Another few paragraphs from a book I may never publish

There is a small town in western Kenya called Kakamega. Slightly less or more than four hundred kilometres from Kenya’s capital Nairobi. It is a town which most of my school and classmates used to bluff a lot whenever they went there for a weekend eatout. I was born and raised in another kakamega sub called Bukura which is a few kilometres apart. Personally, I cherished every time I went there with my mum, though I can’t lie, it used to be so rare.

For the past good couple of months, I’ve been held in a bit of a cycle which could not easily break. Work-school-business cycle. This is a kind of cycle which labels you good names but mostly bad names. You lose touch with some of your friends. You lose touch with even some of your distant relatives when it’s totally not your fault.

How can he be paid yet he’s never finished college?

Nowadays he thinks he’s made it. He can’t even call or text to say hi.

You become less active socially – which is good by the way. The little time you always get is never enough to give to all of the things and give it to everyone.


Let me formally introduce you to a friend of mine from the school of economics called Roggoz. Roggoz is a nickname so you shouldn’t be thinking I have a Portuguese friend already. I won’t say much about him but there’s a bit of a sentiment from him which I really liked.

We once had a conversation about alcohol and drugs in general. It was a long and scattered conversation but one major point from him was that… sometimes in your spring life years, you may not need an addiction. All you may need is just to focus on whatever you are doing then make good money first. Whether it’s working, taking your academics serious or doing and growing your business.

This was a bit sensible and I finished the conversation by saying “hapo umeongea kama Padre mwenyewe”


1248hrs. A hot and sunny day in Kakamega town. I step out of KATAWECO SACCO passengers’ van and line my feet on the streets. I am only thinking of meeting my friend from the school of engineering.

Make friends outside your school please!

A pair of black AGK earphones sneaks itself through my sweatshirt. I skilfully find myself through the streets like it’s my backyard. Shaking my head to the cadence and voice of Madilu System, I get into some nice place for a bottle of water though I ended up biting. I walk into the restaurant and nobody cares even welcoming me or saying hi.

It’s the hospitality industry guys, come on.

I sit on one of the couches at the corner and I have to wave my hand for a waiter. A waitress quickly runs to me holding a cell phone and my head rings back to ArtCaffè…

We should not run inside the restaurant neither should we use our phones.

Hello pretty, how are you?

I strike a chat. What’s with most males calling every other girl or woman pretty? I also wonder.

She presses her lips and breathes in and out then responds.

I’m fine thank you

I’m not amazed so I give her my order right then.

Can I please have a cold large bottle of still water, without a glass and the menu please? “

Sorry ati umesema nini?” (Sorry what did you just say)

She asks for clarification in Swahili. I don’t know if it’s English that she doesn’t fathom or…?

What I decide to do is to repeat the order in Swahili.

Nasema uniletee maji ya kawaida kubwa baridi bila glass na menu tafadhali

She notes the order then smiles to me.

I smile back. Who I’m I?

Asante sana. Karibu 37 bar and lounge my name is Anita and I’ll be a at your service toady.” (Thanks. Welcome to 37 bar and lounge)

She turns and walks away as I shift my attention to my phone so that I may avoid looking at her behinds. I believe I’m just like all of you other men.

A few minutes later, I see her approaching me. She looks like she has no problem in this world. She is slow. She’s just pulling herself. Probably because it’s a Monday and from the look around I’m the only guest in the entire place. She serves the water but I have to remind her that I did not need the glass plus she didn’t carry the menu. I wonder what it is that she was noting down. Oh confused pretty girl.

I was biting chicken wings with one hand and the other one holding my phone. I was texting and checking on those who always alleged I was lost. I was scrolling through social media and I also got a chance to post updates.

While Scrolling through Instagram, I came across a post of a girl who I went with to grand school. It was a full photo with zero filters exposing just exactly who she was.

Close to a decade without ever meeting but just liking photos on social media. Meeting in Alumni WhatsApp chat groups then talking on phone for some months with failed meeting plans over and over. The snap had no caption but had location information which really amazed me. Then, I already envisaged a hook up because I knew if she was really at that location then I’d eminently link up with her. First before anything, I double tapped the pic then let everything else follow.

The photo was taken a place called Kefinco which was barely four kilometres from where I was. We slid into each others inbox and what conspired led to us finally meeting at Holden mall, Kakamega. Don’t ask what I did to my chicken wings and a bottle of water!


Circa 1348hrs on the same day. Sun still hot and shining. Wind blowing. Ginkgoales trees outside the mall swaying to the wave. Trans-county shuttle vans speeding along the highway. Personal vehicles getting in and outside the mall. People of different ages and gender. Some carrying shopping bags. Some just walking around. Some walking into the mall for some shopping experience. Some like me seated on benches outside the mall probably waiting on something or someone. I was keen to look around so I could spot her from a distance. I saw a figure walking towards me and I knew it was her. I could tell from her short, brown-dyed hair. I had seen it on one of her earlier posts. She stood slightly over five feet. She was rocking black pair of leggings with flat, urban, white low-cut Adidas sneakers. A sexy sleeveless summer dress top beautifully exposing her light skin arms, neck and shoulders. As she neared, she gave me a killer smile and then again who I’m I, I smiled back. I don’t know if it killed her. She was such a temptress.

Nick Osaleeee!”

She said as she got close to me and gave me a tight hug.

“Wow wow lady N!”

I was mesmerised.

We got stuck to each other, affectionately embracing as we murmured. You’d think we were love birds from a long time past. We walked away from the benches into the mall. Still holding hands you’d think we were in love yet we had barely ten minutes of live interaction.


We were seated in some nice restaurant inside the second deck of the mall. I checked her Instagram photos again just to compare with her in real face. Lady N must have been around twenty two years of age. We had been having our drinks first as we talked about the years before. The waitress came returned with the menu. She placed them on the table nicely then I told her to get us some water for the table first.

Lady N perused the menu. Regardless of what was there, she was gonna have deep fried fish fillet coated with spicy bread crumbs, then French fries as an accompaniment. She knew that place before and had actually come up with the suggestion.

Delicate piano music played as we enjoyed our main course. We indulged in a long, deep and merry conversation. Mostly about the many years after grand school. Sometimes laughing. Sometimes commenting on the restaurant ambience and service. Sometimes just holding hands then letting go when phone calls interrupted. We never put our phones on silent. We just didn’t take the date so serious while again we took it so serious!

While I had gone for a university degree, she did short professional business courses and had a spa well up and running in a nearby city of Kisumu. After we were done she offered to pay the bill but I was clever to bar her. We talked more and more even after the table was cleared and the bill paid.

1503hrs. Kenol bus terminal, Kakamega CBD. I get into an Ebenezer M SACCO passenger mini bus. The bus quickly fills up and in a few minutes we drive off. My head is light. Almost floating away upon thinking about the hours before. This girl damn! I quickly shift my attention to a text message from my long term girlfriend. I read it then call her straight away. There and then!

My loyalty will be greatly tested but I’m hundred percent I’ll win. A sexpot can not come from nowhere then mess my relationship. Even you darling readers can’t accept that I’m so sure.

However, one great African singer in the late nineties once said, walking is tiresome if and when you have the ability to fly.


Paragraphs from a different book which I might never publish.

Bustani market. King’eero road, Kamuti-ini. Lower Kabete. The golden sunball is slowly setting. Sinking into the eastern horizon. Another day killed! This particular evening, the market is full of people. Just as it’s supposed to be. Men, women and children. Some are walking home from work and school. Some are standing at the mama mboga waiting for their skuma. Some are idling outside shops talking and arguing in kikuyu dialect. Some are standing outside buses busy huggling and calling out “tao ndani hamosene. Mrembo ingia na forty.” Some are at the mutura and supu ya mguu guy enjoying the man’s delicacy.

And so, at this particular mutura place, a well built man- from the look of things he must be an athlete. Mid-skin complexion, slightly below six feet in height and well tapered moustache joins a group of people drinking and eating at this mutura baze. Let us call him Daktari.

Daktari is in a well pressed white shirt with a black necktie. A black pair of khaki trousers  and brown official boots. He is well accesorised with a silver watch plus a brown belt completing the look. You see him and wonder whether it’s when he’s going to work or he’s actually coming back from work. You wonder again what it is he is doing at that place. I mean, the dressing doesn’t match the eatery. He is conspicuously the odd one out among the mutura eating crowd.

Nikatie ya chwane”

Daktari orders the chef. Okay let’s imagine the vendor is actually a chef! We won’t just go around throwing professional names to people who barely seem professional from one look! Aye!

“Alafu weka pilipili safi sana” He adds.

“Saf sana hio nakupea Vere fast!” replies the chef.

The chef skillfully chops pieces of mutura and spreads a pinch of salt and some tomato salsa top of it. Tomato salsa what you people- mostly Kenyans, call kachumbari. 

And Daktari, the way he gobbles up the mutura! Hehee. He is unsatisfied so he orders more.

“Ongeza ingine ya mbao”

He eats the second serve.

“Weka ya mbao tena”

The third serve is quickly taken.

Imebaka ngapi, oh sijakulipa bado! Kata sasa ya kumi ikue mia”

He quickly eats and when he’s done, he hands the vendor a one hundred shilling note with one hand while greedily licking fingers of the other. Daktari walks away. Happy like a Kenyan campus girl promised a pizza Inn date. Or if not a campus girl, happy like a campus boy who just bought a packet of KDF at a tuck shop. Daktari will now have to walk for some minutes before getting to his apartment.

From that we can clearly learn that when it comes to mutura eating, there are two types of people! The ones who come and order ya mia one time and the others who eats chwani, mbao, mbao tena and finally ya kumi! Well Daktari happens to be the latter. Oh Daktari!

1841hrs and Daktari has just arrived in his house. He is on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate drink steaming by his side on an small all glass coffee table. He lives in a one bedroom apartment on the third deck of some storey building. The house is well furnished. And by well furnished, darling reader, I mean there are fine and expensive pieces of furniture. On the floor is a rugged white cotton carpet. A fourty-nine inch Sony telly is resting on an aesthetic TV stand. Whats more? There is internet and air conditioning. The kitchen balcony overlooks the green vegetation in Kiambu county stretching over to the horizon. And again, the kitchen is well furnished. I just won’t describe.

Ding dong! The doorbell rings. A moment of distraction to Daktari as he has to cut short his rest to open the door.

Oh Dr Penelope Karibu sana, nilikua hata nakungojea.”

Dr Penelope is a reputable counselling psychologist and consultant in the city of Nairobi. She has just arrived to have a session with Daktari regarding some issue that has been drilling a hole into Daktaris head.

Daktari is barely thirty years of age. He works at a logistics company located at the airport. He is well compensated. I mean he has money. Good money my friend. He is socially insured. He is health insured. Only that he doesn’t have a wife otherwise his spouse and all kids would have been health insured as well. I can imagine of you wondering why and how Daktari doesn’t have a wife yet and he seems well established and properly ordered. But before we go there, lets hear what conspires between Daktari and Dr Penelope.

“So Dr Penelope as I had mentioned to you on phone, I’m actually in a sheer tricky situation. I don’t know maybe am developing a depression. I can’t tell maybe you gonna figure it out…”

Yes I can tell you are. You seemingly haven’t sipped from your cup so I guess things are not in order with you. Yes go on please. Just tell me everything and be as open as possible so we can figure out solutions”

Dr Penelope cuts him short before daktari continues.

“Okay a few weeks ago, a girl I had been planning to marry actually disappeared from my life. I came home one evening ready with an expensive engagement ring for her. I put it on her finger and she was super excited about it. She cried tears of joy. We would later have a wonderful night. I mean we had sex! Okay to be honest she was the girl who making love to was more of a rarity than a norm.

We started dating eight months before. I had met her family but I had told her about the situation with me that I had no real family. She only met one or two of my distant cousins. Later I thought I needed to step up by putting a ring on it. On that very night- she actually woke me up at 2AM but man it was not extra sex as I would imagine. She had changed her mood. She seemed not like someone who had been sleeping! She said she had something serious she wanted to share with me. I hesitated and and begged her to say it later the following evening. I had some serious meeting so I didn’t want to stuff things into my head just a day to it. She said okay and I quickly got back to sleeping.

I woke up the following morning and made breakfast for two then brought it right into the bed. She ate well and I kissed her goodbye then I rushed out to work.

I came back from work and found strange things on the kitchen counter. There was the engagement ring, her iPhone, some of her academic certificates she had moved in with, credit cards and her identification documents. Moreover, there was a note with my name written on it. I sat on this very couch am sitting on and went through the note.

She said that it would be too late when I was reading it because she could probably be dead. She said she was so sorry for infecting me with HIV and she couldn’t just live knowing she did it to me. She briefly narrated of how she worked at a massage parlour and suspected to have been infected from there. She was remorseful but she affirmed that she couldn’t live with it. The note ended by saying that she loved me so much and only hoped to see me wherever it is that people go after life, heaven or hell.

My legs got weak after all that. I barely slept that night. A few days later I decided to take a HIV test and surprisingly I turned out negative. I just don’t know how because I admit we had unprotected sex at some point.

I reported her disappearance to her mother and her whole family plus the police. We were all not aware of where she could have gone. A few days later her body was reported to have been found floating on the banks of Karura river. The police took me to help them with investigations. I was grilled for few hours but then I got released after they read the note and everything she had left.

Her family was so much with me all along but they then filed a case upon learning that I am HIV negative while their daughter said she had infected me. Her dead body is at the morgue but the cells are long dead and they can not prove whether she had the virus. So I’m in a case where I have to prove that I didn’t in any way contribute to her suicide mission, say maybe emotionally harassing her, which is a criminal offence. You see now Dr Penelope? It’s eating into me and I just wanted to open up to someone since I have no real family. They all died while on holiday in Dar es salaam when I was in my final year of university.”

Daktari has finished narrating and so Dr Penelope clears her throat ready to say something to Daktari.

The room is silent and you can hear the flicker sound of the home theatre. The AC is at 27. Dr Penelope looks at her note book then puts it away and removes her spectacles. She takes a deep breath and just before she opens her mouth to say a word, the doorbell rings!


Nickosale Side 2018.

All rights reserved.

I sat there listening…

33 Utawala bus station. Circa 1600hrs. Moi avenue Nairobi. I am inside a city shuttle bus seated a few seats away from the bus entry as I lazily stare outside. The bus is filling up and the man at the entrance is courageously calling out for commuters. So many signboards and banners lively hang outside the buildings along the street. 

Tenessee fish and chips. 

Pettans driving school.

Topmark printers. 

Jakom men’s fasion. 

Sabina joy club and rest. 

On seeing Sabina joy, I pause and think. If someone wanted to visit Utawala from Nairobi CBD would it be wrong to tell them to board right outside Sabina joy? Yes they’d still manage. And for your information, Sabina joy is a joint you can go and have any woman you want. And definitely do some paysex because I think that’s what many men go there for.

“Utawala wawili tuu ijae!

Utawala sabini! 

Ingia ingia mrembo.”

The bus is nearly filling up but the seat beside me is still empty.

A mrembo gets in and spots the space then heads straight to where I am.

“Toa gari! Toa gari buda.”

The bus leaves. We are all being entertained by rhumba atonsio music that is coolly playing in the bus. 

I try to steal a glance at the chic. Okay I’m not the person who peeps from the corners of my eyes when trying to look at someone. Especially in a matatu or in a congregation. I simply turn my head and look at you while totally unbashed. That’s exactly what I did to the girl next to me. 

From her hair, her face and the royal blue blazer she’s rocking, I get her ranks but I keep it to myself. Come on, I won’t just tell her she’s stunning. If I was to do that, I’d trick her to stand up and move to the next seat so I can observe her…in particular!

I tell myself that I will not even talk to her. I turn away, I breathe hard and reach for my Samsung in my jacket pocket. The music playing in the bus is not friendly. I mean I don’t ever find rhumba music as fascinating that I can listen to it for some lengthy time. I unleash my earphones and fit them in my ears then aye, am shaking my head to The Chainsmokers.

We get to the point where Cesar comes our way collecting bus fare. I am engrossed in my music but then I feel a soft hand touching my right hand elbow. It’s the mrembo.

“Hi could you be having a twenty shillings coin you give it to me but I’ll pay your fare. I mean I have a hundred and twenty and am ready to pay someone’s bus fare. And by someone, I mean you. Something I’ve always done everyday I use public transport.”

The girl asked me. 

I look at her, I press my lips then I reply. 

“Haha okay if you want to pay si you just pay the whole of it. Why are you asking for 20 shillings from me. Come on mrembo. Today I’m the lucky guy.”

She laughs and holds down her face.

“Apana it’s because I just have the hundred and twenty plus a few one thousand notes. I speculate the guy collecting might have a problem finding change. Aha?”

“Aha yeah. I get you. Keep it I’ll pay for the two of us instead. I have a two hundred note. Hahaa.”

She laughs hysterically and while still laughing, the tax collector asks and I quickly hand him a one thousand shillings note. 

I also leave him an order.

“Kata ya wawili. Mimi na huyu mrembo anacheka.”

He hands me the change right there and then.

The mrembo looks at me with her eyes wide open. She is in chronic astonishment as if she has not been hysterically laughing some minutes ago.

I still have nothing to tell her. I mean what could I say anyway! I nearly turn away back to my music but I wisely reconsider that intention.

I spark up a chat. I don’t want to look ungentleman-like though I may still be. I don’t even know.

“You see, these people never lack change even with a ten thousand note. So baby girl your trick iko chini sana! Nimekulipia fare hata juu ya hio story.”

I put my earphones back into my ears. This time I molest the volume rocker until Samsung warns me that loud music is not good for my ears. Am so ignorant and reckless, I raise the volume even higher!

By then I am only imagining how and what the girl is thinking. I can only imagine that she wants to hear my voice again but poor girl child! She just might not! Am the master here.

As the bus goes further away from the city, people start alighting at various points but my mrembo and me are still not going down.  As we near to where am supposed to alight, she offers me a handshake and says…

“Me sasa nashukia hapa shooters. Thanks sana. Namba yako ni zero seven…?

“Oh stage shooters?, me pia. Hebu tushuke wote sasa hata tuongee vizuri. Nikupee namba yangu hadi hata ya siz wangu ukitaka.”

Thirty minutes later…

I had just arrived at my sisters place and found her home. That was a bit of rarity as she could probably be away at that particular hour on her job. And so on that day, there I was. I don’t bother her with questions but I just found myself asking her why she’s home earlier. 

“Kweli wewe mschanaa mbona leo umetoka jobo mapema? Unadhani hiyo jobo ni ya baba yako?”

“Ah usinisumbue kijanaa. Jibambe na chai yako wacha maswali za ujinga.”

This sister, yes this sister of mine is not a downhill. She must be very hard to men but I guess not! Women can never be hard to men. That one am not affirming, I am just imagining. We were still chatting then suddenly…

“Aye kijanaa, Winnie anakupigia.”

I look at my sister as she hands me the phone.

“Eh ati winne?”

I can’t seem to remember saving anyone’s number by that name but a few seconds later I realise it’s my mrembo from the bus. A good chunk of these Nairobi girls ask not for your number, but your phone so that they can save their number themselves. 

I compose myself quickly as I walk out of the sitting room to receive the call. 

I get back after the call to get my sister still in the living room. We keep dissing each other and get to one serious point.

“Lakini wewe kijanaa hawa warembo hukupigia simu wote, sijawai hata ambiwa in law ni nani”

” Ah wee wacha bana, usinisumbue. Kweli unadhani me nimemarry ndio nikuonyeshe in law? “

“Ah sawa ngoja siku moja utapotea njia ulete mmoja hapa. Nitakusema wewe ni womaniser! Hahaa” 

“Womaniser vitu gani? Wewe sister wa bwanako akikuambia bwanako ni womaniser utaamini? “

The chat goes on then later we stand up heading outside in the evening sun. 

The environment in and around Utawala is dry but tranquil. The golden sunball is nearly breaking the western horizon. We sit at some bench exposed to the evening sun. We diss more, we laugh and after that, matters get serious as my sister starts telling me this long story…

Then…I sat there listening.



This week I sat down and thought, I have forty-nine posts on WordPress and the one that was or is to come after the 49th would be, definitely the fiftieth. So partly because of writer’s block and the fact that my upcoming story is a bit longer than usual, I decided to write this instead and discuss about something else!

Two years ago when I stated this blog, I never knew I would get the readership I have come to get especially in this past year. I started out as a boy who didn’t even know where he was headed to. I would scribble a lot in my notebooks and imagine of ever seeing myself on a daily column. And there was me, right there with no talent or hobbies in particular then aye, I just started blogging. 

I have done several styles of writing. From literary stories such as paragraphs from a book I may never publish and did I make a mistake to freethought articles like on looking at girls and women, I can totally imagine that… and when did we first have sex? When did we unvirginise? Think pieces such as you don’t hate what shapes you. Listicles such as nine things I’ve learnt in twenty-two years and here are seven things that you should not be embarrassed about. 

I have written all these so for those who didn’t get a chance to go through them please don’t hesitate to click on the highlighted texts and read them. And if, you had gone through them be sure to repeat and get the feeling of what thrilled you back then. All I can say is that the journey has not been easy but it has been a good one.

Still on writing, I have submitted to international and local platforms but I haven’t just been able to nick it yet because I admit I have been told to try next time! And the next time I’m optimistic am gonna make it.

All that I hope is to make nickosale side a home of interesting stories, articles, listicles and think pieces. To grow as a writer. To deepen my understanding of art and just do something good to my readers.

Today I say thank you to all my followers and email subscribers. To all my friends inside and outside the blogosphere. To all my friends from the school of economics, family and relatives who have always psyched me up! I’m totally indebted to you for I wouldn’t be doing all this if not for you! 

You are special and so I thought I needed to dedicate my 50th post to you!

With so much Love.♡

So much hugs! 




I knew she was a virgin, when I first met her. She was rocking her school uniform. And that was a short maroon skirt, a neatly tied blouse covered by a maroon sleeveless sweater. White stockings with red strips around the top and brown laced shoes. Whatever I told her that morning would later lead to a string of issues…
….her aunt told her she could do better than a poor village boy! Her cousins told her that when I was a kid I used to avade the bathroom for days! That I used to be a kleptomaniac!
By then, I was a nineteen year-old psychotic, village-school educated trying to get a high class chic! No no! But me with my kiherehere, I seriously don’t even know how she fell on my bait! Later she would secretly visit me in my grass-thatched house. What they call isimba in Kakamega. And so, we did those things. Not once, not twice. Not even three times but uncountable times my brothers and sisters!
I never meant to break her heart or fuck up her life. But I was careless, instead of treating her right and holding on to what looked like a Romeo and Juliet 2012 Version, all I did was hit the pot. For I imagined that’s what she seemed to love. She was a city girl come on! She never complained though but she cried when her aunt forcefully exported her back to their home in the city.  Having transferred back to the city,  there was zero communication between us!


The village educated boychild excelled and joined a world class university in that very city she said she was from!

One Friday night, I went out with my boys after finishing our final semister exams. I mean, that was nearly a norm in campus! I saw her again at some club strippin and dancing around the pole! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I called her at my table- without mentioning her name. She did not even recognise me. She was high, she took my Keg cup and started shamelessly  imbibing from it! She gave me a lap dance. A demo I think. I looked at her tummy, her bare tits and sexy neck. It was her. Yes this was Asumpta! The one Asumpta that we ‘exchanged virginities.’ around six years back. Given she was doing it all for free, she stoped and moved away in barely three minutes! She went back to the pole. Moving her body to the beat, opening her legs and pouring alcohol into her ‘thing.’ Still and again, that was me at the corner not believing what I was seeing.
We left the club at 0336hrs according to my phone. I woke up at aroud midday, I went and sat at the benches outside our hostel. Hungry and with a bit of hung down. I thought. Did I make a mistake? I thougt again! Six years ago, me. Nick Osale, could I have made her life different?


When did we first have sex? When and how did we ‘unvirginise?’

I sat down eye to eye with my friends. I later texted them on WhatsApp and sought more of what we discussed. I went home sat alone in total silence. No lyrical music, no coffee boost, no tea, no nothing! Totally. I started resonating of how, why and when we locked legs with the opposite gender.

According to the biblical theory of creation, God created Adam and Eve. He then put them in a virgin garden of Eden. Though we are not told, it is interesting to hear of how the thing that Adam ate was the forbidden fruit and not Eve- literally.

To cut short the long story, we all have had that first time! If you’re reading this and you haven’t had it yet then trust me you’re on the verge or definitely one day you will. Or are you gonna say that you are planning to die without ever having sex? So here are stories I made for you and it’s upon you to figure out if they are fictional or real life! But just look at what people had to narrate about their first time experience! Et voila!

When I was 16 and in my second year of high school, I got to a point where I was tired of being denied the thing by my all time and steady girlfriend. So one day I went off the fidelity and loyalty Lane! My big sister had brought me a new Huawei Ideos-remember those phones how they were praised during their times. I checked on Google and landed myself an app called tinder. I turned location on and searched for ‘girls under 20 nearby.’ I found a girl who had just finished high school not far from our home. We started having lively chats and flirting twenty four seven. On the second day we agreed to meet for sex! Imagine, just for sex and nothing else. It was a Saturday afternoon and so everything was cool. I got at their house and she welcomed me with a cup of lemon tea. She went through the corridor and came back changed. She was in a sexy, short, white, linen, sleeveless dress! I zoomed at her body properly and I could tell that she was not just braless but pantyless as well! Belive me the moment she sat next to me my attention shifted from the cup of lemon tea, I got horny and felt like I was cumming! I had never gotten that close to a girl except only my sister! In barely 30 seconds we were doing these things you see in movies!

And that’s how I got unvirginesd by a girl that seemed to be a specialist in that art! Today I’m 23 and I always laugh out loud about that whole story. I nearly shared it to my current girlfriend but I quickly withdrew that idea after thinking twice! Anonymous, 23 years old. Nairobi West.

Virginity was someting I really valued all years of my life. I was the kind of girl who was feared by boys in our hood. You know these girls with glasses and looking like nerds? Yes! So I went through all my primary, secondary and post-secondary schools without ever having sex.-though I was masterbating in campus! I however believed that my Virginity was purely meant for my husband. So then I met James-not his real name. A guy who we were both interns at UNEP in Gigiri. He was cool and had the looks! In the final month of our internship, we started attracting each other- I don’t know if he was attracted to me too! Okay I believe he was. Within a week we had already had sex and you know what? I never cried or made the noise you girls do! I never bled- probably because I had lost my hymen to masturbation! Okay the pain was there but not to the extreme. It was not a good experience though, and at the same time it wasn’t at bad experience.

Today am 31. Not married. No kid. No man! The greatest thing I ever regret though is the fact that I gave away my purity to a man who never loved me, leave alone promising to marry me! He loved fucking me when all I really wanted was him to fucking love me. We hold chats and call each other frequently, we see each other on social media but it hurts because my feelings for him have never gone away and morever,he’s happily married and has 2 kids!

Anonymous. 31 years old Eastleigh. Nairobi.

She was a girl I had attended the same grandschool with. Her name was Caren- not real again. She was around 8 months younger than me. So when she had come back home after finishing high school, her body suddenly started looking sexy for me to resist! I was just fresh from finishing high school as well and I was fire in flirting. I went to her and jokingly asked for the thing. I remember I openly said ‘Yeh Caren I seriously want that thing in the thong!’ She said yes. A very terse yes and the next day it was me and her inside her parents house unvirginisig. It was the first time for both of us so we looked confused though I managed to make her scream my name- I don’t know if it was faking or real though!

Today, am 22 and she’s still giving me these things and happily enough, I have future plans with her and by that I don’t mean marriage but I mean we are contracted sex mates plus we joined the same university! Anonymous, 22 years old. Loresho. Nairobi!

I remember well it was during the electioneering period in Kenya. Around Feb or March of 2013. My long time girlfriend who I had nicknamed BMW- Beatrice Maina Wanjiru had arrived back from school for the elections break. We stared chilling out frequently. Alternating between their home and ours. I was this guy who easily got aroused and I remember I could get horny only upon seeing condoms in my closet drawer. So one day we started making out on the couch. We stood up and headed into my bedroom. We covered ourselves with my warm duvet even when we clearly knew it was a hot afternoon. I reached for my condoms, I don’t even know how I put it on! Long story cut short, we did some funny things but at the end of the day we both had unvirginesd one another.

Today I am 24 and my BMW is 22 but I just got reports that she got a baby boy while in her final year of campus. Anonymous. 24 years old. Imara daima. Nairobi.

I met my current boyfriend around five years ago when I had just finished my primary school exams. I went away to a city far away from where he was living and in close to three years all we did was chat on Facebook and send each other photos. One time I came to visit my cousins who happened to live in the same area he lived.- I mean, that’s why we met. On our first date, we kissed. On the second date we kissed again but I could tell he wanted more than canoodling. All I wanted was to remain pure until I get my husband but it turned out that we got tight and sometimes talked about marrying!

Okay we first had sex at his place after long contemplation. I had trusted him with my heart so why not my vagina? I cried. I got stressed about what I had just done for some few days afterwards but he assured me he was the right guy for unvirginising me! Soon enough before I left the city he was living, I had the assurance so my love and trust in him grew more. A year later, I joined university in the same city and so our relationship became more official and dates elevated. I love this guy, I gave him my virginity. I have caught him cheating twice but the pain of how my virginity would have gone away with him makes me put such things behind my back and go on with him. He shows signs of changing.

Today I am 20 and still dating my unvirginiser happily except only, I suspect he’s having some secret affairs. He took my precious asset and he can not give it back neither can’t I get it anywhere else! 20 years old. Vikwatani. South coast Mombasa.

You are my Kahawa Tungu! 

 Kahawa! kahawa! kahawa!

I don’t know! This caffeine drink that is loved by many with the hope of slowly aging! 

Tungu!  Honestly, I don’t even know what it is! 

Probably it could be a swahili word, a Kikuyu, Luhya, Kisii or any other bantu word! 

We can only imagine. 

I sit on the couch every evening after school and work with you right in front of me!

In a porcelain mug! Or in whatever container I may choose to take you from!

Carefully held by both of my hands. Slowly I sip! 

Sometimes I add milk and cream.

Sometimes I add hot water and an ounce of vodka.

But mostly, I just take you the way you are. 

Straight out of that Nescafé tin, I elevate you on a teaspoon! 

And drop you in steaming water!

Your colour! 

Black! And some whitish froth, or is it foam?

That being the way we were traditionally supposed take you!

I only intend, and only interested to be intoxicated by the caffeine in you so I can relax and…

…and maybe get into the shower then let my head down and get off the edge.

And maybe eventually pull the day behind my back! 

But now this word Tungu comes into play!

I just don’t know what this Tungu is! 

Could this Tungu be…..

… the reason why today you say you love me and tomorrow you openly say you hate me!

Could it be the reason why you get mad, tell me to never call you but you call me in just under three hours later?

Could this Tungu be the reason why you say you miss me yet you can’t drop everything and sleep over on one of those weekends? 

Or could it be why you say you adore me so much but you can’t utter any reasonable thing when we’re on the phone? Or that’s the meaning of “out of words?”

Could this Tungu be something relating to your attitude towards my open-mindedness? 

Could it be why you never want me to be an inch away from you even when we’ve been on the same bed for two days? 

Could this Tungu be why you prefer me to just come over and watch you try dresses and tops you bought at Gikomba? 

Could it be why you cry like a baby when I step outside your door thinking I’ll never come back again? 

The Tungu I also speculate, could be the reason why you went to Esther’s house and offered her a million so she could dissappear from my life! 

Sometimes the Tungu is good! 

Sometimes the Tungu is not good! I can’t say bad but it’s just something else!

I just can’t figure out! And am gonna be honest! 

I prefer you being that kahawa Tungu! 

Yes that Tungu factor in you! That thing I just can’t easily fathom.

That thing which even after I understand, it elevates to another level! 

Something I wanna keep learning everyday! 

So that I can keep my eyes on you all the days!

And keep sipping! Being intoxicated every evening! Hoping that the tunguness won’t break it’s borders. One day!