Girls
were in plenty. Unlike today, women really bore women. No
self-respecting man could afford to fuck a chicken, sheep or cow. We to
them wrote thousands of letters. Though our rudimentary education at the
time could not enable us write intelligent ones, we successfully
managed to pass the message across. Once I wrote:
''... Nanjala, darling of men: when I think of you, I don't eat. When I think of you, I don't sleep. Snatcher of my appetite and sleep, release me... ''.
And girls loved us. They tore and bit each other over us. We exchanged fists and rendered ourselves toothless over them. No self-respecting woman with two breasts would open thighs for a dog. There was love. We loved with great hate.
It would take ages to see a girl's underwear. Where would you get her? They were watched. But today they walk swinging buttocks outside some belt-cum-skirts! Oh man, you see the real thing! Then, it only took a real man to go for his girl at night-- khuatula. She would tie a string on her toe then leave it hanging outside... You would pull it, then get her out for some hours in your simba. This is when and how boys-- those who could erect and ejaculate-- became fathers. They were thrashed. They were fined. Village headmen and chiefs really worked and earned handsomely.They (boys) married immediately. If I didn't marry at that time, man, I will never!
I had no simba. So I once invited myself to my girl's home. She slept in the kitchen with her sister. All would have gone well had her sister not complained of hunger. I served her too; generosity is a virtue God gave me in abundance. It seemed the honey was getting sweeter and fewer. They scrambled for it. And the lion of the home sensed that there was another lion in the compound. He took a matchet. He would have send me to hell or heaven had I not worn a stool as a cap. I used my sixth sense. The matchet ate the stool fiercely once he knocked the door open. I don't know what happened to Nafuna and her hungry sister. The running I did was enough to break a record Usain Bolt has and will never break.
Seasons then came and passed. Ages came and passed.
We shed off innocence as time plunged us into the unfathomable future. Civilization, with its madness, came to stay. We stopped waiting for girls on village paths, at the wells or posho mills. We stopped hovering near their compounds, whistling familiar tunes, and asking for water to drink when it was too cold. We stopped writing stupid letters. We stopped praising our lovers. Griots and poets no longer married easily by climbing on trees to sing poems to women they admired and adored-- on their return from wells or farms. Women stopped bearing women and men. Man, there are no wives today. Woman, there are no husbands today. We matured. See?
Haven't Facebook and Twitter done us good? You get a woman today, meet her tomorrow and wed the following day. Then realize that you are unfit for each other's consumption the day after. You fight, busy fight; and before you could divorce, you have killed her already or she has killed you.
Who dies to have sex? Who is dying to taste this forbidden fruit in marriage? It used to be damn expensive once upon a time. Today, sex is for free; love is expensive. Very expensive. Damn! Who likes expensive things anyway? The era of inadequacy forbids that. Even men of God are eating it with big spoons. Whoever has no penis or Eden, let them come out and stop them. Me, I can't. I swear by the last coin in my pocket!
Who has time to beg a woman? Rules of Seduction have undergone massive changes. Some women refuse to be confined to the societal ethics and ethos. They seduce men. This is really sweet. Isn't it, friend? If you see nothing in it, then I have no doubt your head is not well wired. See a psychiatrist. I think a psychologist can also do.
And not all relationships lead into marriage. We only want to cool our gnawing thirst. What is marriage if not a thing the society imposes on us? Once you are in, you can't look outside.
Love is saturated. Its ghost exists where money is. We have decolonized our hearts, no more deep engagements. No more honeying, baibing and darling. No more hide and seek.
''... So Nekesa, I have no sweet words
Left to soften your heart rigid
All got poisoned
Whilst singing dirges for my fallen compatriots
and my ailing nation...
Take me in
or let me try next door
The age of loving is passed... ''
(c) wafula p'khisa
--Thigh of an Elephant--
''... Nanjala, darling of men: when I think of you, I don't eat. When I think of you, I don't sleep. Snatcher of my appetite and sleep, release me... ''.
And girls loved us. They tore and bit each other over us. We exchanged fists and rendered ourselves toothless over them. No self-respecting woman with two breasts would open thighs for a dog. There was love. We loved with great hate.
It would take ages to see a girl's underwear. Where would you get her? They were watched. But today they walk swinging buttocks outside some belt-cum-skirts! Oh man, you see the real thing! Then, it only took a real man to go for his girl at night-- khuatula. She would tie a string on her toe then leave it hanging outside... You would pull it, then get her out for some hours in your simba. This is when and how boys-- those who could erect and ejaculate-- became fathers. They were thrashed. They were fined. Village headmen and chiefs really worked and earned handsomely.They (boys) married immediately. If I didn't marry at that time, man, I will never!
I had no simba. So I once invited myself to my girl's home. She slept in the kitchen with her sister. All would have gone well had her sister not complained of hunger. I served her too; generosity is a virtue God gave me in abundance. It seemed the honey was getting sweeter and fewer. They scrambled for it. And the lion of the home sensed that there was another lion in the compound. He took a matchet. He would have send me to hell or heaven had I not worn a stool as a cap. I used my sixth sense. The matchet ate the stool fiercely once he knocked the door open. I don't know what happened to Nafuna and her hungry sister. The running I did was enough to break a record Usain Bolt has and will never break.
Seasons then came and passed. Ages came and passed.
We shed off innocence as time plunged us into the unfathomable future. Civilization, with its madness, came to stay. We stopped waiting for girls on village paths, at the wells or posho mills. We stopped hovering near their compounds, whistling familiar tunes, and asking for water to drink when it was too cold. We stopped writing stupid letters. We stopped praising our lovers. Griots and poets no longer married easily by climbing on trees to sing poems to women they admired and adored-- on their return from wells or farms. Women stopped bearing women and men. Man, there are no wives today. Woman, there are no husbands today. We matured. See?
Haven't Facebook and Twitter done us good? You get a woman today, meet her tomorrow and wed the following day. Then realize that you are unfit for each other's consumption the day after. You fight, busy fight; and before you could divorce, you have killed her already or she has killed you.
Who dies to have sex? Who is dying to taste this forbidden fruit in marriage? It used to be damn expensive once upon a time. Today, sex is for free; love is expensive. Very expensive. Damn! Who likes expensive things anyway? The era of inadequacy forbids that. Even men of God are eating it with big spoons. Whoever has no penis or Eden, let them come out and stop them. Me, I can't. I swear by the last coin in my pocket!
Who has time to beg a woman? Rules of Seduction have undergone massive changes. Some women refuse to be confined to the societal ethics and ethos. They seduce men. This is really sweet. Isn't it, friend? If you see nothing in it, then I have no doubt your head is not well wired. See a psychiatrist. I think a psychologist can also do.
And not all relationships lead into marriage. We only want to cool our gnawing thirst. What is marriage if not a thing the society imposes on us? Once you are in, you can't look outside.
Love is saturated. Its ghost exists where money is. We have decolonized our hearts, no more deep engagements. No more honeying, baibing and darling. No more hide and seek.
''... So Nekesa, I have no sweet words
Left to soften your heart rigid
All got poisoned
Whilst singing dirges for my fallen compatriots
and my ailing nation...
Take me in
or let me try next door
The age of loving is passed... ''
(c) wafula p'khisa
--Thigh of an Elephant--
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