Skip to main content

Boyhood Memoirs

By

"They have hoped for life’s good gains...have found as old men find. And now they bow their heads like drenched men from the rains'', wrote Armattoe. As a kid, progressed to a naughty, each time I thought I had become wiser than before. Maybe I was right. Mum would beat the mistakes I was content to make out of me. Though the blunders I could make only served as a platform to aggravate my inner fears, I was most certain of the extent the retribution would go; I would cry my tears dry, shout my temples hoarse or rub my limbs sore...but mum just wouldn't listen.

Even when I swore the world over in the name of begging for clemency. Thanks to her whips, today I live with the notion that with each venture I am on I accept the outcome no matter what may. Grandma would talk of tales that were captivating and worth listening to. She wouldn't cease even when every other cousin had fallen asleep by the warmth of the embers and her delivery reduced to some superfluous monologue. Metaphorically, she would talk of the pale blue moon in the middle of a starry sky, how it gave a lone sojourner the confidence to trudge onward at night.

I’ve grown up to expound on her lines of thought from a different perspective altogether. Let the light in you illuminate for a good course to humanity-she meant well as was facile simple. I remember vividly the girl I first loved at that tender age. Occasionally she would gown a flimsy dress and I would yearn for her. In the event that she came calling to my place, my heart would throb and the lymphatic system would go jiffy. Boyhood memoirs. Now that I've found my footing, those memories flash by poignantly recall of the boyhood fights often baptized 'when push turns to shove' and imagine how it was simple to make foes than friends. Friendship was that proverbial house built on sand. Conversely it could be swept away easily as it came by. Those moments are worth recalling!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Duke of Londiani

By
  From Kisii, the road winds up and forth, across a panorama of green trees and sunbathed sheets of peasant homes, and beyond herds of livestock bellowing in their hundreds; alive and chewing cud. Further, Tegunot lies at the summit of hills and ranges with its nonchalant grace yet; Londiani lies west and is a vast jungle of brick and tarmac. Tegunot is at the edge of the hilltops flaunting the Western Mau. It is home to a deranged forest complex; a lush belt of eucalyptus, cypress and oak trees, brimming springs, and a robust peasant economy. The locals here farm corn, and cereals – and rear cows, goats, sheep, donkeys, and poultry. A cup of milk goes for a paltry ten shillings. It was in this sleepy village where he grew up and made his cut. Beyond the great mountain ranges, and the alleys that iterated below, a river snaked downstream from the tip of the Mau. It was in this river where, as a boy and in the company of his peers he swam, fetched water, and watered the animals. But...
1 comment
Read more >>>>

Note to Self: Que Sera Sera

By
 My brother Nick- was my greatest source of strength, and amplitude. I still think about him often, more than I should. I can't go a day without having him on my thoughts. I sometimes wish he were here, even for a moment, so we can do proper farewells. Sometimes, it makes me sad though, cause Nick being gone, a certain waft of sadness creeps in. The man was not good, he was great. Everyday, I think how great an uncle to Maya he'd become. He met her once, in her infant gear and I knew they'd get along. The girl was full of  sleep, cry and play. They'd definitely get along. One day, I might get to show her a picture of him, watch her curiosity grow and ask her what she thinks of the man.  Maybe she'd look into his picture frame and wonder, what made the man tick. He would seem peaceful, and besides they'd be some quiet about him in the picture. Some sort of tranquility, amidst the weight of the world on his shoulders.  Maya and I will roll down the years. I hope t...
Post a Comment
Read more >>>>

The Nurse

By
May had the feels - of a sojourn, some fickle light, some laughter, and coffee, and deprivation. It was a perfect balance of good and better, and moments almost clandestine. Some situations you could reel about, be mad about, and get excited about, but in your inner self. There was always that moment that had you thinking about your life, the wrong choices you probably made, the bills you had to settle, and the horrendous battle with adulting. With adulting, only your parents care if you live or die, if you eat or starve, if you go to church or not, if you have a job, and if you have a roof over your head.  They are the perfect weapon against egregious spirits. As if their supplications do not repel all troubles furnished against you, those humans ensure that your cup is filled with overflowing grace, and your basket is full of bread, greens, cabbages, beans, tomatoes, and maize. They make sure that you are set for a couple of days. If you are happy, and you have eaten to your fill...
Post a Comment
Read more >>>>