A concert of their own

Ben invited Nancy to lunch on his  unluckiest day.
His immediate boss had uttered a long list of reasons why he was being monitored. The conclusion of that list had been on word “underperformance.”
Daniel, the employee of the month, had sold three homes worth ten million. He on the other hand had sold one apartment and secured ten tenants. This was not good according to his boss. In his words, “we expect the best and this is not the best Benjamin. Your colleagues bring in investments greater than you and yet you earn the same basic salary. You need to do something about this. Consider it your first warning.”
He’d walked out of that office smiling.
No one was to see him frowning or sad about being lectured. If they knew he’d remind them that their commission depended on their sales. The employee of the month was proof of mismanagement of funds. He earned his commission and splashed it on his Mark Two car that never seemed to glide over a bump without a scrape.

So when he received Nancy’s text that she was busy, his heart went out to Njuguna’s pub right across the street from his house.
He sent her another text: it’s okay, later love.

He sat down and went to back work. He had a list of clients in his database that he would follow up on to gauge their commitment to the organization. He pulled out his calculator and keyed in the figures of his sales. He calculated his commission and sank in his chair. How could he have stayed here this long? He had wanted to start his own Real Estate Organization and resume school but somewhere between young single friends, readily available pubs and single women, his dream had faded into the background.
He was looking forward to having dinner instead with Nancy. They had been dating since January. In that time he’d learned that if she sent him a text he had to reply in under two minutes. If she talked about salon or somebody’s dress or perfume or weave he had to look at her and nod just like he did in his Comm skills class!

He also accepted that she was the mistress of disguise every time she visited the salon. His new skills included naming weaves, so far he knew Daniella, Isabella, and Sophia.

He left work an hour early to prepare for dinner. He dropped by The Green Restaurant and bought the best of their fried chicken curry and vegetable rice before stopping by Uchumi supermarket for some wine. Nancy loved the Four Cousins and he did not hesitate to get that.
He got home in time to pay Mama Flo for cleaning and dusting the place.

He then started setting up the house for that dinner taking his time because she’d be delayed due to the traffic.

Nancy knocked on his door at seven o’clock still in her grey office attire. She wore nothing but exhaustion and before Ben could speak she told him about the stupid traffic police who made the driver pullover and ignored them for thirty minutes. She couldn’t alight because the conductor could not return their money. The woman seated beside her chewed loudly. The driver turned on Classic FM and the station lived on repeating the same songs.
When she stopped she turned to him and asked, “I’m sorry, my day has been pathetic, how was your day?”
“My day was good love. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So, what are we having for supper?”
“Close your eyes for a minute, I know you are tired but tafadhali I promise it won’t take long.”

She closed her eyes and he turned on the lights and his music player. He walked to the middle of the room praying that she would believe in him because he did not at that moment. He was shaking when he said, “open your eyes Nancy.”
“Ben is that Mozart?”
“Yes, I know your dream is to attend one in New York, and I swear you are the only person I know who loves this kind of music, so I thought why not have our own concert here and now, just the two of us, and ask, will you marry me Nancy?”

“What? Ben, yes! Yes! I will marry you, and now I feel so stupid. I was all about my day but you had this prepared for me. Thank you sweetie, I love you. Wait till I show my friends!”
“Let’s eat then, so you really don’t mind this?”
“How many people listen to Mozart through their home theater system in Nairobi? Don’t you like how it fills the house?”
He didn’t but she did and in that moment, Ben and Nancy loved each other in their own little concert.

Other stories you’ll love:

Mira’s Love Affair 2

For those about to rock, We salute you


The pain that is revising a manuscript with an Editor.

Revising a book you’ve written is tough.

It’s frustrating especially when you have an Editor who is keen on questioning not every word but every scene and character as though you were in some CSI show trying to solve a murder! I am frustrated. However,other Writers have been through this and working with an Editor is like seeing your work in a new way. You hate it and love it at the same time but most of the time you are definitely choking your Editor in your head.

Looking back at book two in the Currents Series, I came across some bits of dialogue that reminded me of why I was writing this series.

Pepper is pepper no matter how much you overcook it.

He is like a dog, just like you say, but the dog is the only beast that you will pelt with stones but it will never leave you. His acts resemble madness but remember that the man who is mad is not so without a reason.

The river is never in a hurry to get to the lake, but when it rains, it flows and takes everything to the bottom of the lake with it.

The one who has crossed the river knows where to step

Ai, it is a curse my boy. i use my tongue but the people who witness its use never have ears.

I have given myself one week to complete the revision of book three which is titled Wind and get started on the final book called Earth- and then after that…well, who knows a lot can happen in between Earth and my next writing project.

Books I read this past week.



From a retelling of Beauty and Beast in Depravity by M. J. Hagg to an awkward guy, cute if not extremely nervous around girls in The Last Seeker: Tristen my week has been great!
If you could have any super power which one would you choose?
Now, with ‘The Last Seeker,’ Tristen does have an awesome power but how he comes to learn of it makes it fun to read this book.

I also stayed up all night yesterday reading  Fearsome by S. A. Wolfe who introduced me to two handsome brothers; Dylan (who has Bipolar) and Carson (who is always grouchy and scowling). Fearsome though is part of a series each book serves as a stand alone which makes reading this romance quite okay…

I would however love to read “A Trail of Broken Wings” by Sejal Badani.
I tried the sample on kindle and I find myself drawn to the story, so am probably buying it this weekend after I finish reading most of the ebooks I downloaded.
Aside from all that, my week has been wonderful and I hope to read some more books on between my breaks.



Lupita Nyong’o Lands Second Vogue Cover

Beautiful 🙂


The dazzling Kenyan actress Lupita Nyong’o samples the fall couture collections and talks to Plum Sykes about fame, family, and her four new acting projects.

It’s the Monday morning of Paris Couture Week, and Lupita Nyong’o appears, right on time, from the elevator of Le Bristol hotel. Never mind that she’s come direct from a trip to her native Kenya, which she just happened to combine with an elephant-saving mission. Or that her flight landed only a few hours ago. Or that all her bags were lost en route. She is wearing a dramatically sculpted scarlet Dior minidress, her short hair is teased into a halo and held off her face with an Alice band, and her beautiful skin gleams with health. As she bounces into the lobby, her mirrored, blue-tinted Dior sunglasses reflect a roomful of transfixed…

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Dear Michael

East Africa Friday Feature Prompt: The mystic woods. What story do you see here?

This one’s for my friend. I pray you and your husband will heal.

I find myself in between words written using this blue pen on this white piece of paper. You left for work today at 5:30 in the morning. You looked at me, stretched your hand to stroke my head but withdrew it as though I was a baby who could cause mayhem with just one touch. You dressed in the bathroom and left without taking tea or even writing me a note. You live as though I am a minefield and you’re the Wanderer who has to make it through without losing a leg or an arm.
See, I noticed, not because I wanted to but because I could not sleep. I have not slept in a week and you think the medicine that doctor prescribed helps but it does not. I want us to talk and sit before the TV talking about La Malquerida with you pretending to follow when you are clearly bored. I want you to look at me like you did before the voices started filling my head.

It’s always the voices.

I can hear them and they are always coming after me. Where were you Michael? Where were you when they insisted I  follow them through those woods? Where were you when  I fell and had to cry out for help as they looked at each other wondering what to do?
Where were you when she flowed out of me like she could not stand the filth that  was within me? Where were you when the doctor had to say, “I am sorry for your loss,” reading from the script of her career as though those six words could bring her back to me?
Michael, I am not going to see the Therapist or Pastor Mark. I am not going to talk to my mom or your sisters or my best friend. Tell them we are not entertaining guests and talk to me.

Look at me and tell me everything you have to say for yourself because I am falling and I am also watching myself die every time I inch closer to the earth. You leave me in this house where our hopes for her assail me and expect to come back and find me cooking in the kitchen while listening to Xfm. Michael, she died and your sisters stood there debating over who pushed me and what they would say to your parents.
I lay there afraid to move as the trees parted to reveal the clear blue sky. How was I to know that no one visited those parts of the woods? How was I to know that whoever heard the children singing as they walked through that part would lose their soul? Who believes in such stories?

But, I heard the children singing. I heard their voices as beautiful as the sun that lit up the clear blue sky fill my heart with such peace before our daughter spilled out of me. It hurt. It still hurts and that is why I have not been able to close my eyes.
I closed them for a second thinking I could feel my legs but when I opened them I had lost my precious one. Our daughter.

You told me that night on our way back, “let’s forget about it baby girl, God has a plan for us, everything will be alright,” but you never looked at me again. We sat next to each other in that bus for three hours and you never said anything. Was it God’s plan to have your sisters trip me so I could fall in the middle of nowhere?
Was it God’s plan to have your family look at me like a pile of filth simply because I am not the woman they wanted you to marry? Was that reason enough for them to commit murder and then bring in God as a buffer?

Michael, you will come home tonight and find me seated on the kitchen floor waiting for you to read this letter. I cannot speak for my head is filled with your sisters voices and laughter. You will read this and when you are done, you will reach out and finally hold  me in your arms. You will sit there on the cold cement floor and hold onto me until I cleanse myself of every ounce of pain and anger through every tear drop.
When I stop for a while, we will have the Ugali and osuga that I shall have prepared and start…we will start because I know what I heard in those woods and I know now that they are not just stories. I know those children have our daughter and some day she too will sing for your sisters.

And oh…how I look forward to that day.

Your Wife, Maria.

Read these posts in the feature too.
Never Complain, Never Explain
The Human Shrine
The Red Kanga


East African Pili Pili Mogo

Binny's Kitchen & Travel diaries

As a true East African, I have a special place in my heart for Mogo (Cassava). It is so versatile. It tastes amazing barbequed or in Indian dishes with spices or in salads.

My favourite way to eat it though (aside from in Lighthouse, Mombasa) is with a fiery hot sauce which I call Poussin sauce.

Mogo takes me down memory lane to my days growing up in Mombasa, Kenya and my dad would take us every Sunday to Lighthouse to eat it roadside.

I am lucky that my husband’s family live in Mombasa and right opposite Lighthouse too so I can still get my fix everytime I visit.

I was recently sent Pili Pili sauces and a fruity sauce by a fellow lovely East African called Maggie, who now lives in Scotland. Originally from Tanzania, she has created a range of hot sauces with differing levels of heat as…

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When you’re down, it’s good to know that

Photo post by @facetioussoup.

Source: It’s okay!