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Apr 02


poetry /


I met her the other day, just like a wave she swept me off my gallant feet

Our worlds are miles apart but I will crawl through fire to meet her half way

She thinks it’s a good idea to visit me in the hood where food and humanity is scarce

I tell her that a single day in my hood and she will need therapy her whole life

She says her favorite meal is something round called pizza, I tell her I love them too but we call them chapattis in the hood.

She asks if I am a vegetarian because most times, she sees me chewing green leaves with peanuts.

I laugh out loud inside and tell her that we call it kuchana, and that’s it’s the sheesha version of the hood and believeme honey, inashikisha kuruka. More importantly it’s cheap

I tell her that her fragile skin would not survive a second in the ghetto thanks to our notorious mosquitoes.

She tells me that she is tougher than she looks.

It’s her feet am worried about, her soft delicate feet against the dirty-rugged, pungent- putrid earth of my hood. The odds are against her by far.

She laughs hysterically but I stand my ground, not for long though

I tell her that before she comes, she must wear the least expensive clothes and leave her gadgets at home lest they find a new owner.

She says simple is her forte, “simple is Relative!” I quickly interject

I also tell her that I will take advantage. Everyone in the hood will know that son of Maritim of Bororek clan has the most beautiful girlfriend ever; we will also have to convince my friends that we are truly a couple.

“Bring it on,” she says

I tell her that I live with a family of cockroaches who recently added a new family member (I have to ensure they eat every day) and that I am an unfortunate member of kunguni Sacco(But I will be out of that Sacco soon)

She pauses for a moment and blurts out, “when can I meet the family?”

I inform her that the most learned person in our estate Onyango says that I am pulling his leg when I tell him that I have a girlfriend. I don’t know what that means. How can I pull his leg without my hands?

She explains that Onyango simply means am lying to him

I tell her that our toilets are not flushable, the walls are painted with feces and we use newspapers as our tissue papers.

“I will bring sum on my way”, she interjects

My dear Cindy, you also need to know that I have nothing to my name save for my bed and half torn mattress, so when you come kindly, sit next to the head of the bed where there is still some density.

She just giggles

On our way to my house you will encounter naked children playing by the roadside, hotels close to sewages, youths high on drugs. Kindly disregard them, it’s the systems fault.

She is silent.

I tell her that she should only visit at day time because I am out of candles, and that my mattress would not accommodate us both.

She is silent again (I think I have lost her)

I also tell her I am afraid that Mwangi the richest person in our plot (who has electricity and has a TV) will try to win her over

She burst with laughter until her phone drops

I also tell her that I double up as the watchman and that she will be in safe hands and that she should not be afraid

“Aaawww, that’s sweet”, she mumbles

So please my dear, you can come and visit me and may our differences bind us even tighter.

“Am on my way”, she cheerfully replies

So my dear readers, I am a ghetto guy, she is an uptown chic but she loves me still

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