3 thoughts on “SECOND ISSUE-THE LAKE BASIN JEWEL MAGAZINE”

1. Obat Masira October 27, 2009 at 9:13 am

   THE CELL

   By CJ Odhiambo,

   Department of Literature, Theatre and Film studies

   “S%#*….! I’ll repeat again. S%#*…. A hundred times. S%#*… Yes… all of you. You are all shit. Policemen, Professors, doctors, students, teachers, secretaries. All of you. S%#*… S%#*… S%#*…. He screamed at the top of her voice.

   “Shut up! Bloody madman. Shut up that stinking mouth of yours or I’ll shut it up for you”. The policemen at the counter shouted back at the voice.

   “Yes” the voice from inside shouted back. “I’m mad, and all that you’ve said and more that you’ve not said. But that does not make you in anyway a lesser shit.

   “You good for nothing criminal stop your madness. When I come inside there, I promise you, you will regret why you have a mouth”. The policeman angrily shouted back once again, and continued with his work; taking down the details of our particulars.

   The door opened and we were roughly pushed inside. The room was dark. It was stinking terribly. It was congested. There was hardly a space for some to stand on. Those who had been thrown in earlier refused to create space for us. We groped in the darkness. To get space, one had to fight real hard. We fought. In the end we got some space. Then calm returned.

   There was complete silence. Silence in darkness. It was terrifying. Silence in darkness can be frightening. Then the voice disturbed the silence. He was singing. And like a plague, the singing spread throughout the room. It was harmonious. They must have rehearsed it. The song evoked memories of the revival meeting I used to attend as a child. And for once I felt a sense of security. The song was familiar. The song came to an abrupt end. Just as it had started. But the silence was short-lived. A voice boomed from where the singing had started. It was praying. Asking God to help those who sinned to overcome their sins. The inmates responded with intermittent “Amen”. The voice prayed. It was quite a powerful prayer. The voce prayed till the lights began penetrating the room through the ventilation holes.

   And I knew it was morning. I could now see most of the rooms Quite well. Then I felt some warm liquid passing under my feet. The water was fighting for the little space in the room. I could not see where it was coming from. Finally the door of the room opened. Three policemen entered. They ordered us to squat down. Now I could clearly see the room. The floor was messy. Vomit, urine and shit struggling for space. On that floor.

   Koook… Koook… Koook… Koook… The contact between the stick and human heads sounded. The policemen were knocking our heads. I later came to know that that was their idea of counting. The counting was repeated several times. And we received as many knocks. Then they left. And miraculously The room seemed to have become larger. I could now see the whole room. At one corner was a bucket. The contents of The bucket made me sick. Sick in the heart. Sick in the Stomach. Sick in the mouth.

   I became sicker when the breakfast was announced. They brought for us porridge in the tins but I could not bring myself to take the porridge. Those who had been in the cells much longer took it with a lot of relish. They even went for second helping. As the other inmates were busy taking their porridge I saw one inmate walk towards the bucket. I thought he was going to pour the porridge. I was dead wrong.

   When he reached the bucket, he unzipped his trousers, lowered his trousers and took a position above the bucket. At the same time he was taking a sip of the content in his tin. The other inmates went on with their own activities. Taking porridge. Oblivious of his act His act made me sicker.

   “Makanga” I heard my name called from the direction of the door. “yes, Afande”. I shouted running towards the door. The door opened for me. I walked out. The air outside was refreshing. Then I saw him standing at the counter. He was smiling. I could not return the smiles. I was given back my shoes, belt and jacket. “You are free” I could not get words to thank him. So I mumbled some incomprehensive sounds as I put on my shoes. Then I hurried direct to his car. He drove me to my place. All through the journey we did not talk about my experience. I think he understood I wanted to forget about this experience as fast as possible. Indeed. I wanted

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   From: Obat Masira
   Date: Mon, Oct 26, 2009 at 8:32 AM
   Subject: SECOND ISSUE-THE LAKE BASIN JEWEL MAGAZINE
2. Obat Masira October 27, 2009 at 9:15 am

   PEGGY

   By CJ Odhiambo,

   Department of Literature, Theatre and Film studies

   Moi University

   Peggy was her name. The only one that we knew. She must have had other name [which, however we did not know.] But Peggy was enough. We did not need to know any other name. Peggy. Peggy was always alone. But she seemed not to be bothered by her loneliness. Peggy was always a hot topic in the local pub. The only pub in Mambo Yote Estate. Men would meet for a drink. The whole evening the only subject of their discussion would nothing but Peggy. Every one in the sitting would offer his own

   imaginative construction of Peggy. Only through the power of the imagination could they capture in totality this creation that God whole heartedly spend his imagination and aesthetic skills for her in formulation. In their imagination constructions they tabulated the things that give a chance they would have done with Peggy. Peggy lodged herself deeply into their masculine imaginations. Only in their imagination. But not for Odima Nyadima. The son of the lakeshore.

   Odima Nyadima. That was his name. As the men satisfied the figments of their fecund imaginations, Odima Nyadima made up his mind that Peggy would never again be just the subject of his imagination but more than that. He wanted to transpose Peggy from his imagination in his physical life. As the other men passionately constructed Peggy Odima kept mute. He was no longer going to be part of this fantasy. He wanted Peggy. Not a construction of Peggy.

   Odima Nyadima was a proud man. A real man from the lake land. Where they say that a bull dies with the grass in its mouth. Odima Nyadima wanted to taste the grass that others could only chew with in the figments of their imaginations. Odima Nyadima was very affluent. He had made real money from his satellite of business sited in every province headquarters of the country. Because of his vast wealth Odima Nyadima strongly believed that his arm was long enough and with a slight stretch he could get what he wanted to get. With the stretch of his arm he felt that he would remove Peggy from the location in his imagination to a place more nearer to him.

   Odima Nyadima stopped visiting the local pub. He did not want to engage in fantasy any more. He did not want the other men’s imaginative reconstruction of Peggy to interfere with his own plans. He already saw himself much more way ahead of them. He was no longer a dreamer. He was a doer. And he wanted to give the idle dreamers as he now saw them a shock of their lives. He would narrate to them his expeditions with Peggy with relish. He would never leave out even the minutest details of the encounter. He would shame them. And forever they would know he was a real bull. The thoughts passed through his mind and already he felt as if he has already achieved what he had set out as his main objective. He smiled. And smiled again. The smile of victory. Victory over imagination. Victory over other men. Victory over a woman. Then. He came back to his senses. Peggy had gone back to the safety of his imagination. No. He had to get her out of the imagination. Immediately.

   One night as Odima Nyadima drove home to one of his wives, he remembered the heroes of his tribe. Gor Mahia. Lwanda Magere. Obondo Mumbo. Jaramogi Odinga. And himself at the bottom of the line. And this should be sooner than later. But. Only but if he conquered Peggy. The lady with only one name. “Oh Peggy” he muttered to himself. And as he drove home he thought of nothing but Peggy. By the time he reached home he did not even want to see Nungo Duong his latest wife.

   All his mind and heart was reserved for Peggy. He slept that night as if Nungo Duong was none existence. All night long the only thing he thought of was how he was going to confront Peggy.

   It just came to him like a dream. The bus stage. Yes. He would offer her a lift in his brand new BMW. He looked at his watch. But it was morning yet. And he longed for the morning. He wanted to give Peggy a lift. She would be definitely at the stage waiting for bus to work. He longed for the day to open its doors so that he could see Peggy. Then finally the day opened its doors. And Odima Nyadima hurriedly prepared to leave for work. This morning he did not even wait for breakfast. Nungo Duong could only be perplexed with her husband. He was not the same man who convinced her to become the third wife. But what could she do if a man did not want to have anything? That was his problem.

   Odima Nyadima drove slowly to the bus stage expecting to see Peggy. But she was not there. “But she is always here at this time”. He said to himself. He drove on but turned at the next street to check if she had come by now. Peggy was not there. Disappointed he drove to his place of work. The whole day he could not work.

   His mind was preoccupied with the image of Peggy. He was determined to get his name in the list of his tribe’s heroes. For the whole week he looked across the bus stage but Peggy was nowhere to be seen.

   Odima Nyadima was just about to lose hope. Then. One evening it was raining seriously. In front of Odima Nyadima was a figure struggling to get away from the madness of this rain. Uncharacteristically Odima Nyadima stopped to help this creature being pounded by the vagaries of nature. His heart nearly jumped out of mouth. Who was this? He could not believe it. He could only mutter the words “get into the car”. And she did. She was drenched and shivering. Odima removed his jacket and handed it over to her “Cover yourself” he said.” Thanks.” She answered back with chattering teeth.

   Thoughts. Thoughts. Passed traversed his mind. He wanted to tell her something but he could not find the words. And he began to hate himself. All this time. And yet now he could not say a word to express his longing. When he tried saying anything he ended up only breathing hard. And the only comment she could make was is something wrong.”

   “No.” And he hated himself for that too.” I will come out here,” She announced. “Oh”. He said. And opened the door for her. “Thank you”. She said. “Not at all.” He said. And that is the moment that he gathered courage and asked if she could spare an evening for a drink. She agreed. Friday. But this was just Monday. Odima Nyadima waited for the Friday. He checked the calendar every day to make sure that he did not miss on this date.

   Nungo Duong a wanted to know what was so special about this particular Friday that the husband had marked with a red pen on all the calendars in the house and office. But he could not oblige to tell her the secret. How? Friday. The Friday came. Odima Nyadima woke up early than usual. The dater would be late in the evening. He went to the office and informed his secretary that he was not going to be in the office the whole day. And he left and headed for the hotel where they had agreed to meet. It was only three in the afternoon. He was expecting Peggy not early than six O’clock. He didn’t want to make any mistake. He waited. Any time he heard light touching footsteps he thought it was Peggy. And his heart skipped a bit. He wanted her to come and yet he did not know what he wanted to tell her?

   Finally. Peggy. His heart skipped. She was. Beautiful. Just beautiful. Such beauty he had not seen for long. He lost words. He could only mutter some incoherent sounds. Which she took as an invitation. Then the food. Then drinks. Then more drinks. Then words. Sweet words from both mouths. Sweet words. And more sweet words. Then. Into the room. It was a room. Odima must have paid for it with a fortune. In no time Odima Nyadima had parodied Adam. No leaves or anything to cover God’s imagination. Then he slipped under the warm sheets waiting for her to follow. She followed. But she was not Adam’s Eve. She was fully dressed. “Why? He asked. “I am seeing my moon”. She answered as a matter of fact.” What do you mean seeing your moon?” He stammered. “I am on my periods”. She announced. He kept quite. Then he asked slowly pronouncing each syllable, Which periods are these you are having/ Then she answered now laughing. “Menstrual”

   That was it. A real man of the lake, of the stature of Gor Mahia, Lwanda Magere, Obondo Mumbo, and Jaramogi Odinga could not conceive himself joined to such filth. Disgusted, Odima Nyadima jumped out of the bed and into his clothes. He banged the door behind him.

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   From: Obat Masira
   Date: Mon, Oct 26, 2009 at 8:32 AM
   Subject: SECOND ISSUE-THE LAKE BASIN JEWEL MAGAZINE
3. nyagilo November 7, 2009 at 1:42 pm

   If you want to make a move somewhere, try as much as possible and discover why other fellow friends are just imagining before you be overcome by your selfish egos.
   There is a saying that sumerizes all story which says, Hurry hurry has no blessings.