exact imagery of what romanticists would unblinkingly describe as 'simply breathtaking'.
And so as I was marvelling at that prolific sunset, my mind unprecedentedly drifted into a nostalgic reminisce of the days that I had the 'King of Romance' crown.
The girl's name was Aisha. Normally, I would have used a paragraph or two of this article to lay in black and white the apparent beauties and glories of this 'once a rose of my heart', but I'm not going to. Precisely stated, she was an angelic prototype. Stunningly, I even penned a rhapsody in praise of her unparalleled beauty.
(And just so you know, I don't do love poems or stuff like such.) But then for Aisha's case, it was more than a real Shakespearean Romeo and Juliet affair.
Aisha and I had met under the most unexpected circumstances, so should I say. A short stroll on a chilly Wednesday afternoon was enough to brew the affection that was soon to take me aloft in a world of my own.
It was a friend's only walk. And Aisha, by virtue of being my friend's friend, also came along. She was in a light blue blouse and tight jeans which did not conceal whatever was meant to. The suppleness of her breasts proved to be too irresistible for a majority of my buddies who kept on stealing incessant glances at them. For my case though, I was among the gifted few who could manage such absurdity.
(FYI, I'm not bragging. That was then, not now. So don't whine and say I'm lying. Things change, times change and so do people.)
So on that Wednesday afternoon, rain fell and it did so in huge torrents. There were no buildings nearby to give us shelter till the rain subsided. God's plan! Or what should I say? Its not everyday that we find ourselves in such circumstances. In the biting cold, I lent Aisha my Nike jumper; out of sheer concern, as her situation was just so appalling. She was freezing cold. And anyway, its what any other gentleman would have done in such a compelling situation.
All which ensued could only have meant one thing - that Aisha had fallen for the unintended bait. She fell right into my arms and pressed herself tightly against my wet body. My buddies watched with a twinge of jealous as the supple breasts they had so enviously coveted pressed hard against my masculine chest. All that however was a result of mere circumstance; I had not foreseen it coming.
Later on, we exchanged contacts and regular chats of "Hi, just checking in on you," blossomed into unseen fondness of the heart which neither of us could hold back. I was a gatherer in search of wild roots, but then like the biblical Israelites, free quails for food came along. Who was I to refuse?
Day after day, Aisha became a regular visitor to my place. Not for the obvious reason though. The forbidden fruit is to remain undefiled till it ripens; though it later on became apparent that somebody somewhere ate it raw with salt. In any case however, rumours were inevitable. This is Africa. I mean, what is to be expected in a society where mothers hold kamukunjis to discuss their sons and daughters? And in this eastern part of Africa, rumour spreads faster than a harmattan bush fire. It was not so long therefore before Aisha and I became the talk of town. Parents even used me as an understatement of what not to be for their kids.
"Do you know that son of Okoth Abiro? Yes, that tall and dark one who girls flock around...Well, for heaven's sake, do not be like him. His traits are not too good to be emulated. He will spoil you. Cut your ranks with him. My son, I implore you, do not walk in his path. He is the devil incarnate himself!"
Well, you see, I'm a man of iron. Such like rumours did not kill my appetite for ugali or matoke; so it was crap for all I cared. I made it a resolve to double my jig with Aisha to the chagrin of those hullabaloo villagers.
Teen romance is both a funny and weird phenomena, I'm obliged to concur. Actually, its made funnier by the several barometers that are used to gauge love. Long voice and video calls are the most common in this WhatsApp generation. And so just by these, I was easily crowned King of Romance by my peers. Life seemed to be all but blissful when half a day passed without lengthy talks with Aisha. I was devoted to her more than I was to my sportpesa account. And mind you, nothing comes between a man and his betting activity. Betting is our life, so I should say.
Man, that was love. I had not felt such intense affection in the sixteen years of my life.
Colloquially put, she was me and I was her. A perfect negro combination.
But then again, as it is widely acknowledged, good things don't last. And Aisha, like all the other good things, was a passing cloud. Here today, gone tomorrow.
Break-ups are not so enthusing fetes. That I can now attest. It ended like it had begun.
"Caleb, it is done." It was as simple as that; Aisha's last text on a Wednesday evening, coincidentally, a chilly and rainy one, similar to when we had met for the first time.
"What do you mean by done?" " What is this that you say is over? Aisha, please tell me!"
I tried to inquire but the grey tick on the chatscreen has not changed status yet. I got tired of waiting. And so just like her, I called it quits. That was the last we heard of each other.
But in the mean time, rumours surfaced. Stories of Aisha and another Derrick. It was then that it tormentously came to me that my goose had been cooked. The fiery furnace of a love that had blazed so brightly had now reduced to a dying ember. Aisha and I were done. Daughter of Muntu was gone. She was a poisoned chalice!
©oiraqaleb esq.
But again, like the weird doctrines of nature dictate, there are other days which implore me to regret my very existence in this amazing yet trouble-filled world. Such are the days which become evident as early as 5 a.m - when you get up from bed and realise that you don't remember where you threw one sock before you slept the previous night.
That aside.
When you find the damn sock after ten minutes, you hurriedly rush to the dining hall for breakfast. There you will find empty metallic kettles overturned on the tables in a veiled showcase of mockery. They seem to tell you, "Pole bro,ungekuja mapema." It is then that it becomes unquestionably apparent that you'll go for morning prep on an empty stomach.
Throughout the day, the clock seems not to be ticking. At one instance, the watch reads 12:00pm. After ten minutes of perceived real time, the watch still reads 12:02pm! Crap!
Well, yesterday was one of such days. Lethargy had chewed in on me big time. I didn't see the day come to an end but then by sheer grace of the most high, it did. The ember-ish sun had begun sinking slowly beyond the western horizon. Its blunt beige rays formed faint streaks on the tall transcendent buildings of Kapsabet High School. From where I sat, I had a fairly good scope of view of the suns magnificence on the planet earth. The sight was an exact imagery of what romanticists would unblinkingly describe as 'simply breathtaking'.
And so as I was marvelling at that prolific sunset, my mind unprecedentedly drifted into a nostalgic reminisce of the days that I had the 'King of Romance' crown.
The girl's name was Aisha. Normally, I would have used a paragraph or two of this article to lay in black and white the apparent beauties and glories of this 'once a rose of my heart', but I'm not going to. Precisely stated, she was an angelic prototype. Stunningly, I even penned a rhapsody in praise of her unparalleled beauty.
(And just so you know, I don't do love poems or stuff like such.) But then for Aisha's case, it was more than a real Shakespearean Romeo and Juliet affair.
Aisha and I had met under the most unexpected circumstances, so should I say. A short stroll on a chilly Wednesday afternoon was enough to brew the affection that was soon to take me aloft in a world of my own.
It was a friend's only walk. And Aisha, by virtue of being my friend's friend, also came along. She was in a light blue blouse and tight jeans which did not conceal whatever was meant to. The suppleness of her breasts proved to be too irresistible for a majority of my buddies who kept on stealing incessant glances at them. For my case though, I was among the gifted few who could manage such absurdity.
(FYI, I'm not bragging. That was then, not now. So don't whine and say I'm lying. Things change, times change and so do people.)
So on that Wednesday afternoon, rain fell and it did so in huge torrents. There were no buildings nearby to give us shelter till the rain subsided. God's plan! Or what should I say? Its not everyday that we find ourselves in such circumstances. In the biting cold, I lent Aisha my Nike jumper; out of sheer concern, as her situation was just so appalling. She was freezing cold. And anyway, its what any other gentleman would have done in such a compelling situation.
All which ensued could only have meant one thing - that Aisha had fallen for the unintended bait. She fell right into my arms and pressed herself tightly against my wet body. My buddies watched with a twinge of jealous as the supple breasts they had so enviously coveted pressed hard against my masculine chest. All that however was a result of mere circumstance; I had not foreseen it coming.
Later on, we exchanged contacts and regular chats of "Hi, just checking in on you," blossomed into unseen fondness of the heart which neither of us could hold back. I was a gatherer in search of wild roots, but then like the biblical Israelites, free quails for food came along. Who was I to refuse?
Day after day, Aisha became a regular visitor to my place. Not for the obvious reason though. The forbidden fruit is to remain undefiled till it ripens; though it later on became apparent that somebody somewhere ate it raw with salt. In any case however, rumours were inevitable. This is Africa. I mean, what is to be expected in a society where mothers hold kamukunjis to discuss their sons and daughters? And in this eastern part of Africa, rumour spreads faster than a harmattan bush fire. It was not so long therefore before Aisha and I became the talk of town. Parents even used me as an understatement of what not to be for their kids.
"Do you know that son of Okoth Abiro? Yes, that tall and dark one who girls flock around...Well, for heaven's sake, do not be like him. His traits are not too good to be emulated. He will spoil you. Cut your ranks with him. My son, I implore you, do not walk in his path. He is the devil incarnate himself!"
Well, you see, I'm a man of iron. Such like rumours did not kill my appetite for ugali or matoke; so it was crap for all I cared. I made it a resolve to double my jig with Aisha to the chagrin of those hullabaloo villagers.
Teen romance is both a funny and weird phenomena, I'm obliged to concur. Actually, its made funnier by the several barometers that are used to gauge love. Long voice and video calls are the most common in this WhatsApp generation. And so just by these, I was easily crowned King of Romance by my peers. Life seemed to be all but blissful when half a day passed without lengthy talks with Aisha. I was devoted to her more than I was to my sportpesa account. And mind you, nothing comes between a man and his betting activity. Betting is our life, so I should say.
Man, that was love. I had not felt such intense affection in the sixteen years of my life.
Colloquially put, she was me and I was her. A perfect negro combination.
But then again, as it is widely acknowledged, good things don't last. And Aisha, like all the other good things, was a passing cloud. Here today, gone tomorrow.
Break-ups are not so enthusing fetes. That I can now attest. It ended like it had begun.
"Caleb, it is done." It was as simple as that; Aisha's last text on a Wednesday evening, coincidentally, a chilly and rainy one, similar to when we had met for the first time.
"What do you mean by done?" " What is this that you say is over? Aisha, please tell me!"
I tried to inquire but the grey tick on the chatscreen has not changed status yet. I got tired of waiting. And so just like her, I called it quits. That was the last we heard of each other.
But in the mean time, rumours surfaced. Stories of Aisha and another Derrick. It was then that it tormentously came to me that my goose had been cooked. The fiery furnace of a love that had blazed so brightly had now reduced to a dying ember. Aisha and I were done. Daughter of Muntu was gone. She was a poisoned chalice!
©oiraqaleb esq.
Come back Aisha...we miss you😂😂😂😂😂
ReplyDeleteWiwiwiwiwiiii🙌🙌🙌
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