Stories of K

 By Kevin Kogo Your eulogy was beautifully written, Grandma, in the exact tone and charisma of your most distinguished character: the storyteller. I have read it many times, in your voice and warmth, and every time, you are still seated in that recliner, with a space heater on, cruising through Nollywood films and calling out for Cherobon to serve us tea. Memories—how awkward it is to call them that because many times it's 2021 and you are counseling us on the importance of education, or it's 2015 and we are gossiping about Lenard's reckless drinking habit, or 2009 and you are taking me and Lelan for our first swimming lesson. It's too many personalities, too many places, and too much love to compress into one word: memories. Jeff says upstairs doesn't feel the same anymore. There is no "Karibu/nyoo" voice to welcome you in, there is no Nigerian movie playing on the screen or an unfinished crochet somewhere on the couches. There is no Bobby barking on the ...

  I never meant to lose her,  but somewhere along the way, I did  she sat across from me,  her smile soft, waiting for something  I kissed her cheek like I always did,  the gesture was there,  but I wasn't.  Not really.  My mind was elsewhere, cluttered, distant,  trapped in a thousand thoughts I couldn't untangle.  She asked about my day, and I gave her an answer that sounded like words,  but felt like nothing.  I could see her waiting, searching my eyes for something real.  But I couldn't find it.  I couldn't find myself.  I wanted to reach to her, to pull her closer.  Her eyes so full of hope, so full of love,  were starting to look like they were seeing through me, not to me.  I wanted to hold her,  but I couldn't even hold to my own thoughts.  When my phone buzzed, I glanced at it without thinking.  I saw her reaction in the corner of my eye, a glimpse of disappointment, ma...

 By Kevin kogo           A young man was buried today in our village.  He lived by the famous sword and died on the surgical table.  His eulogy was short with half the pages filled with hymns.  Birth, Christianity, death. Three paragraphs summarized his 31-year story.  His father didn't attend the burial; his uncles came wearing long coats and gumboots.  His mother, burying the second child, seemed defeated, maybe sorry, not sad.  There were no speeches, just lectures and warnings.  The sermon was hurried up; the pastor had other events scheduled.  The soil was red and wet, the casket quite light, and the framed picture too grainy.  His friends dug the grave, and his friends filled it up.  His siblings stood longer by the grave.  There were no flowers.  His chapter had ended, and he didn't need roses, a public address system, or eulogies ... just rest.

  Mkariri:Kevin Kogo Yule aliyesema haezi kubabaishwa na mapenzi Alikutwa amejinyonga na barua ndefu ya malalamiko ya kusalitiwa! Yule bwana mdogo aliyekua akiamini mtu mzima hakosei Leo amezeeka na ujinga wake! Yule kasisi aliyeshinda akiubiri kuhusu heshima na ndoa Jumamosi hii ilimkuta kafumaniwa lodging na mke wa mtu! Nani hajawahi kuishi Njee ya maneno yake? Mwalimu aliyetufundisha vyema swala la unyanyasaji wa kijinsia Nyumbani kwake haipiti siku bila kumpiga  mkewe! Mchawi na macho yake mekundu kuwakemea na kuwaroga wengine Leo amefiwa analia dunia haina huruma! Yule binti aliyemsifu mamake kwa kumlea japo ya shida na taabu Historia inamhukumu kwa kutoa mimba tatu sababu uoga wa malezi! Nani hajawahi kuishi Njee ya maneno yake? Bi Mkubwa aliyekua akimkejeli bi mdogo sababu ya tatizo la ugumba Leo  analia watoto wake wamefariki kwa ajali ya moto na ndoa yake inateketea! Aliyemtenga rafiki yake  baada ya kufeli mitihani Leo yuko kwenye foleni y...

 By Kevin Kogo We slept with water cannons cruising through our estates and tear gas canisters flying over our apartments. We heard the wails of massacre and blasts of the oppressors into the dead of night. We woke up to a timeline of gory images, 'Free so & so' hashtags, plus more bodies at the city mortuary. We quietly walked to work, kicking bullet casings and stepping over blood on the pavements, to meet fat apathetic bosses who dared question us about where we were yesterday. We are still staring at computer screens with black eyes and antagonized brains when the president gives a 30-minute press briefing saying only two words: "FUCK YOU." William Ruto - the devil we knew - has turned out to be a villain beyond any phrase. A deaf man with a twisted, reverse loyalty to his political friends, he has just hijacked this whole thing to dilute the self-serving cause. Honestly, WTF! Onesmus Kipchumba Murkomen, a flamboyant lawyer who wears a belt that switches ...

 By Kevin Kogo It went from Keyboard Revolution to the streets of Nairobi and now 'X' spaces. All along, as our banners and placards screamed leaderless, tribeless, partyless, we deluded ourselves from a simple reality: we marched to the gates of parliament as a result of online influence, advertised, mobilized, and to a large extent facilitated by popular online influencers. Truth is, tweets and stances of these individuals hyped, slowed, moralized, or demoralized the cause. All along, they have been the de facto face and voice of the Gen Z Movement. Faces that we can see and faces that we know. It catches me by no surprise that Osama Otero jumped ship at the 11th hour. He has been a victim of abduction; he was at City Mortuary to see the lifeless body of his 22-year-old friend lying on cold slabs beside twenty-something other protestors. He has seen the system with its masks off, the ugliness of injustice, yet all the same, he has chosen money over sanity. As Otero sits w...

By Awando Brandon I really never get the reason why we Africans  act as puppets I can shift some blame to the colonial system. The whites fucked us. but that was 60 years ago the trauma has to fade with the older generation, we have to accept,a blury past is a demon that will forever taint our free thinking and haunt our peace of Mind . Our traditional ways were stripped off and Ruthless capitalism enforced.It was a system full of faults with no transition tolerance Yet we are six decades into it,we have long adopted the faults and even created new ones for ourselves,we move on with our struggles. Poverty level in our country is tremendous, but who really gives a damn about it. I mean why should there be a begger near the church gate? What teachings do they preach? The word is clear ' give a hand to those in need' but  churches turned into enterprises long time ago,sundays are for business and beggars represent outlets. Thats bad for profit The decay is ever...