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DESESPERADO: NAIROBI CITY CHRONICLES [TWO]

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BMW x6

If you didn’t read part one, click here

He looked at me. I was scared to bits. On his face, he had multiple scars; an evidence of engaging in multiple gang fights. He lifted his left hand while gazing at me and formed a tight fist. By the look of it, I had underestimated his age. He was huge despite his young looking body. He gazed at me as if knowing am already scared and brought his formed-fist closer to my arm. I realized he was telling me to punch back as a form of greeting. The ‘gotta’ thing we usually did at campus. I formed a fist too and returned the favor by making our fists meet. However, even after I did that, Kevin did not smile a single bit. He waved at me, pushed open the door, and walked away in front of my car. I watched him in shock as he walked with quick short steps towards the corners of the buildings and disappeared along the Aga Khan Walk path just at KenCom Building.

I breathed out the air I had saved before he lifted his arm. My left hand was already on my chest as I sat in awe and wonder. I told myself I had to be extremely careful the next time such stuff happens. However, I was glad because I did something positive. Nevertheless, I felt bad because of the kind of work this young man who got full of life engaged in. I started wishing I had educated him or else assisted him get other ways to earn clean cash. I held my heart again. It had stopped beating as it previously was. I started imagining that I had sat inside the same car with a murderer and I could not believe it myself.

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TEACHER JOYCE: BOY SCHOOL CHRONICLES [ TWO ]

FOR PART ONE OF THIS STORY, CLICK ⇒ HERE

25yr old Female ♀ Teacher in a Boy’s School

31st Dec 2016.

This was to be the last day of 2016. I was happy and I didn’t know why. I just felt happy inside my heart. Maybe it was because of Josh. I knew I would meet him today. “Damn!  It was long since I hugged someone like him. A light skin built kind of a man” I told myself as I glared my self at the mirror. I still had my white  bathroom gown on. I sat in front  of the mirror and did my hair and make up. I was definitely awesome. I smiled and did some unique calculated grimaces on the mirror to ascertain that my look was perfect. I was dayum. I did my nails and also my eye brows too. My hair was the curly type. It went well with the shape of my head. I wasn’t that awful. I tried my best to always stand out. I walked to my bed side and dropped my bathroom gown on the mat next to the bed. I walked in my newborn suit to the cabinet And chose my best and  colorful  undergarments. I knew something weird would happen and I needed to be colorful everywhere. I guess you understand what I mean. I needed to be that perfect. I took my date  dress and put it on. That dress wasn’t the everyday wear. It was secured for awesome days. A day like this one. So sometimes, I would go up to one month without it having my scent.

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KAREN: THE UNDISPUTED KIDNAP 3

[THE RESCUE MISSION]

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PART ONE: KAREN: THE UNDISPUTED KIDNAP

PART TWO: KAREN: THE UNDISPUTED KIDNAP

Karen had been kidnapped. Her three friends Clare, Kate and Sharon have vowed to rescue her from the hands of the cruel bastards who took advantage of her lucrative body. The tri-squad could not even try to adjust their senses to imagine what could be happening to her. All they hoped for was for her to be alive and kicking. They had to plan for the rescue mission.

That night, they did not report to their respective homes. Clare, Kate and Sharon had a plan to engage in some dirty duties done by the call girls hoping they would bore fruits in rescuing their friend Karen. A friend of Clare by name Jake had agreed to harbor them in his vicinity as they made plans on how they would execute their plan. They drove to Jake’s house and after they had chitchat in this and that, they sat on the circular lighted-gazebo, which was built architecturally to suit the midnight meat wolfers’.  Jake offered to help them in their plans but they turned down his offer at first.

‘We will do it our way’, Clare Responded. ‘This is our mission remember?’ she squinted her left eye as she gave him a soundly peck. Jake gazed at her for some time before he went ahead to prepare a balefire that would keep the warm for the night. The time was at 8pm. Darkness had enveloped the entire of the horizon. The sky was full of stars; both the dimming and the shinning ones. The crickets and frogs could be heard on the outside as they made their noises. The cool breeze would sweep the air around them occasionally making the whole humidity optimum for human survival. It was beautiful. They slowly converged at the balefire and commenced the plan.


After about 15 minutes, they all rose from the wooden seats and each of them rushed in different routes around the homestead. Each got back with some weird looking club attire. The ladies were all glam. You would confuse them with those brothel ladies who wear to impress anyone who got the cash to squander on them as they roughly devour them. Their current look would liquefy the heart that those shy men hold deep in their inner spirit. Sharon, though looking like she was in her birth-suit, did not like it. She felt naked. she kept looking at herself plastering that woebegone impression on her face. Her thighs had never been exposed like that publicly before.

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the ‘RICH MAID’ ABROAD

Story By: {Ken & Speranza}

Many have gone but few make it back successful…
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Welcome to the extra-regurgitated story that falls on deaf ears of many who have the insatiable taste for unseen rewards in abroad. These ‘Thomases’ only believe when they go there and are deported back with ‘painful scars that sometimes never heal’.

Wait, the heading itself is ironical and full of sarcasm if stated. That is what those planning on taking a flight there after paying a hefty fee for their death should come into terms with. They are lured by promises of posh jobs with big salaries.

a RHAPSODY OF BEHAVIORAL CHANGE

How many women have come back and explained exclusively the horrors and atrocities that they met there? How many have been flown back to our country as rotting corpses? How many go there and they disappear under mysterious circumstances? Why do we still want to go there to look for jobs? Meager jobs that lead to many of our young girls and women being overused in useless ‘maid’ jobs under very excruciating conditions. When asked, they say that some of the ladies they know have made it there and are getting paid ‘good money’. Some get good employers while some; in fact get employers who are equivalent to or rougher than ‘beasts’.

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The Observer: YOUTH – It’s Our Time

Article Written By: [Ken & Speranza]

The persona in the story is an Intellect Observer.;
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It was on a Friday afternoon just after I had been interviewed at a certain prestigious corporate company. The only thing I had in my palm was my mobile phone and some bit of nervousness consuming each thought I had about the outcome of the interview. I had adorned that black suit that I usually reserved for such important days and those pitch black shoes that complemented my outlook as I walked majestically across the town.

The scorching sun and the chilly psychic wind were inflicting their arrogance on me as I paved my way to the ‘matatu’ stage whereby I could board a vehicle that would ferry me to my vicinity. The vendors were busy minding their businesses inside the flocked town. In my escapades, I actually groped under a sweaty woman’s armpit as she shouted explosively in a bid to sell her merchandise.

I approached the matatu station and met a black graffiti matatu that was almost full. I boarded it and walked straight to the back left seat [let me call it a bench; it was not worth the name seat] at the window. I always loved observing as I travelled. I can say that being an observer has made me discover many things in this young world. Moreover, I understand undeniably that the sweetness of traveling is observing. Just when I was approaching the seat, I noticed it had a hole at the center of the worn out cushions. I could not settle myself proportionately. I had to seat at a certain angle making sure not to injure my sciatic nerve in my less adorable gluteal tissue.  Inside the matatu were a whole lot of alarming warning stickers and images of those musicians we here on radios. The tout hang around shouting in tantrums as he hang around like an empty bottle of liquor. The engine started and for whatever reason, I had to stick to my seat until I arrived at my destination.

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HANNAH N’ OLIVER 3

Written by : KeN And Speranza

[ Part One ]

[ Part Two ]


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HANNAH AND OLIVER: [PART THREE]

They approached an old looking hall full of young looking rugged women. She was dropped inside the hall where she lay helpless like a strand of spaghetti draped over furniture. She lay unconscious on the floor. The women in the place looked weak and feeble.  Their faces had huge pregnant stories to tell. Where was this place? She automatically knew that something was not right.  The two men who had brought her walked towards the door and locked it from the outside.

 

She slowly raised her head and gazed at the surroundings around her. She was appalled. A horde of young ladies lay helpless on the floor of the hall. They seemed abused, intoxicated and dehydrated.  As she was trying to  get herself  up, she felt something pressing hard on her cleavage area. She slowly inserted her left hand inside her dress and unmasked a tag that had been permanently inscribed around her neck. It was written no. 1061. She gazed at it again. She noted that all the ladies  inside the hall had the same tag but a different number. She wondered what it meant.


The hall was dark. It was during the night. Her watch read 1am. She sat at the corner of the hall wondering  about her fate.  She hunched up her legs until the knees touched her chest. She held herself and started staring at the young girls. She wondered why they looked so weak and feeble. She wondered what they were being subjected to. Some of the ladies were ‘au natural’ while some had torn clothes that exposed their unwashed bodies. She noted that some of them had fresh cuts and scars on their faces and thighs. Hannah’s heart pounded hard as she  realized that this was not a bed of roses. The condition that the ladies were in, explained it all.

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