Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Ray Dear

Heads turned wherever she past. At only fourteen, Ray Dear was causing uproar and sighs could be heard escaping the gaped mouths of lecherous, virilious men. She enjoyed being in the centre of admiration and hardly would she miss an opportunity to release her torpedoes. Though she was still too young, her body was painting a different picture.
Sundays were her days when she would dress spic and span. She enjoyed the murmurs and the lustful and bewildered ogling in the church. She could walk in during the middle of a sermon, trudge confidently, elegantly all the way to the front bench and, as if to pronounce her grand entry, her high heels rarely disappointed. Even the most disinterested person won't ignore the kong kong. It would be irritating to some though most attended the service in order to pick at her bumptious thighs. Her screaming perfume would pronounce her presence in the church just like you won't mistake a he goat in your surroundings.
Ray Dear had everything. She was a stunningly beautiful girl with long, slender neck, impeccable pure white eyes with a tiny black ball at the centre. They were invitingly captivating and every man who got the chance to look at them at a close range would be hypnotized. They were eyes which came in handy often and were in fact one me the most precious asset she had. Her well curved body can only be termed as the evidence no how meticulous the creator was when He was engaged in creating her. Every angle was to the proportionate measure and each organ in its place producing an intricate piece of creation. She had those long athletic legs she enjoyed flouting around but who can blame her? With such a beautiful body even Virgin Mary might consider losing her virginity just to have a chance to show them around. Such a beauty is not one to keep all to just oneself, no, that would be selfish and Ray dear didn't consider herself selfish.
Her lips were a sake shade of pink complementing her brown skin. Whenever she smiled, an array of perfectly arranged white teeth shone. Whenever she walked, her firm bottom would shake with every step as if mocking whoever would be staring, and oh, there would certainly be a culprit. They were not too big bottoms though they won't pass for small. What is true is that they were in precise proportion with her body. For those who didn't fancy asses, the pair of boobs on her chest would leave you paralysed. Other girls were constantly filled with envy in the presence of Ray dear often making them scurry since looking at her made them question God.
She grew up being the admiration of many. Being her mother’s blue eye left her arrogant and conceited. Though Ray Dear was brought up from a humble and poor background, she could never swear of ever lacking anything. Since sometimes it was not always availed promptly, her impatience made her more innovative. After all you couldn’t blame her for at heart she was still a child albeit one in an inflated body.
"Baba Jemo likes me, I’ve seen how he always looks at me", she thought. "I’ll ask him to help me”.
That’s how it started, a simple innocent but rather advertently stupid and ingenuous resolution. Baba Jemo was her next door neighbour, a family friend for ages. To the eyes me the villages, if was a quintessential of hardworking family man a perception that half earned him respect, not only to the old but equally with the young. Even the old respected him. Only one person in the village had more reverence of the villagers than him; the headmaster.
Baba Jemo had seen Ray Dear grow up with his children. He was there when she was born though that now seemed ages ago. Now Ray Dear was in class seven and her feminine body was shaping all too well. She was naive about it, prosaic about the changes happening to her. The sight of the burgeoning little tits made Baba Jemo's mind take a digression down the fantasy lane and though he tried shrugging the intrusively nagging thoughts off his lascivious self, it sent blood pumping in his manhood. For a married man to be carried away by the mere prospect of adventures if could have with a small girl is something he found repugnant. He had always read news about men molesting young girls with unabated contempt. He closed his eyes, tried hard to fill his mind with something else and only with a lot of struggle did he manage to shut the immoral thoughts.
He continued spraying his potatoes occasionally refilling his pump with the pesticide. To keep away stray thoughts of Ray Dear, he was thinking about his wife and daughter. His daughter was the same age with Ray, and though she could not match Ray's beauty, what she lacked in looks she compensated with brains. She was smart and intelligent with a magnetic memory and a cute eye for details. He dearly loved her and sworn he would kill if any man ever laid his hands on her. Thinking about his daughter brought the picture of Ray in his mind. He tried to shut the image out and replace it with his daughter but her soft melodic voice was clearly unmistakable. He froze, sure that something was amiss with him but he couldn't figure what. Again the voice rent the air startling him. He spun only to find Ray Dear standing so close to him with all he alluring beauty. He shut his eyes, now certain that he was losing his grip on reality. For a moment he contemplated that perhaps the pesticide was getting into him making him see things. He took a long breath which came with the sweet scent of her cheap perfume. He opened his eyes only to meet her flinty imploring eyes all on him. She looked beautiful in her moment of stupor.
"Are you alright Baba Jimmy?”
He tried to speak, mumbled something. His muddled brain was failing him. He traced the outline of her body and liked everything he saw. He wanted her there and then. For a moment it didn't matter about her age, he didn't care that she was his friend’s daughter and also her daughter’s friend. The little teenybopper, he felt was seducing him!
Suddenly he realized he had to say something.
"I'm ok, you just surprised me", he eventually mumbled. With that came the realization of his throbbing manhood, and he turned around, ashamed and wondering if she had noticed it. "This little devil, God what’s wrong? What am i thinking?" he cursed inwardly.
Events were moving faster than he had anticipated. That morning where this uncanny feeling first crept in his mind, he had vainly shrugged it and hadn't given it much thought. He wished he had explored the possibility of nailing the little queen, wished he had given it much attention for he was now lost in which direction to go with it. He wished he had figured out how to execute his evil plan.
His trail of thought was interrupted by the piquant voice of Ray, "Sorry to surprise you, I enquire if you'll go to town soon? I was looking for someone to buy for me hair glo in town."
He stared at her blankly, this thoughts completely failing him. No matter how hard he tried to keep the thought of him laying her, the idea remained stubbornly pegged in his mind. The harder he tried to shrug the nasty thoughts, the stronger the urge became.
"I might go tomorrow morning", he found himself mumbling even though he had no such plans. He licked his dry lips, lustfully fantasizing at her inchoate breast. He wondered how his hands would feel around her breast, how smooth and soft her lips would feel against his. He could swear she didn't have a bra; her tiny pointed nipples were clear evidence. His mind gravitated around her groin curious what she had on. Would he fit in? He had to find out and he wanted to find out now!
Ray Dear caught his eyes and momentarily understood what he thinking was. The headmaster had called her to his office a couple of times and tried in vain to convince her into doing it. At first she had not understood his fascination with her and though she had not allowed him put his thing in her, she had let him touch her breast and grope her body while she watched with amazement how his face had brightened, and how lustfully he had groped her body. He had even turned to begging and pleaded something Ray Dear could not understand. How could a revered man who commanded respect from all the parents including the aged be reduced to a beggar, pleading with a mere school girl?
That day in the headmaster's office she realized what she had was indeed a treasure with which she could use to control even manipulate the lots of men who were always nicer to her than they were to other girls, her friends. What she felt when the headmaster was caressing her had been a strange but pleasant feeling, one she had never felt before. It was as if his hands had electrical power which sent mild shocks all over her body, leaving her numb and begging for more.
Now standing here in front of Baba Jemo, seeing him looking so lascivious, her body demanded for him. She had respected him and admired him like everyone else admired him in the village but today she saw him in a totally different eyes. She saw that not even the revered Baba Jemo was immune to her charms. With a gleeful smile she eyed at his groin and was satisfied to find what she expected. He shuddered embarrassed with the realization that Ray Dear had read his mind and was fully aware of his dirty thoughts. He opened his mouth but his tongue failed him. His lips were trembling, eyes begging as he stretched his hand, run it over her smooth face, rested it on her shinny hair and looked beseechingly in her eyes. He didn't see any rejection or approval in them. In the back of his mind he was aware of the abhorrence nature of the act in his mind but his thoughts remained blurred, clogged with a deep tenacity that couldn't wear off. He tried to think of all the possibilities, all the repercussion of his act. He was still thinking about how despicable his act was but still pulled her close and planted a deep kiss in her tiny mouth.
It didn't bother him that it was on a broad day light and in the open. It didn't bother him that the girl was like a daughter to him. He wasn't bothered or didn't seem to care.
Pulling her tiny skirt, he laid her on the sweet potatoes vines, quickly unbuckled his leather belt and navigated his way in her.
She flinched with seething pain before letting out a loud mournful scream. He quickly covered her mouth and pushed deeper. He was still engaged in his sadism, when someone let a wail from close to them. He turned only to come face to face with his wife and daughter. The thermos flask dropped from her hands as she went berserk wailing loudly after seeing what her lovely husband was doing. 
Soon the whole village would be in his shamba. Soon.

                                                                                                                © Steve Karathi

Monday, May 14, 2012

See Her

Swaying and gyrating her body
We walked side by side
She told me her name today
And when she smiled
My joints watered.
I was overcame with desire
As she lifted my spirit higher.
I hope to see her tomorrow
For the sight of her clears my sorrow
Planting hope joy and other virtues
Where vices once roamed.
I told her my name
She reached and held my arm
Soothingly soft was her palm
We held hands
Making a point of avoiding each other’s gaze,
Suddenly she had to go.
Reluctantly our hands parted
Our gaze locked
I kept looking, her beauty baffling me
She wanted to say something
I wanted to tell her
But she had to go.
I hope to see her tomorrow
I can’t live with this sorrow
I have to see her tomorrow.
                                                © Steve Karathi

Friday, May 11, 2012

False hope

False hope is what these people are living with. From one plot to the next the storyline is the same. It is something they are all too familiar with where the word research is a common lingo. I am at the Kaptembwo slum in Nakuru conducting a social economic survey on behalf of a certain Ngo which for convenience of this article I will not name. It is my job to talk to at least 250 people from different households within a period of 15 days and I must admit the prospect of talking to all these strangers at first appears insurmountable. Some of the questions required to ask ask appear quite irritable and my worry is that most of the respondents will not be cooperative. Soon I will be on the ground where I brush shoulders with helplessness and ignorance as well as pure bad luck.

Contrary to my expectations, the people I thought belligerent were mostly cordial and friendly, mostly unperturbed by the insensitivity of some of my questions. Few would hesitate to mention their average income per month or list their assets and I can’t blame them for that. I would also be sceptical about anyone who, for whatever reason, tries to dig into my personal life. There are those who would agree to do the interview but back out halfway and these accounted to the atrophy of my eraser. Some of the questions would jolt the respondents, guilt and shame littering their faces and you could sense their deliberate attempt to veer from the questions. You would see the struggle of a mother trying to remember the number of children she has, at times unsuccessfully.

What I have witnessed in the slum is a mixture of helplessness and despair which have led to my questioning the relevance of the research I am undertaking. Overreliance on government and NGOs help has led to slackness, an insidious infection slowly eating away the once able bodied workforce. It beat me why you would stay in a plot that does not have a toilet and lament waiting for the government and NGOs intervention. With such pictures in mind it is easy to agree with the politicians’ (only on this) slogan that change start with you. If at all anyone will assist these people that change must start with them.

It is a case of man eats man society and a lie has been planted on our major slums that NGOs are there to help. Most of those organizations that go with the theme of fighting poverty have set their firm bases in all the major slums in all towns. They are busy, spreading their roots and achieving their missions and visions, breaking milestones and winning awards all in line with their goals and objectives. With this paper achievements one wonder why the slum problems are on the rise. There can be two explanations to this, either these NGOs, international and local, are not doing enough or are not doing what they are saying.

The slum inhabitants are getting tired with this tomfoolery and are now sceptical about their activities. “You people only come here to ask question and don’t do anything”, someone jeers at me. I had not prepared a comeback for this so I just smile and urge them to be patient for change but by then it is obvious that this individual will not grant me the interview. I would raise my concern about this with those in the office and they will knowingly smile, perhaps reflecting on how they joy ride on the plight of the poor.  If truth can be said, the people running these organizations are in for a kill. They are on a mission of making lemonade with the slums; not to eradicate the slum problems. Theirs is a parasitic relationship, one propagated under the guise fighting their hosts. Hardly a month pass, am told, without some organization conducting a research in the slum yet nothing can be seen about these researches.

The other lot of people are those whose houses flood every time it rain yet they continue blaming the landlord. Sure he cannot be exonerated from the blame but if you tell me that the house has been flooding in the past two or three years and you are still there loyally paying your rent every month, then you are the problem. Could be your brain too has flooded with mucus to keep in psych with your sewage water flooded house. Pardon my tone but if you expect any change, start with your attitude. I went into one such plot where confusing me for some health workers, all the tenants took turn narrating their ordeal and their incessant fruitless cries to their landlord. It was a lengthy banter where I was forced to spread false hopes that “we will be back” to take actions. After listening to these people, I still don’t understand why you would complain that the toilets are always dirty yet it is your responsibility to keep them clean.

Here, I met mothers who don’t know how many children they have, wives who don’t know what their husbands do for a living and I saw plots that that doesn’t have toilets and bathrooms. All these are waiting for the government and other organizations to come mend their lives. On a lighter note, all is not lost since deep in these slums, there are a number of people who are faring quite well and I should add that these were not helped by these NGOs.

Monday, May 7, 2012

Doodling



My first teacher taught and encouraged me to doodle,
Back then a pencil and paper was enough.
I try doodling now and am derided
Yet, it is an art I enjoy.
If only am young,
I could doodle the whole day;
only Mum would complain of paper wastage.
When not doodling on paper,
I would be doing it on the ground
Where the soil is loose,
soil my clothes, get the beatings
but I never stopped doodling.
Old as I now am,
With all papers and “penis”,
am bereft of my childhood freedom.
You all don’t understand,
I love doodling.
The pen and paper are mine,
Yet you won’t let me doodle?
I want my freedom,
Coz just like doodling is not drawing
I’m not claiming to be a poet
But since you chastise my use of lines,
I’ll use words,
to revive my childhood dream.
                                                                Steve Karathi.

Dream



My mind is chaperoned as I dream,
By the creams, screams – realm of my dream.
It emerges gradually,
Casting a clear image – my dream…
I’ve had it for long now,
Stretching back to childhood,
Now a big part of me.
Every minute, every day
In my mind dream won’t part
Whenever I pick a pen-
My dream comes to mind,
Soon reflecting on the blank page,
Which otherwise look scary,
Thirsty to tell a story.
The picture is clear now,
Vivid reality has dawned
And to realize my dream,
First I need to wake up from the dream
Replace it with reality; my blue print
To engineer the path to the dream
I’ve slept for long now,
And have dreamt it all
Time to make it real.

                                                 Steve Karathi

Saturday, May 5, 2012

struggle


I haven’t seen it all but I have seen enough,
I have listened and
Observed a couple of them
And it has left me weary.

Isn’t it sad?
In such a gifted land,
Majority reduced to beggars
And living in abject poverty
It is time we unite against poverty!
For our people have never smiled.
Their future is blurred and bleak
For they know not what to swallow
When tomorrow comes and goes
It is just another day,
Another struggle.