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Creative Writing.

Terminal 1.

Everyone is in a rush School kids all over the place 'Is it monday?' Yelling touts and passengers scurrying off make up the rest of the bustle.   Two, three steps into the hustle, A whiff of Omena tickles my nostrils, 'Mama mboga is late today' I think to myself.   Suddenly interrupted by a strong smell of detergents Lightly coated with a tinge of urine. Cleaning going on at the Ekotoilet.   Further into the jungle of metal shacks on motor and wheels, Amidst calls for 'wanyee kabiria hamsini'. Which suddenly changes to 'mlolongo mlolongo gari ya haraka', and then another jumbled phrase I can not recall.   Ahead a sign board says 'Railways museum' I exit to the left. It promptly goes quiet. ©shedyk ...

Everyone is in a rush Schoo...

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PEN MINES

Speech by Oduor Jagero.  Maseno University, School of Arts and Social Sciences 15 Oct. 2014 Good morning everyone! I want to thank Dr. Omwalo for his kind words about my book and inviting me here to talk with the students, and by extension,to all the people gathered here today. May be I should start by congratulating all the students for being here, doing what you’re doing, for achieving what I could not achieve. I failed to attain the required points to join the university. My marks were two points below the required. But a fail is a fail. There is no good fail. I had no luxury of going to the university through a parallel program. My story is humble as it is special. I was...

Speech by Oduor Jagero.  Mase...

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NAIROBI RAIN

It is a rainy evening in Nairobi, Long lines at the bus stop, Muddy, exhausted and hurrying feet, She is almost there. Feet in sodden socks and sharp toed boots, Are rushing to a rendezvous, Looking for an umbrella with a company logo on it, He crosses the puddled road. Lips parted in hallo say, “At Last”, A welcome embrace lingers much too long, While muddy exhausted feet seek out, Sodden socks in sharp toed boots. The hours in traffic are more than long, In the limited space of the noisy bus, The heat from the engine is eclipsed, By feet in sodden socks placed perilously close to muddy and exhausted feet. In the warmth of a cramped flat in Eastlands, A door is hastily locked, While crowds below try to clean off their feet, Sodden socks are trapped...

It is a rainy evening in Nairo...

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Rodger the hacker. True citizen excerpt by Oduor Jagero

Roger was a hacker. The companies he had wronged hated him; the ones he’d helped to secure their systems adored him. But his peers, especially novices in IT, worshipped him. He never wore official trousers, shirts, or jackets. He never owned a pair of official shoes in his adult life, and he had a phobia for neckties. He bathed twice a week, never combed his hair, and could easily vomit at the smell of perfume. He never, ever, wore socks, and his feet sweated. It was difficult to work with him or sit by him because of his pungent odor. His girlfriend said he smelled like sh!t, but she also confessed her addiction to his brainpower. They had dated for six years...

Roger was a hacker. The compan...

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True Citizen -Synopsis by Oduor Jagero

In the ten-by-ten shack, Maina, four years old, is writing his home assignment. Kamau, Maina’s dad, drunk and angry comes home. He wants to know whether his pregnant wife is carrying his child or not. He storms the house and descends on her with blows and kicks. Battered to near death, writhing in a pool of blood, Kamau raises a stool above his head in order to crush her skull. Maina, bolstered by anger, sinks a kitchen knife into his dad’s spine, killing him instantly. Now thirty-three years old, Maina is haunted by his past and tortured by poverty. He enlists himself into violent robbery. Then Love raids his life. Nyawira, a beautiful woman, steals his heart, begs him to quit robbery....

In the ten-by-ten shack, Maina...

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I Call Him James Bond

If anyone had told me that I would one day be seated across a table from James Bond at a fancy restaurant with three full pages of the menu dedicated to French and South African wines, I would have scoffed at them and walked off. Yet he had called me out of the blue to propose a business venture. My real estate holdings needed a pick-me-up after six dry months in a black hole of obscurity and the usual weekend company, Lisa, had run off with another group of friends for a weekend getaway I wasn’t feeling up to. Saying his name without leaving behind a trail of curiosity about my manner has always been a challenge. I had a flared red hot...

If anyone had told me that I w...

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Street Sweeper.

I street Sweeper, I could you tell you my dreams! While I sweep, sweep clean all the alleys and bins, When I sing, sing songs of the cars and the clothes, That maybe one day, would give me a face and a name. I street sweeper, I move, move because I am invisible, I know, know because I have no voice, I am allowed to see, see because I am blind, This is why I am trusted with the secrets of this city. I street sweeper, Have a kanga for the naked and mad, Pick up the wrappers and packs, Of a population of people who have no time for people, Who are without face, without name! I street sweeper, Take whatever scraps remain, Make a home of whatever is strong, And a meal at the brink of...

I street Sweeper, I could you...

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An Accountant’s Journal

A reed will dance in the water from the rhythm of a gyrating stream a stone’s throw from the settlement whose stories remain untold. The drums whose music forces the dance are two wrinkled arms with rough ugly hands holding down the head of a struggling child recently shocked into awaking. Nothing makes sense in his head as it fills up with darkness while the rest of his body yields to the water taking its place therein. He cannot see the lifeless form of his older sibling floating farther away from the scene. He knows those hands. They fed him earlier in the evening. They have smeared oil all over his naked body. They have carried him while he sleeps....

A reed will dance in the water...

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Dance of Death

A reed will dance in the water from the rhythm of a gyrating stream a stone’s throw from the settlement whose stories remain untold. The drums whose music forces the dance are two wrinkled arms with rough ugly hands holding down the head of a struggling child recently shocked into awaking. Nothing makes sense in his head as it fills up with darkness while the rest of his body yields to the water taking its place therein. He cannot see the lifeless form of his older sibling floating farther away from the scene. He knows those hands. They fed him earlier in the evening. They have smeared oil all over his naked body. They have carried him while he sleeps....

A reed will dance in the water...

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Empty Nest

I’m seated on my couch pretending to watch the current episode of Scandal. My cellphone is on the floor. It’s ringing. I don’t know why it won’t stop ringing. I can’t tell who would be calling me at this hour or why they have been trying to reach me for the past hour. The clock says it’s half past midnight. The carpet spread from one end of the living room to the next makes the house warm; and a little dusty when the sun’s heat loosens the dust from the unpaved path outside the gate. It also helps with the unwanted phone calls because having my cellphone ring on the floor reduces the startling vibrations and constant buzzing. The bottle of...

I’m seated on my couch prete...

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So it goes.

You wake up with the rising sun, Drench your blood in your favorite variant of nicotine or caffeine, You are wired to toil till the sun sets, Fueling at preordained intervals. The moonlight glow marks another chance to rest, To wait for the rising sun, and so it goes. Script n Rhyme by Shedyk....

You wake up with the rising su...

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