Shoot me Lee, but I will not die

JustShootMeLogoShoot me Lee
Just shoot me
I know my death will be untimely
But death is just a term Lee
Shoot me, but I will not die

Shoot me now Lee
But I swear i will not die
I want to live
My life is not a lie
I will live Lee
Your shooting will give me a new life

Let me open this new leaf

Now I know you Lee
I have seen deep down your heart
Your heart is so hard
Ouch! Lee you hurt me
You have shot me Lee

Pole, it’s in vain Lee, I will not die

Lee, i looked up to you
You looked down upon me
The scar of the shot is biiiiig
Not as big as a YES from Papa
Papa in heaven is so real Lee

Lee, you see this hand you shot
I will use it to carry your water pot
I know Lee you will grow old
Then, I will have tits and you will be told

Lee, I don’t want to see you on your knees
Keep standing tall Lee, you shot me on my knees
You were deaf Lee,
When I told you green can be yellow
Depending on how long it stays

Lee, now see what you’ve done
Our story is making headlines
Even before i plait lines on my head.
Lee, I will soldier on
Not like a soldier though
I fear the gun, you know
I don’t want to shoot

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Lee, I will ask the young jury on the moot
To drop our case
Not because she is still in school
But because i know I am not dead, cool?
Your shot was a lesson I was not taught in school

Thank you Lee, for the lesson, it was less on me though.

Shikanda E. Hellen (Tiana)

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Shikanda Hellen

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As brief as it may sound

It has more value than the highest pound

Priceless but has a tag

A tag that makes you brag

No constitution in this case

Show off until we say she has won the race

 

But how long will this race take?

Before bigger athletes say you are at stake?

They take what belongs to you

I wish they were like a ewe

Who protects their lamb in danger

These athletes say you are just a stranger

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They will run after your tag

Then put in their bag

The world will mourn your loss

But you are no boss

Just rest in peace

I know the athletes will not be at ease

 

Our big boss is watching

You know His surprise is shocking

To the extent that you will run again

With no slightest pain

But the running is conditioned

Has the big boss been well positioned?

In your tag that he gave you at free will?

 

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When Water Killed Blood

When Water Killed Blood.

By Shikanda E. Hellen

My mum has brought me a picture that I don’t want to look at. I have five minutes only with her then go back to do my work. I thought of love and cursed. Smiling is in-existent in my life now. I am a disappointment. It is still a night mare in my life yet so real. I loved my sister; I had no intentions of doing that! Justice has to prevail. I am guilty as charged.Image result for image of someone crying Image courtesy

Before then, my first hustle was a job which took me a day to secure. The Human Resource Manager that day fell in love with everything that I possess; my articulation, dressing code (nowadays people call it swag), and my name. I didn’t know a name could get me a job. You’d better look for a lawyer for an affidavit. Those archaic names worked for me. That day’s conversation, still lingers in my mind.

“Good morning, my name is Rose… I am here for an interview.” I said

 

“Rose?” he poised, “I love that name. My mother is Rose and I love rose flower. In fact, I had it for breakfast” he added.

 

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“Mama’s boy wants a girl with mama’s name” I contemplated

 

I didn’t know flowers are edible until he asked me to visit him later in the day. The job was in my pocket already. I “passed” the interview that day. The man whose rib I owe is European, as well as the HR who interviewed me. He assured me of the job if only I agreed to pay him a visit. My ethical conscience told me that wasn’t right but I went ahead. His age seemed to be like my grandfather’s but he looked wealthy (insert sponsor).

 

Evening came and I put on my red dress then took off to his house. I felt like the lady in red Luther Vandross was talking about in his song. I arrived at his house around 8p.m. His house was dark but with some light. It was a candle lit dinner that changed my life. Stupid me. We had just met and I thought he’s the one. I know you will curse when I tell you this, but he proposed to me. Take it or leave it, I was blind. Blind in stupid love. A positive answer on his side came from me and we started planning for the only day in life that people try to imitate chameleon’s walking style, but why?

We had it. It was damn glamorous and unforgettable. The two of us with a couple of his friends. Not even my family.

With minimal experience in matters of the heart. I was so happy. The feeling was so nice. Having a job and Mr. Right in a day. Then, a wedding. This might sound insane but wait until we have our honey in space (honeymoon).

We took off to France. Our first stop was the Eiffel tower. We had to lock our padlock and throw the key then go about with our day’s business…customs though .That night, in OUR room. We heard a child cry from without. At first it was from a distance but with time it moved closer and closer. Pause. What’s happening? Next, was this image of cute children. Like those one’s Facebook is pranking you with.

 

The man had to open up to me. He worked as a paediatrician before. He always killed babies purportedly since he was impotent. That evil hand that put a ring on me made him sin. He also helped most girls abort little angels. How? When did people forget Jesus? So this was a payback. Ghosts of the children always accompanied him.

 

Wait, we have just married. Why didn’t I go for counselling? Rather, I should have taken time to learn him and his ways. I had this list in my diary that I always locked. It had a page where I wrote my dream man traits. The first one was “He should be God- Fearing”. I have been trapped by the devil. Somebody say Riswa!

 

The noise and the images seem real. I tried shouting but he raged. He slapped me, a hot slap that made me remember my kindergarten boyfriend (as if I had one). By the window, there was a knife we were to cut a cake with. Having watched these investigative movies I thought to try it at home, sorry, hotel… just to save my life. I took the knife tried to apply self defence mechanism. I stabbed him. The knife was so sharp that I peeped through his body to see the pulmonary artery. That was the only biological term I always remembered.

 

A female shriek instead of a man’s rang in my ears. I had stabbed my sister in my dream yet it was reality. I had this knife I used to eat an apple before I slept. She had come to my room to wake me up as I had instructed…with fury, still sleepy I stabbed her unknowingly. She is six feet under as we speak.

 

The next thing I know, I have been remanded. I will serve my life in jail. My mum has brought me pictures to my sister’s funeral which I did not attend. I feel sad and mad. How did it happen? Still wondering like you are. Will my cup be filled with grace one day?

 

“Madam your time is up!” The sheriff tells my mum.

 

My mum leaves not looking back as if we are in the days of Lot. Mind you, I am a mum. I wished my mum had brought my daughter with her. I miss her, pretty Marie…whose mum is a murderer. I can’t tell the humiliation she is going through in the school I had just taken her. She misses me, I know. It was not my fault. I wish my sister had given up on me and let me sleep. She’d be alive telling me about the many stalkers hitting on her, and the way she is planning to read the Bible in church so that the stalkers know she is the holier than thou type.

Gosh! Why am I thinking of the dead? I should go…I am in deep pain. Sister, just pray for me. I know you are in heaven, you deserve to be home. See you soon.

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Post-Valentine’s Tale

 Post- Valentines Tale.

By Hellen Shikanda.

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It is the 14th of the second month of the year and I am at home. The last time I checked on my calendar it was marked red for some special fete I hear they call it valentines. Google tells me Saint Valentine is the father of invention of this date. We commemorate him for this day for the courage he had in the name of love. It is the Sabbath and I am preparing for church. Customarily, I go to church late, maybe to be noticed but mostly I am just that lazy chap.

I am with this sister of mine who is to join form one next week. She is full of adolescence has been hit with shyness disease. Cupid rhymes with stupid for her case. She hates love and wants me to be like her. A private number calls in as we were walking to church. The devil again wants to win my being late to church today.

“Hey sasa Tiana?” the caller on the other side poised.

Am like… “Poa, ni nani please”

“Gaaai kumbe haukusave number yangu…anyway ni Skip”

Like we always say… “ Sorry aki, I lost my contacts”

“Its okay. Anyway, uko na form gani leo.”

I knew the angels of desperation had come to my rescue. I was elated waiting for him to pop the one million question for the 14th “Will you be my valentines?” I took a deep breath smiling at the church bell.

“Uuuhm… Nope sina form”

“Oooh sawa, what of your little sister.”

Shocked. How did he even know that my sister is still around. Kumbe the saying the beautiful ones are not yet born is plain verity. This team fisi was eying on my small sister and not me. I felt disappointed. Wished to drop school and join the convent. Maybe celibacy is my thing. With a shrill voice I answered him, just not to sound dismayed.

“My liitle sister is around, just alive and kicking.”

“Does she swim?”

“Everyone in our family, save my dad is aqua phobic and we cannot dare look into the swimming pool twice…sooo, too bad she swims not.”

“What gifts drive her nuts?”

Getting to my nerves now. I asked her to call her personally. Lindsey (my sister) standing there, impatient and irate since we were late for church. Again I want to give him news that someone wants her to be his valentine. It was a hard task for me because I knew once I break the news to him she would cry like a baby. Remember we are already near the church environs. My sister hates men. It is lover’s day and unlike me, she’s got someone who has offered to take her out.

I composed myself like a big girl and yes…

“Lindsey, Skip wants to talk to you,” I told him.

“Ati? Skip…that campus boy who thinks girls are like mangoes to be bought in the market anytime”

Ooops, remember those primary quotes from the holier than thou, she just used one to shut me up.

“Yes, that one…” I sided her so that we all lose. I talked ill of Skip, and even told him of a phony child of his that is inexistent. Forgive me Father, I sinned at your doorstep. Skip is still waiting on the other side. I texted him telling him that my sister does not want his gifts and is not ready to meet him.

He called again. This time very serious. Skip is dying to meet Lindsey. Lindsey doesn’t give a damn to the number of times he would kneel for her. Skip went ahead sending photos of him kneeling with his red trouser and crying for Lindsey. The crying moved me. I convinced Lindsey to go. We had to miss the mass for Skip’s sake. Poor love… oooh sorry, infatuation. I called Skip telling him that I will be coming with Lindsey.

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Here we are, Lindsey, Tiana and Skip. Like we do in campus, he tried hugging Lindsey but…not so fast. That electric slap was enough. He smiled, he is a man of course. Lindsey looked at the menu and ordered for everything expensive. When I say expensive I mean it. Her food alone cost 6gs. Skip you are in trouble sir. Thank sportpesa and pray hard. He had to bet with the 3000 he had in his sport pesa account to get 6500. I hope all goes well by the time we are to go home. I only took a glass of blue berry juice…with some cheap pizza, just a 250 bob one. Skip took alvaro, ugali and managu. Don’t ask me why.

Time is moving very fast and the game is not yet over. The waiter comes and Skip looks at us in desperation.

“Tiana, I lost my bet”

This man must be joking. Did I even ask her to start gambling business? I ask Lindsey to escort me to the private offices like we always did with my friends in those idle days of high school. We took off. Skip will settle the bills himself…mwanaume ni effort.  Valentine’s well fed…Kwanza Lindsey.

We arrive at home 7.30pm…past my dad’s curfew. Lindsey trembled because she is the only whose butts are still treated with the red mamba cane. Oooh kumbe it is Valentines. A time of the year when mum and dad go to places they never tell. Whoooa, lucky Lindsey. We got into the house and smiled at the events of the day. A tale to tell. At least Lindsey will have a story to tell her fellow mono’s in that catholic school she’s been called to. Rather a plot of a composition titled, The Most Memorable Day in My Life.

No one popped the one million question to me…but it was such an epic Valentine’s day. With the love of Skip.

tcepseR….Respect !!!

Respect in relationships.

Respect. This seven-letter word is an enemy under control in most if not all relationships. It has been whitewashed by various issues that need a tweak so as to make this virtue dominate in all relationships. Ladies want to be ‘women representatives’ in their own marital roof. I mean… how? Men on the other hand want the love of their lives to bow at them all the time.

Whoever came up with the phrase respect is a two-way traffic was very sane. Respect me and I will do that robotically. Relationships ought to be refueled by respect so as to live long. My own grandpa during his wedding jubilee said that respect is what made them live that long in their relationship. I am skeptic whether current relationships will live to celebrate even their 5th anniversary of marriage.

Respect is not all about heeding to someone’s call, rather bringing your better half a glass of water when he asks for. It is about practicing to live in peace. He is at work. Yes. Why then should you call and ask him to bring you a jumper that you left in his car. Worse. You shout at him until all Mary, Jean and John get to know what is being conversed in that phone, which ought to be confidential you know…

Sometimes, certain issues are supposed to be discussed between those concerned only. I call it disrespect to go and discuss your partner with all and sundry thinking they would be of help. In fact, they would extend the discussions to places you cannot imagine. Thanks to social media since that, I can say is the destination of most gossips. Imagine your name being the top most hash tag on twitter? Not for good deeds but some kind of malpractice caused by disrespect.

Ladies, as I had mentioned earlier, want to be ‘women representatives’. They want to air their girlish issues that they have been discussing during the day and vomit it on their spouses. I mean, what is the essence of telling your hubby “we kazi yako ni kula tu unajua kupika ni stress, tutakua na duties from leo,” (you just eat, do you know how stressful cooking is, we will have duties from today). I know God was right when He told women to be helpers, but respect is paramount. It is improper for a man to cook when the wife is seated on the couch, unless he does that willingly.

Men are not an exception when it comes to respect. They have to respect so as to be respected. Calling your girlfriend or wife mama nani in public is disrespect to me. Even if I bore you a child you did not wish to have, say a girl and you wanted a boy. That respect should be upheld.

To wrap it all. I suggest couples should have a ‘constitution’ that has a section of respect in it. God should be their lawyer, if anyone goes against it. The courtroom is the two of them. They should sit down and see the way forward. Peace would then prevail in most relationships that value respect.images

By Shikanda E. Hellen.

 

 

 

Motorcyclists need a traffic pastor.

By Shikanda E. Hellen.

Today, I attest to the mantra: see it to believe it. I have been a Thomas ever since. Never in my life have I been an eyewitness not even a fake eyewitness who comes to give phony, lengthy and disputable testimonies to the police. This one was one of a kind. Scrubbing it off from my mind is hard. It happened. It is irreversible. It happened when I was on duty. Working for the nation and myself of course.
Wednesday 9th of September 2015, my colleague and I were assigned to go for fieldwork in some place in Western Kenya. We took a minibus christened ‘Respect’ by I don’t know who, maybe the owner. I sat right behind the driver, next to the window. This was a good position to see every tree by the roadside.
We took off from Kakamega town to Chavakali, which was the first stop. Thanks to the ‘traffic’ pastor who came to preach in the minibus. It was a sermon yes, though not in church. It was meant to enlighten our hearts to move closer to God and who does free things today anyway. He asked for blessed ‘TKK’. Maybe to quench thirst after speaking for that long. The touched fat pockets paid heed to his plea and gave pastor what belong to him. It was a blessing. He alighted and went to the next stage.
Smooth was our journey until we reached around Mukumu where there is diversion due to the Chinese road construction. It was not that bumpy. This time round I did not doze off as usual. I was wide-awake; looking at the latest fashion by the roadside; though I did not see any and yes waiting to have a look at the crying stone which am told stopped crying.
Now came fate. Only God knew that was going to happen. A motorcycle man approximately in his early thirties or late twenties was riding his motorcycle. These cheap motorcycles that everyone wants to buy for business. This, I can say… is a business of death. Not the Second generation one. Death caused knowingly. Ignorance and greed for quick money. I don’ t understand where he was hurrying to. The road was clear. No vehicles for disruption or anything that can lead to an accident. There, he fell down. His helmet rolled to the other side of the road. His motorcycle down. He couldn’t be left standing. He tumbled. A stone found its way into his head. Blood gushed from the head. God! It was so bad. I saw the unmistakably.
I can’t help seeing a motorcycle over speed since then. The man lied helpless. I was touched, but the vehicle I was in couldn’t come to a halt. The good thing about God, He sends angels to rescue his people. A saloon car passed by. What happened next I’d wish to know but our minibus was moving. Remember we were to do some errand somewhere.
I was not settled though. I kept thinking of the helpless man I just saw blood oozing from his head. Did he die? Did he survive? Did that saloon car take him to hospital in time? Is he the breadwinner of an akuku-danger type family? I dreaded hiking on a motorcycle, I’d rather walk. If I happen to hike on one in future, the speed would be 10km/h; i will fake illness to be carried with that speed.
Any motorcyclist or any relative to a motorcyclist reading this article. What would you do if that incident happened to you? If you keep over speeding, you’re next my friend. Save that little precious life God has given you. Abide by the traffic rules. Thanks to our ‘traffic’ pastor. Our journey was safe only that our minds were not sound. Our motorcyclists too need a ‘traffic’ pastor. Maybe that would change their ignorance.
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