Memories from the Piedmont of Mt. Kilimanjaro

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Oloitokitok. Yes you read right. I have some of my roots there. If by mere coincidence you happen to know the place and been there lately. Beautiful place. Anyone in doubt make a point of visiting (Doubting Thomas. Happy Easter).

These are not memories from the present times. So forget about the tarmac and the modern buildings. I am talking about the days when Desert Runner reigned supreme. That bus was able to navigate the road between Emali and Oloitokitok despite its poor state back then. (I am yet to decide whether its the driver or the bus that should receive the honors).

If back then you were a normal family like the rest of us travelling to ocha (countryside) was like a dream come true. You got up early lest you missed the bus. All the family’s luggage was packed into this big bag that was cuboid shape (for lack of a better description hence the cuboid shape). After the tickets had been bought came the moment of reckoning. The unlucky one got perched on that bag for the whole journey. The luckiest got to sit on mum’s lap (best seat on the bus I should add).

Until you went past Makutano junction that first part of the journey for lack of a better word bland. After the short stopover at Makutano the real journey began. Suddenly there were potholes everywhere. You looked at the road ahead and you were not sure how to classify it. That conductor who seemed to have just been there to enjoy the ride also stopped being a white elephant anymore. The bus would soon be filled. Passengers hanging on the top rail for dear life. During one of this moments, the bus with no breathing space, I made a discovery on a weird culture. The Maasai  in the countryside with their traditional regalia are not big on inner clothing. They go natural (*wink *wink).

Six or more hours later you got there. It was probably as night falls. In the morning you really have to get up early if you want to get a glimpse of the mountain. The peaks Kibo and Mawenzi are only visible for a short period before the sun rises. After that you will have to settle with working with your imagination to picture the magnificence of the peaks through the heavy clouds covering them. That feeling as you stand there staring at the mountain cannot be put into words.

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The little memory I have of my granddad was that he was a man apart. There is one thing though that has stuck to this day. Back then stories were that he did not get stung by bees as he harvested his honey. The was sweet though (so the legend could be true). One day he went to sleep and never woke up (rest his soul). Having been named after him, when my time comes to leave this world I hope to go as he did (no need for drama).

Oloitokitok is a funny place if you happen to go visiting during the dry season. The days are characterised by this sweltering heat. As soon as the sun sets. You are all scampering to find the warm clothing you threw away during the day. The cold is treacherous to say the least. Two sweaters and socks later you can have a goodnight sleep. Our grandparents home is situated close to the Tanzanian border. At times, illegally though coming to think of it, we crossed the border. To do what? To drink soda ya chupa refu . There is nothing special about the soft drink other than that it is bottled in a longer bottle than what we were used to.

The best part of it all was grandma. ‘Gugu‘ we called her. She lit up that homestead. She brought joy. The food even tasted better just because it had been prepared at her kitchen. That was just the tip of the iceberg. Her grandchildren on arrival to her compound were offered a whole bunch of sweet bananas. The only rule was that they were to be eaten by no one else. She personally saw to it. Those bananas were put on high priority security (The National government should have consulted her on such matters before she passed on from this world. God rest her soul). Coming to think of it that was one of the many ways she made us feel loved (talk of a woman after our hearts).

Why would you love the countryside? There is no fun there? Who would give up the city life for that? The city die hards by now are raging. What kind of human being are you? Don’t get me wrong. I love the city. The hustle and bustle at times gives me an adrenaline rush. But it does not beat the peace and serenity of the countryside. Besides as you all are busy chasing Facebook and Instagram likes and Twitter follows out there I don’t need all that. I only have to say to some random person, ‘Mimi ni mjukuu wa Mwarusha,’ and I can bet you someone will know me. Talk of celebrity status by association.

There was also grazing of the animals. I did not enjoy running after the cows and goats. Contrary to it I feared the bulls. Out in the grazing fields, I got to learn how to stand on one leg leaning on the stick I carried for grazing, like a Moran does. Proud moment.

There was also another take away from the place. The stories. Stories about the younger days of our parents. My mum grew up in a polygamous home. She had two mothers. I picture it and I am jealous of them. Obviously it was tough as you didn’t get to get away with mistakes. The upside however is that you got love from two quarters. Now picture the love our mothers have for us and multiply that by two. Who wouldn’t want that? Not me of course. Then there is that hilarious story of how they tricked their father into taking them to school, with the lie that he would be locked up if they were found at home. (Education could be important after all. *Light bulb moment*).

It was always a sad affair leaving. Today, coming to think of it the memories are like diamonds, they are to be treasured. Oloitokitok, how else can I express my love for you?

Teiya Oloilole

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Through the Window (A critical look at the world)

All things in life are temporary. If they are going well, enjoy them, they will not last forever. If they are going wrong, don’t worry they can’t last long either.

-Unknown.

I am standing at my window looking out at the world. (Actually just the part of it that is visible to my eyesight). The wind is blowing softly. I can tell because of the leaves swaying in the wind. Some leaves seem to resist the effects of the winds. Renegades you called them. In life there are those of us who just exist, moving along to the wind of life. Then they are those who strive to live enjoying the beauty of being alive, the wind of life does not merely move them.

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The trees look majestic. They stand tall and strong. They have stood the test of time. Through the seasons, both good and bad, they still hold their ground. Literally, they have been through thick and thin. Lord, why not give me such resolve to be able to stand through the tribulations of time without giving up. They take time to mature, slowly inching skywards inch by inch. We humans grow up too fast that at times we forget to enjoy life.

The sun is shinning lightly on the leaves. The shadows formed are anything but artistic. I want to stretch out my hand and feel the sunlight on my hand. I am hesitant. Lately, malicious is the only word I can come up to describe that thing lately. Lord it is like someone in your house cranked up the AC but in the wrong direction. I can no longer afford the luxury of basking in the sun. Staying indoors is no alternative either. Please check on it.

A bee floats nearby. Industrious creature that one. Out and about looking for that very important ingredient. Funny how such a small being comes up with the sweetest substance on the face of the earth. You would think man with all his capabilities would at least come close. Instead all we seem to be good at is causing havoc.

Lord, some time ago in the Bible a faithful servant of yours said a prayer. The said servant prayed that you give him enough that he may not lack and steal but just enough so that he may not end up with so much that it gets to his head. Some of your creatures seem not to have heard of that prayer. They are robbing us dry. Forget the stealing from Paul to pay Peter. They are stealing from Paul end of story. Please, bring back Robinhood. We call them corrupt. They take what is not theirs. They are sending my country to the dogs. Actually the vultures are already circling above. We are facing imminent death. Send a bee to sting them. Do they even tithe? Thieves I tell you.

A bird soars to the sky. Just as I am about to hold my breath it lets loose and glides. Do I wish I could fly? You bet. Lord, if you are ever in a mood where you feel like doing something unnatural don’t send floods. Grant me the ability to fly. Besides man is adamant on destroying this earth. Forget the natural disasters. The other day listened to this guy saying carbon monoxide is not harmful. Seriously. They don’t seem to get your warning. That flying ability would really suit me. Maybe a bird’s eye view of the world is what I need next.

Something almost hits my window. A butterfly flutters  by. A real beauty. It is a true wonder how such a beautiful creature is born out of an ugly creature. Is it the same with us? Despite all the ugliness and chaos deep within us lies beauty and peace. We just have to let it out. I close my eyes. Moments to be savored are best done with our eyes closed. Why?

One minute is up.

Teiya Oloilole

Pink Socks (Of love, betrayal and murder)

It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.
-Anonymous

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It was a cold Saturday morning. The sun was nowhere to be seen. The clouds threatened a downpour. Mary shivered. She was seated at the church of the funeral home. The wooden pews were uncomfortable. Couldn’t they consider comfortability for those in mourning? She thought angrily as she adjusted her seating  position on the pew.

She stared at the cross at the front of the church. ‘Lord forgive us sinners that…,’ she began her silent prayer.

‘Sorry for your loss,’ someone bent over her shoulder from behind. She stared up. It was Christine one of Mike’s best friends. She was now rubbing Mary’s back softly.

‘Thank you,’ Mary did her best not to break down to tears. The church was slowly filling up. The mourners all came in a solemn state.

The pallbearers slowly walked in. Everyone stood up. Eyes fixed on the casket. It was brown in colour and the polish finish gave it a metallic feel. It looked majestic.

The man of God signalled for everyone to take their seats. ‘Today we are gathered here to celebrate the life of our dear brother Mike…,’ he began, ‘let us begin with a prayer…’

                                         * * *
The heart shape on top of his coffee was now distorted. Mike fidgeted with his phone trying to figure out the shape formed. What could it be? He watched as a line on the coffee drifted from one end to the other of the cup. Abstract art. He thought to himself. The coffee was probably cold now.

He checked his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. Only twenty minutes had gone by. The honking and blaring music from a matatu  reminded him he would be late getting home. He was seated at Paleo. He had chosen a table nearest but facing away from the door. The chatter and footsteps passing outside the coffee house was like a recreation of the great wild beast migration at the Maasai Mara. It was rush hour.

Should I leave? Maybe today is not the day? He debated silently in his head. What about the untouched coffee? That thought brought him back to the untouched coffee cup on the table. I could gulp it down in one go and be gone from this place in no time. He reached out for the cup. Lifted it slowly towards his lips as if it weighed a tonne.

Just as the rim of the cup touched his lips, she walked in. She walked graciously and sat a few tables from where he was. The cup was already back on the table, the coffee still untouched. She made her order. He couldn’t bring himself to stop staring. She turned to look in his direction. He pretended to be staring at the lighting. Foolish move.

She was now reading a novel. He half stood up from his seat then fell back. He tapped his foot trying to come up with a plan of attack. It felt like the moment a general has to make the choice of whether to attack or fall back. The weight of the world on his shoulders. Here goes nothing. He muttered to himself breathing into his hand to check whether his breath was okay.

‘I am Mike…,’ the light tap on the table stopped her from her reading. Who drinks tea in a coffee shop? He could not help his thoughts staring at her cup.

‘Can I help you,’ she said staring up from the book in her hand.

‘I don’t think you have noticed but they must be putting something in the coffee…’ he said taking the empty seat ‘..as I was coming over here I swear I had it all planned out how it was going to go. I am not so sure anymore.’

He held his breath.

‘I didn’t get your name,’ he said as lightly as he could manage.

It was like experiencing how long an aeon is in just a matter of seconds.

‘I am Mary,’ she said in passing, closing her book all the while staring at something that seemed to be beyond him.

That was two years ago.

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 The light breeze was like a light touch by a lover. Mary was engrossed in Paulo Coelho’s book The Alchemist. She stopped for a moment to enjoy the breeze. The shadows formed by the trees in the sunset were anything but marvellous.

She looked up from her book and took a look around her. Some distance away from her was this group of girls, all happy and jumping around doing their best to give their best pose for the selfies they were taking. Instagram promises to be a buzz today. She smiled at that thought.

On one corner the smokers were huddled together. They seemed like outcasts. One could not help but admire the unspoken bond among them. They were united in their cause. What cause? To smoke their lives away. These negative feelings creeping up inside her caused her to turn to another part of the Jevanjee garden.

A large group of men was gathered. No one was preaching to them. They seemed to be holding a discussion on a certain matter. Everyone was attentive when it was not their turn to speak. She caught a comment from a member in the group. ‘The corruption in this country has become too rampant.’ ‘Those guilty should hang just to say the least. They are killing our economy bit by bit.’ Another one reiterated in support. Politics. Why aren’t women involved in such discussions? Do they think we do not have our own opinions in such matters? The feminist in her coming out in her thoughts.

She went back to her reading. The flash of a light interrupted her. She thought of looking up but dismissed it to be the reflection from the windows of a passing car. It came again. The lady seated to her right was smiling. She looked up.

He stood a few steps in front of her. He took another shot with his camera. The flash of light blinded her for a moment. She was not sure whether to be pleased or mad. He was stretching out his hand. She thought of ignoring him.

‘Sorry for the inconvenience but not everyday I get a perfect shot,’ he said returning a firm handshake.

‘You can call me Andrew…’

That was six months ago.

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‘How could you do this to me,’ Mike said clenching his fingers into a fist. He was clearly enraged.

‘It was nothing. You were away so much that…,’ Mary said amid sobs. She sat in a corner curled up. She had never seen him this mad.

He paced the room. He almost knocked down her dresser. ‘How many times has it happened?’ he asked.

‘I am sorry my love…please forgive..,’ she tried her best to calm the situation.

‘I don’t need your apology. First it was the pink socks that I found a few months ago. Now this…,’ he said kicking her shoe under the bed. ‘How many times?’ He turned to look at her with this devilish eyes.

She inched nearer to the wall. She was not sure whether he could hurt her. ‘A couple of times,’ she said covering her head with her hand.

The recording in the background of their lovemaking session with Andrew seemed to have hit a switch. He turned around and grabbed the phone. He stared at the screen for a moment. The phone hit the wall so hard if there was to be a burial it would have to be a closed casket. He was like a man possessed.

‘I will kill that guy…,’ he said amid a shout of pain mixed with anger.

That was a month ago.

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The last lady in black placed flowers on top of the grave. The wailing and crying was now almost over. The end to the celebration of such a young life snuffed out fast approaching.

Mary stood at the back of the crowd. She was in black. The black glasses shielded her from all the stares. She had given up on crying. She looked straight as the cross was put in place. Someone gently touched her shoulder and said some words she didn’t get.

The sun had finally come out. It was now a few degrees above normal. The pendant on her neck was still ice cold. She reached under her scarf. The casing of the bullet felt soft under her touch. She stroked it.

The coroner’s report indicated that the single shot to his temple as the cause of death. The police investigations concluded that it was a robbery gone wrong. There were clear indications of the house having been ransacked. Mike’s watch was also missing with a street value of over fifty thousand shillings.

He shouldn’t have threatened to kill Andrew. Mary tried to reassure herself of her actions in her silent thoughts. She had thought of poisoning him. That would have pointed more to a crime of passion and the main suspect would have been her. The idea of hiring a hitman also crossed her mind. But she had no intentions to leave a trail behind let alone a paper trail.

She had stood there unscrewing the silencer watching his life drift away like a smoke. It was hard toppling over the furniture to make it look like a robbery. Some things a lady should never have to do. The watch was stashed away at her parent’s home. Funny a man with such an expensive watch could not just let some dime-store pink socks go unnoticed. She frowned at her thoughts.

‘One day in the future I might consider including it in my memoirs,’ she murmured to herself. Or I could pass down the watch as a family heirloom. Their great grandfather will be a war hero who died for a cause. What cause? Love of course. I will be in control of the story. I will spin that yarn to my liking. The evil thoughts almost made her burst out in laughter.

She lightly pressed the pendant in her hand closing her eyes relieving the moment she pulled the trigger.

This is the present.

Teiya Oloilole

To Whom It May Concern…(The Epistles #6)

I know what it feels like…nothing really matters.
-Mr Probz

Dear Stranger,

Pardon the title. I am lost for words(to just gather the courage to write this letter is taking everything I got). My conscience is torn to say the least. One part is urging me forward. The other is frowning pitying my efforts that to understate it sees as foolish. Do I leave it here before I pour out my heart out to you? What if we are meant to be? Or am I just infatuated?

Have you ever found yourself at a crossroad?(I know you have. So I hope you understand where I am coming from). When did it start? How did I know it was you? How long has it been since? Foolish questions those ones. Don’t ask them please. How should I know?(if you woke up in a den of lions, what would be more important staying alive or figuring out you got there? Priorities).

If I was not the girl I am today I would have already said something. But we are who we are. Besides someone said to me in this part of the world these things are the other way around (team renegades. Yeayy!! ).

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All along I have been giving you subtle hints (Are you blind? Pardon me going off the handle there. Its just…). The other day I was in that flowing dress you said I looked beautiful. For a second there the world belonged to me. “I like you.” I should have said those words sooner. Three words. It’s like my whole existence is hanging on the balance and those words will rescue me (actually I am yet to decide whether the words or you will save me. All in due time).

The other day. Yes just the other day. In a moment of weakness I almost told you. Instead we talked about bitter (okay sweet) nothings. The moment never came. Or could it be there is no perfect moment? Lord give me a sign (and don’t forget to grant me strength. Just in case).

What are you afraid of? What could go wrong? Again you ask all the wrong questions. In my mind a million and one things could go wrong. What if this feeling is not mutual? What happens then? What if it is mutual? Will things change between us?

Can I possibly get a heart of stone? ( any craftsman out there up to the task feel free to send me your inventory). The way my heart beats around you only serves as a reminder that its still fragile. I am not sure I can handle rejection. Broken hearts. Tears. They scare me. I am terrified, if only you could hold me in your arms.

You are a bad sport. Always seeming to be in a rush. I love being around you. Listening to you talk is like watching the sunrise. The feeling just cant be captured correctly by words. What is happening to me? Could I be going nuts? What are these feelings flowing through me? Why cant I fight it?(is anyone out there seeing the flares I am sending out? Come to my rescue).

I probably should stop now before I say something I might regret later. Hopefully you will get the message. Don’t torture me any longer. Make it look normal like it came from you (Ill owe you). In case you didn’t catch it. I like you.

Regards,
Your Crush.

Teiya Oloilole

In Retaliation…(The Epistles #5)

Dear Michael,

Don’t take this letter the wrong way. I finally got around to reading your story about us. Loved the title…A sunset bore a rather illicit bond (don’t get ahead of yourself yet. There is a lot I was not smiling at as I read your article). I am not going to bash everything you said but rather I will try to set straight some of the issues you raised.

You at least remembered what I was wearing on that first day (Aawww, but that does not atone for the growing list of events you keep forgetting. I am not keeping score just that we women tend not to forget these things). Sorry about the handshake. But I thought you knew. General knowledge. Where do you live kwani?

What I thought about you that day? You ask. That question will have to go unanswered. A girl has got to have her secrets. (Plus, I don’t kiss and tell. Don’t get any sinister ideas now).

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Time seemed to have surely stopped that first night. You did make me get home quite late that day (bad influence, told you this letter will not be all rosy). And those thoughts of yours. You had better tame them and do it fast. Otherwise we are going to have a problem.

You are crazy. You know that. How many times do I have to repeat that? Repetition is poetic. I am no poet but I’ll say it again. You are crazy. Did you have to bring up the elephant in the room? Don’t even try and feign ignorance on this one. You know the religion thing.

Seriously? I keep telling you constantly it never ends well. It is such a touchy subject. You think everyone will understand? Most will not understand. They will go for our throats and blood will be the only thing they will be after. What about love? You ask. They will not give a hoot if we take it and stick it up where the sun doesn’t shine. (Why start a fire you cant put out? Please don’t I beg of you).

That ending of your story sounds nothing like me. Did you come up with that? Or who did you hold that conversation with? (Kudos, if it the first one). But you know what? I kind of agree with you. There is surely a bridge for us to cross. And currently there is no bridge that has been built. Each one of us is standing on either (you are supposed to come towards me. You are the man here. Or we will meet halfway? I am yet to decide). Let us see if a madman can come up with a solution? (That is not an abuse just putting a title to my earlier reference of you).

I know you will be tempted to respond to this letter. Please don’t. Not even by writing another story or a poem (though would be fun to see you try the latter). Don’t stir the pot. Love.

Regards,
Rayya.

Teiya Oloilole

A sunset bore a rather illicit bond (Will they survive?)

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‘What are you afraid of?…You have got nothing to lose.
                                                                                     -Unknown

‘You are crazy,’ she said amid a light laughter.

Time for me had stood still. I looked up at the starless sky just to stop myself from staring. This Nairobi skyline. Someone cannot even enjoy the stars. I cursed to myself.

The traffic lights at the intersection changed to green. The matatus were in a rush. It was almost midnight. The number of commuters was dwindling. One last round before calling it a night. It was like the last call at the bar before closure (have you ever been present? I see you. Wink!).

Gari ya mwisho. The calling of the tout, brought me back to the present. This guy is persistent. Can he not see we are busy here? Trying to spoil my moment. I took it as a personal attack to me as the thoughts raged within.

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As I stood there looking around I did not expect it to be her. She was some distance from where I stood. In the dark at least I could make out she was in a buibui. I watched as the dialer on my phone made the call. In anticipation I waited for the person on the other end to pick up. She answered her phone.

I approached. Whether it was the navy blue hijab or her black buibui or the fascination that she was Muslim that first caught my attention I’ll never really know.

‘Hey,’ I stretched out my hand. She was beautiful (pardon my straightforwardness). Her face was well rounded, clear eyes that made the moon seem dull. Her lips made me hold my breath, I looked away ( first impressions matter). She was chocolate in complexion.

‘I am Rayya,’ she said.

‘I am Michael, pleased to meet you,’ I said taking back my outstretched hand that seemed to have been ignored. Was she a snob? Or was my scent off? Or was my shirt not ironed. Turmoil in head. Conflicting thoughts. She ain’t feeling you. Sorry my guy. Hideous laughter from the wicked part of my brain. Basking in the glory of my failure. You can always make a come back. The merciful part came to my rescue. (My joy when I later learnt that Muslim girls don’t shake hands with men. My victory dance was the bomb).

‘I walk you to your stage?’ I offered after pleasantries(the gentleman in me showing, my momma raised me right). She walked a pace ahead of me. I watched her lips move as she talked. Be careful you don’t stumble and fall on your face. The voice in my head cautioned.

How does her hair look? Is it soft or rough to the touch? How is her body shaped beneath that buibui? Is she as beautiful? I could not help myself  but wonder. She was a mystery. A puzzle I wanted so bad to crack. A jigsaw puzzle piece I was determined to find where she would fit into.

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Our conversation went on for hours. I did not want it to stop. The city lights only made it worse. I got to see her in a different light. She was radiant. I loved even more what I saw.

Was I falling? Would it hurt if I hit the ground? (no! Men don’t catch feelings. The macho in me held steadfast).

The end of everything is better than its beginning. Who said that? I paused as I said goodbye. I wanted her to stay a second longer. Even a millisecond longer would be just fine.

                                     * * *
A month later.

‘What will happen between us now?’ Rayya asked over the phone.

‘Well…I am not really sure. But does it really matter?’ Michael tried his best to answer the question. He scratched his head with his free hand holding his phone to his ear like his life depended on it.

‘Yes it does. I might be falling for you. But this religion thing…,’ she said stopping short in a sigh.

‘Why don’t we cross the bridge when we get there?’ he posed the question. 

‘What if?…we get there and we don’t find an amicable solution. What then?’ she reiterated. 

‘We will decide then what we will be willing to do for love…,’he paused. ‘Ours will be an illicit bond.’

Teiya Oloilole

Back To The Future…(The Epistles#4)

Dear Me,

As I sit to write you this letter (Actually type. But don’t hold your breath). I cannot help but wonder. What will you be like? Twenty years to come. Will you be a true representation of me? Will you still hold the same values I do now? How much will you have changed? Will you still have my smile? The list is endless…but hope you will have overcome my current photophobic tendency (Something about saying cheese before that camera click totally escapes me).

To pressing matters. They say you can’t predict your tomorrow let alone your future. If that were possible, this letter would have been a long list of things to do in anticipation of our future (Pardon the plural there but I am doubtful of how you will turn out. So its safe for me to assume you will be a totally different person. You get it).

On that matter you are on your own. But what you are doing currently will determine the future? You ask. Well, I am doing my best. I try to watch what I eat. I ensure I remain healthy. I am currently in school racking my brain so that you may have a bright future. Education is the key. Someone said that. To what lock I am yet to find out. You can clearly see how much I am doing. And there is even more. Hold up!! It is too early for that victory dance. You never know how it will turn out. This life is just f…full of surprises.

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To a lighter matter. Do you want to end up as a bachelor all your life? Forget I even asked that. Do you even exist. Anyway, I decide how our future turns out to be. It’s tough out here I tell you. Looking for a companion for us. Just recently, this beautiful creature. A stone’s throw away from me. I could smell her perfume. Her eyes. This thing she had done to them(She must have used eye pencil. FYI, it is used for beautification). Black and sexy. I think they even had glitters. Talk to her. I told myself. Here goes nothing. She looked at you warmly. She possibly can’t say no to your charms. Grow some balls my guy. If you chicken out, she will think of you as a loser. These voices inside my head. Long story short, it was sad to watch her walk away, having said absolutely nothing ( It was heartbreaking even. Whether it is worse than rejection we will never know now will we?). Don’t panic. We will hopefully not die sad and alone. When the right now comes along I will be sure not to pass up the opportunity. How will you know she is the right one for us?  You ask. Apparently I will know. Don’t ask how.

I could keep on ranting. On what? Well, on the type of music you should listen to. The kinds of clothes you should wear. The way you should walk and talk. The… Let me stop myself. You probably will not be anything like me.

In conclusion, let me say I hope you will be proud. Proud of the choices I will have made. Proud of the things I will have accomplished. Proud of the chances I took and those that went by. Proud of the man you will turn out to be. I beseech you never to look back in shame to the man I am today. And when you talk about me, be proud to declare that I am the man that made you who you will be.

Regards,
Teiya Oloilole.

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