Your mind swims back to the days of your youth. You have just finished having a tasty meal of chicken and black ugali, specially prepared by Kukhu Tunai your grandmother. Kids your age take their place around the fire ready for another epic story telling session. Kukhu Tunai is an old hand at spinning juicy tales that are just as delicious as the morsels of chicken you have just devoured. After a long day of back-breaking work either helping tilling the land or looking after livestock mukewa, this is usually everyone's favourite time of the day. Little girls and boys sit impatiently in Kukhu Tunai's hut waiting for the session to kick off. The older boys usually sit with your grandfather or other older men to receive invaluable counsel on how to be men. That is on ordinary days. This is far from an ordinary day. Everyone including the youngest children know that the the stage is set for the dance of the year.
Kukhu blows into the fire rejuvenating the dying flames, making them to crackle and sizzle with renewed determination. Meanwhile, the kids are bursting with eagerness. Some sit staring at Kukhu Tunai while others exchange riddles in anticipation. Others are making funny shapes by casting shadows on the walls. Today, unlike many other evenings, your mind is far away from the folktales Kukhu is about to narrate. You heart pounds gently. All you can think of is the prospect of sneaking out of your grandmother's hut in order to indulge in the spectacle that is the midnight dance. You're not allowed to go because you're too young. Your friend Wekesa managed to sneak out the last time the dance was held. He is the type whose stories one has to take with a pinch of salt. He likes to exaggerate.
He told you about the beautiful girls that attend the dance. He told you about how they stood in line and gyrated to the tune of the drums as the crowd screamed in ecstasy. He told you about their bouncy chests. He told you about how he drooled as their round bottoms vibrated. You can't help but drool yourself as you listen to the story with your eyes wide and mouth agape. Your heart pounds with excitement. You remember how he paused dramatically to let those words sink in, and how you urged him to tell you more. He was even allowed to dance with one of the short girls. You curse yourself for missing out. You swear that you won't miss the next dance. The time is nigh.
"Yabao khale Wanakhamuna nende Wananjofu ..." Kukhu Tunai begins narrating one of her famous fables.
The curious kids are all ears, but your mind has wandered away to the land of music and drum beats. You can already picture the dust rising as the young men and women, boys and girls invade the arena like warriors. You can discern happy, dark faces beaded with perspiration. You can smell the petrichor- the sweet smell of rain when it drops on dry soil. The thought of the big girls with wiggling hips from Wekesa's vivid narrations make you quiver with a tinge of excitement. Ignoring Kukhu and her stories, you spring to your feet and walk out of the house into the moonless night. Your departure barely raises any eyebrows. The clueless kids have their gaze firmly fixed on the master storyteller. Besides, kids always leave from time to time to relive themselves behind the hut. It's not strange, however, for the younger girls to wet themselves while glued to the gripping tales of Kukhu Tunai. It's either that, or maybe they are just scared of the darkness.
Outside, the atmosphere is tranquil but heavily pregnant with the sporting chance of imminent action. You can hear excited male voices chattering in the darkness. The girls must still be in their mothers' huts getting ready. Girls are innately fastidious with their appearance. You creep into the night and head to Wekesa's home. Since you're too young to be allowed to attend the dance, you must move stealthily to avoid being spotted by one of the older boys. That would be the end of the road for you. You know too well about one of your older cousins who tried to sneak into a midnight dance when he was not yet of age. When he was caught, he was fastened upright on to a pole in the cowshed and had to spend the whole night in the dripping rain, standing in a messy puddle of goat urine. He had to endure the foul smell of urea and cow dung, and the ceaseless bleating of sheep. He swore never to repeat. The mere thought of the punishment sends a chill up your spine but the determination to witness the dance gets the better of you.
It's really dark. Wekesa's home is a bit far from yours. You walk briskly down the footpath leading to his home. You decide to take a shorter route there. You have to trespass through Mzee Muliro's farm. He's known to be a no nonsense authoritarian. No one dares go anywhere near his fence let alone trespassing. Some people say that he is always steamed up because he was mad at the gods for denying him a boy. He has eleven children who are all girls. Rumour has it that his first child was a boy who was very lazy. One day when everyone went to the farm, the son hid behind the granary and fell asleep. His father found him. He was so irked with him that he beat him to death and chased the mother away. The gods became angry with him and refused him another boy. He has three wives all of whom only bear daughters.This has made him callous. His daughters are very attractive but everyone, including the bravest of men, is scared of trying to woo them.
As you walk through his maize plantation with cat-like stealth, you hope your personal god is awake. You know that if Mzee Muliro catches you he will skin you alive. The drying maize stalks rustle as you walk by them. You don't want to make a sound so this makes you shudder. You're about to get to the other side of the farm when Alas! You come face to face with a tall, well-built man whose face you can't clearly see in the darkness. He's holding what appears to be a machete on his left hand and a walking stick on his right. Unmistakably, this is Mzee Muliro. You are suddenly gripped by a nauseous feeling that makes you experience knots in your stomach. Your legs feel numb like one who is paralyzed and you feel the need to sit or support yourself on something. The inside of your ears feel hot as if someone has inserted hot pieces of coal in there. The tension building inside you can make you go to the toilet inside your own pants.
The man is motionless. They say that when rage is building inside him he neither makes a sound nor moves any party of his body. Before he beat his son to a pulp, they say this is how he was behaving. It is now serious. You have to go to the toilet. You can feel the distinct warmth of urine streaming down your legs without your permission.
"Papa Muliro I greet you," You muster some faint courage.
Your greeting is met with death-like silence. A raging debate in your head is whether or not you should bolt off with the speed of a cheetah. You judge against that since he has already seen you and will definitely not rest until he punishes you severely.
You decide to move nearer Mzee Muliro. Close enough to let him slap the taste out of your mouth, or to clobber you senseless with his walking stick. By now he would have lost it. You would be either nursing your injuries or staring at the grave. Surprisingly, Mzee is ostensibly in no mood to hurt anyone tonight. He remains calm like a day-old kitten. Wait! Wait a minute. When you move even closer you almost wet yourself laughing. All this while you have been scared of a tree. One that looks exactly like a man, in the pitch black darkness. Fear makes you see nonexistent things. When you get bitten by a snake once, you will run away wailing when you see a rope.
Soon you're at Wekesa's home. You head straight to his simba but as you approach, you can hear his grandmother berating him. You know better than to walk in there. Wekesa's kukhu is a mad woman. She once hit you on the head with a cooking stick that was fresh out of her cooking pot. The pain of the impact was not half as excruciating as that of the boiling ugali that almost scalded your bald head. You remember screaming like a girl and running all the way home to seek solace in your grandmother's arms. She ignored you. As you wailed for attention, everyone else also ignored you as if you were not even there. You threatened to run away from home. One of your senge tried to stop you but Kukhu in her wisdom told her to let you go.
"Eningilo elamukobosia," she said in her tired voice. Meaning, once you feel hungry you will return home yourself.
The old woman long forgot the ordeal, but it will forever linger in your mind. Your people say, Okania kebilila, okaswala niye okhebilila ta ... He who shits forgets, but whoever steps in the excrement never forgets.
You go round the house and hide waiting for Wekesa's grandmother to leave before talking to him. You can hear Wekesa groaning about being refused to attend the much anticipated dance. You sit in the biting cold for a while waiting. After what seems like eternity you hear footsteps fading away from the simba. That must be kukhu wa Wekesa returning mwatayi-to the main house, or maybe to her small kitchen which stands adjacent to the main house. You force the window open and struggle to climb in. If you go through the door she might still see you since when in her kitchen one can see outside and those outside can see everything going on in the kitchen. You fall in clumsily and land on a hapless chicken that jumps up clucking loudly. A goat bleats somewhere in the room. When you look up, your stomach fills up with hot air. You come face to face with Wekesa's grandmother.
Apart from the incessant bleating of the stupid goat, everything else is silent. The old woman has her unwavering gaze firmly fixed on you. You also stare back at her, wary of her violent nature. She is old and frail looking but sturdy like an ox. Her name is Ajema. She comes from the neighbouring community. Their women are combative and short-tempered, unlike women of the tribe who are submissive and benign. It has turned into a staring contest. It seems like the game you play with other kids staring at each other to see who will laugh first. The tense moment is interrupted from to time to time with the bleating of the goat, and the frightened sounds of the chicken.
"Kukhu oriena ..." You greet in a tremulous voice.
"Ewe omufwi namwe omubini?" comes the creepy reply. "Olekhe kumuliango wimwate munju khubirira mwitirisia ..." (Why did you choose to use the window like a thief or a witch, when the door is wide open?)
"Kukhu nosima mbelee," You plead with her to forgive you, knowing all too well that by the time you leave the hut your behind will be on fire.
Surprisingly, she turns and leaves without uttering an extra word. You are more baffled than happy. You remain seated at the spot still dazed in disbelief. Then you hear approaching footsteps. You hope it is Wekesa. It's not! The old woman is back yielding esimbo.
"I wan't you to leave my compound on the count of three," she says without stuttering.
One ... Two ...
You are more confused than ever. She is standing at the door way, blocking your path.
"Does she want me to use the window?" you wonder.
Three ...
She starts approaching menacingly. You suddenly hear wild drumming outside. Kukhu wa Wekesa is distracted for a moment. You grab the chance and escape through the door at the speed of lightning. As the darkness swallows you, out of the blue, someone grabs you. You are so frightened that you let out a subdued howl.
"Kuka!" Wekesa says excitedly. He's holding a small drum.
"Wekesa!" You are delighted to see him.
"Follow me!" He says dashing wildly into the darkness. You comply.
After running for miles you arrive at the venue of the dance. You can hear spirited drumming and stumping of feet as you approach, gasping for breath. The dance is held at Makhino's homestead. Makhino is one of the best drummers in the village. He also has a melodious voice that can charm birds off a tree. Everyone knows him as the lead singer during circumcision ceremonies. He usually serenades crowds with his uncanny prowess and a few women have even left their husbands for him.You can hear the rapturous wails and screams of the merry makers .
You stay in the shadows to avoid being seen by the big boys and girls. It's a spectacle. It's unlike anything you have ever seen. Spectators sit around the arena. Three young girls are dancing in the middle of the circle. On their left hand side, two drummers beat the drums with enthusiasm. The girls are experts at shaking their shoulders. The famous kamabeka dance. The three are joined by three energetic young men. They dance behind the ladies, who now assume a different posture. They bend slightly, that their bottoms touch the young men's crotches. Standing still, they start rotating their bottoms grinding against the men. Curious spectators let out lustful screams. After the sweaty affair, they leave the arena heaving heavily.
Older girls replace them. The crowd goes wild. The drummers lower the tempo. The pace of the dance goes from very fast to slow. The girls dance gracefully. The drummers start to pick up the pace. The dancers increase their speed in tandem with the drumming. You recognize one of the dancers. Naliaka, one of Mzee Muliro's daughters. She is the most attractive girl in the village. Men go to great lengths trying to win her heart. She has long, black hair. Her light skinned face shines in the darkness. She has a permanent smile on her face. Her beauteous brown eyes are alluring. One day a man fell into the river as he walked while staring at her. Her waist is slim but her buttocks are big. You can place a baby there and it want fall. Now everyone is in a frenzy as she shakes it with vigour. Her smile is so bright that you can see her teeth gleaning in the darkness. Although its dark, the stage is illuminated by a huge born fire that serves as light and as a source of heat.
You can clearly see the facial expressions of the dancers. They smile, frown, grin, grimace and even scowl at the crowd. Sometimes they do not know what to do with their mouths. They dart their tongues in and out of their mouths like snakes as the music grips their souls. Both the crowd and the dancers get carried away. The drummers remain composed. Makhino's voice can be heard booming over the sweet tunes of the drums. Sometimes it gets swallowed in the frenzied drumming and cheering.
Wekesa and you manage to keep a low profile so no one has recognize you. At least not yet. Besides it is quite dark. There are so many people here and the place is buzzing with activity. However, when it,s time to indulge in the juicy goat steaks going round you can't help yourselves. The delicacy is accompanied by busaa a traditional brew that accompanies every single ceremony, happy or sombre. That's when things started heading south.
As you dig into the roasted pieces of goat meat with zest,one of the young men realize that Wekesa and you sneaked out to join the dance. The infuriated reveler shouts to alert the other party goers. Wekesa zooms away faster than you can say "ewe" . Startled, you also take off like a frightened rabbit. You dash off into the darkness as a small crowd gives chase.
Allow me to cut to the chase. Wekesa gets away. You get caught. They beat you like a drum. They tie you to a pole in the cow shed, legs up head down. You endure the smell of cow dung the whole night. Cows moo, sheep bleat, donkeys bray. You moan and groan all night, but it's futile. On this night, it rains like the clouds are also annoyed with you.
"Omwami!"
When you open your eyes, you see Wekesa fastened upside down next to you. Eventually, they caught up with him.
"Mulosi, khwaumia baya ..."
As you conclude your story, Khalayi rolls on the floor laughing. It was indeed a night to forget.
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Kukhu blows into the fire rejuvenating the dying flames, making them to crackle and sizzle with renewed determination. Meanwhile, the kids are bursting with eagerness. Some sit staring at Kukhu Tunai while others exchange riddles in anticipation. Others are making funny shapes by casting shadows on the walls. Today, unlike many other evenings, your mind is far away from the folktales Kukhu is about to narrate. You heart pounds gently. All you can think of is the prospect of sneaking out of your grandmother's hut in order to indulge in the spectacle that is the midnight dance. You're not allowed to go because you're too young. Your friend Wekesa managed to sneak out the last time the dance was held. He is the type whose stories one has to take with a pinch of salt. He likes to exaggerate.
He told you about the beautiful girls that attend the dance. He told you about how they stood in line and gyrated to the tune of the drums as the crowd screamed in ecstasy. He told you about their bouncy chests. He told you about how he drooled as their round bottoms vibrated. You can't help but drool yourself as you listen to the story with your eyes wide and mouth agape. Your heart pounds with excitement. You remember how he paused dramatically to let those words sink in, and how you urged him to tell you more. He was even allowed to dance with one of the short girls. You curse yourself for missing out. You swear that you won't miss the next dance. The time is nigh.
"Yabao khale Wanakhamuna nende Wananjofu ..." Kukhu Tunai begins narrating one of her famous fables.
The curious kids are all ears, but your mind has wandered away to the land of music and drum beats. You can already picture the dust rising as the young men and women, boys and girls invade the arena like warriors. You can discern happy, dark faces beaded with perspiration. You can smell the petrichor- the sweet smell of rain when it drops on dry soil. The thought of the big girls with wiggling hips from Wekesa's vivid narrations make you quiver with a tinge of excitement. Ignoring Kukhu and her stories, you spring to your feet and walk out of the house into the moonless night. Your departure barely raises any eyebrows. The clueless kids have their gaze firmly fixed on the master storyteller. Besides, kids always leave from time to time to relive themselves behind the hut. It's not strange, however, for the younger girls to wet themselves while glued to the gripping tales of Kukhu Tunai. It's either that, or maybe they are just scared of the darkness.
Outside, the atmosphere is tranquil but heavily pregnant with the sporting chance of imminent action. You can hear excited male voices chattering in the darkness. The girls must still be in their mothers' huts getting ready. Girls are innately fastidious with their appearance. You creep into the night and head to Wekesa's home. Since you're too young to be allowed to attend the dance, you must move stealthily to avoid being spotted by one of the older boys. That would be the end of the road for you. You know too well about one of your older cousins who tried to sneak into a midnight dance when he was not yet of age. When he was caught, he was fastened upright on to a pole in the cowshed and had to spend the whole night in the dripping rain, standing in a messy puddle of goat urine. He had to endure the foul smell of urea and cow dung, and the ceaseless bleating of sheep. He swore never to repeat. The mere thought of the punishment sends a chill up your spine but the determination to witness the dance gets the better of you.
It's really dark. Wekesa's home is a bit far from yours. You walk briskly down the footpath leading to his home. You decide to take a shorter route there. You have to trespass through Mzee Muliro's farm. He's known to be a no nonsense authoritarian. No one dares go anywhere near his fence let alone trespassing. Some people say that he is always steamed up because he was mad at the gods for denying him a boy. He has eleven children who are all girls. Rumour has it that his first child was a boy who was very lazy. One day when everyone went to the farm, the son hid behind the granary and fell asleep. His father found him. He was so irked with him that he beat him to death and chased the mother away. The gods became angry with him and refused him another boy. He has three wives all of whom only bear daughters.This has made him callous. His daughters are very attractive but everyone, including the bravest of men, is scared of trying to woo them.
As you walk through his maize plantation with cat-like stealth, you hope your personal god is awake. You know that if Mzee Muliro catches you he will skin you alive. The drying maize stalks rustle as you walk by them. You don't want to make a sound so this makes you shudder. You're about to get to the other side of the farm when Alas! You come face to face with a tall, well-built man whose face you can't clearly see in the darkness. He's holding what appears to be a machete on his left hand and a walking stick on his right. Unmistakably, this is Mzee Muliro. You are suddenly gripped by a nauseous feeling that makes you experience knots in your stomach. Your legs feel numb like one who is paralyzed and you feel the need to sit or support yourself on something. The inside of your ears feel hot as if someone has inserted hot pieces of coal in there. The tension building inside you can make you go to the toilet inside your own pants.
The man is motionless. They say that when rage is building inside him he neither makes a sound nor moves any party of his body. Before he beat his son to a pulp, they say this is how he was behaving. It is now serious. You have to go to the toilet. You can feel the distinct warmth of urine streaming down your legs without your permission.
"Papa Muliro I greet you," You muster some faint courage.
Your greeting is met with death-like silence. A raging debate in your head is whether or not you should bolt off with the speed of a cheetah. You judge against that since he has already seen you and will definitely not rest until he punishes you severely.
You decide to move nearer Mzee Muliro. Close enough to let him slap the taste out of your mouth, or to clobber you senseless with his walking stick. By now he would have lost it. You would be either nursing your injuries or staring at the grave. Surprisingly, Mzee is ostensibly in no mood to hurt anyone tonight. He remains calm like a day-old kitten. Wait! Wait a minute. When you move even closer you almost wet yourself laughing. All this while you have been scared of a tree. One that looks exactly like a man, in the pitch black darkness. Fear makes you see nonexistent things. When you get bitten by a snake once, you will run away wailing when you see a rope.
Soon you're at Wekesa's home. You head straight to his simba but as you approach, you can hear his grandmother berating him. You know better than to walk in there. Wekesa's kukhu is a mad woman. She once hit you on the head with a cooking stick that was fresh out of her cooking pot. The pain of the impact was not half as excruciating as that of the boiling ugali that almost scalded your bald head. You remember screaming like a girl and running all the way home to seek solace in your grandmother's arms. She ignored you. As you wailed for attention, everyone else also ignored you as if you were not even there. You threatened to run away from home. One of your senge tried to stop you but Kukhu in her wisdom told her to let you go.
"Eningilo elamukobosia," she said in her tired voice. Meaning, once you feel hungry you will return home yourself.
The old woman long forgot the ordeal, but it will forever linger in your mind. Your people say, Okania kebilila, okaswala niye okhebilila ta ... He who shits forgets, but whoever steps in the excrement never forgets.
You go round the house and hide waiting for Wekesa's grandmother to leave before talking to him. You can hear Wekesa groaning about being refused to attend the much anticipated dance. You sit in the biting cold for a while waiting. After what seems like eternity you hear footsteps fading away from the simba. That must be kukhu wa Wekesa returning mwatayi-to the main house, or maybe to her small kitchen which stands adjacent to the main house. You force the window open and struggle to climb in. If you go through the door she might still see you since when in her kitchen one can see outside and those outside can see everything going on in the kitchen. You fall in clumsily and land on a hapless chicken that jumps up clucking loudly. A goat bleats somewhere in the room. When you look up, your stomach fills up with hot air. You come face to face with Wekesa's grandmother.
Apart from the incessant bleating of the stupid goat, everything else is silent. The old woman has her unwavering gaze firmly fixed on you. You also stare back at her, wary of her violent nature. She is old and frail looking but sturdy like an ox. Her name is Ajema. She comes from the neighbouring community. Their women are combative and short-tempered, unlike women of the tribe who are submissive and benign. It has turned into a staring contest. It seems like the game you play with other kids staring at each other to see who will laugh first. The tense moment is interrupted from to time to time with the bleating of the goat, and the frightened sounds of the chicken.
"Kukhu oriena ..." You greet in a tremulous voice.
"Ewe omufwi namwe omubini?" comes the creepy reply. "Olekhe kumuliango wimwate munju khubirira mwitirisia ..." (Why did you choose to use the window like a thief or a witch, when the door is wide open?)
"Kukhu nosima mbelee," You plead with her to forgive you, knowing all too well that by the time you leave the hut your behind will be on fire.
Surprisingly, she turns and leaves without uttering an extra word. You are more baffled than happy. You remain seated at the spot still dazed in disbelief. Then you hear approaching footsteps. You hope it is Wekesa. It's not! The old woman is back yielding esimbo.
"I wan't you to leave my compound on the count of three," she says without stuttering.
One ... Two ...
You are more confused than ever. She is standing at the door way, blocking your path.
"Does she want me to use the window?" you wonder.
Three ...
She starts approaching menacingly. You suddenly hear wild drumming outside. Kukhu wa Wekesa is distracted for a moment. You grab the chance and escape through the door at the speed of lightning. As the darkness swallows you, out of the blue, someone grabs you. You are so frightened that you let out a subdued howl.
"Kuka!" Wekesa says excitedly. He's holding a small drum.
"Wekesa!" You are delighted to see him.
"Follow me!" He says dashing wildly into the darkness. You comply.
After running for miles you arrive at the venue of the dance. You can hear spirited drumming and stumping of feet as you approach, gasping for breath. The dance is held at Makhino's homestead. Makhino is one of the best drummers in the village. He also has a melodious voice that can charm birds off a tree. Everyone knows him as the lead singer during circumcision ceremonies. He usually serenades crowds with his uncanny prowess and a few women have even left their husbands for him.You can hear the rapturous wails and screams of the merry makers .
You stay in the shadows to avoid being seen by the big boys and girls. It's a spectacle. It's unlike anything you have ever seen. Spectators sit around the arena. Three young girls are dancing in the middle of the circle. On their left hand side, two drummers beat the drums with enthusiasm. The girls are experts at shaking their shoulders. The famous kamabeka dance. The three are joined by three energetic young men. They dance behind the ladies, who now assume a different posture. They bend slightly, that their bottoms touch the young men's crotches. Standing still, they start rotating their bottoms grinding against the men. Curious spectators let out lustful screams. After the sweaty affair, they leave the arena heaving heavily.
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Older girls replace them. The crowd goes wild. The drummers lower the tempo. The pace of the dance goes from very fast to slow. The girls dance gracefully. The drummers start to pick up the pace. The dancers increase their speed in tandem with the drumming. You recognize one of the dancers. Naliaka, one of Mzee Muliro's daughters. She is the most attractive girl in the village. Men go to great lengths trying to win her heart. She has long, black hair. Her light skinned face shines in the darkness. She has a permanent smile on her face. Her beauteous brown eyes are alluring. One day a man fell into the river as he walked while staring at her. Her waist is slim but her buttocks are big. You can place a baby there and it want fall. Now everyone is in a frenzy as she shakes it with vigour. Her smile is so bright that you can see her teeth gleaning in the darkness. Although its dark, the stage is illuminated by a huge born fire that serves as light and as a source of heat.
You can clearly see the facial expressions of the dancers. They smile, frown, grin, grimace and even scowl at the crowd. Sometimes they do not know what to do with their mouths. They dart their tongues in and out of their mouths like snakes as the music grips their souls. Both the crowd and the dancers get carried away. The drummers remain composed. Makhino's voice can be heard booming over the sweet tunes of the drums. Sometimes it gets swallowed in the frenzied drumming and cheering.
Wekesa and you manage to keep a low profile so no one has recognize you. At least not yet. Besides it is quite dark. There are so many people here and the place is buzzing with activity. However, when it,s time to indulge in the juicy goat steaks going round you can't help yourselves. The delicacy is accompanied by busaa a traditional brew that accompanies every single ceremony, happy or sombre. That's when things started heading south.
As you dig into the roasted pieces of goat meat with zest,one of the young men realize that Wekesa and you sneaked out to join the dance. The infuriated reveler shouts to alert the other party goers. Wekesa zooms away faster than you can say "ewe" . Startled, you also take off like a frightened rabbit. You dash off into the darkness as a small crowd gives chase.
Allow me to cut to the chase. Wekesa gets away. You get caught. They beat you like a drum. They tie you to a pole in the cow shed, legs up head down. You endure the smell of cow dung the whole night. Cows moo, sheep bleat, donkeys bray. You moan and groan all night, but it's futile. On this night, it rains like the clouds are also annoyed with you.
"Omwami!"
When you open your eyes, you see Wekesa fastened upside down next to you. Eventually, they caught up with him.
"Mulosi, khwaumia baya ..."
As you conclude your story, Khalayi rolls on the floor laughing. It was indeed a night to forget.
Did you enjoy? Kindly, share the joy with your friends on social media
Feel free to leave a comment below.
More to come ...
DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A COMMENT.
 |
| Wafula Wekati. Author. |
good story mr wekati ..keep it up.expecting more stories from you...the story makes me remember of chingano by kukhu..we used to eat supper very early so that by 8 ocklock we are already sat for the sweet stories...@peter barasa
ReplyDeleteHi comrade. I cherish the tales by kukhu but the culture is fading with the changing times.
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