The Weekly Review

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ECK Calls Off Election Campaigns

The Electoral Commission of Kimathi has released a statement announcing that there will be no campaigns this year. This is in line with the Ministry of Health directives that there should be no public gatherings due to the corona virus pandemic. Even without this directive from the ECK, there can’t be much campaigning this year, seeing that the Dekutso council nominees have no competitors. As opposed to earlier years where posters would be all over campus, there are none this year. Delegates have been relying on WhatsApp for their campaigns, with WhatsApp groups being the most common tool. Digital posters are also circulating on social media. The elections are set for the coming week, with delegate elections set to be held on Tuesday 24th and council elections on Friday 27th.

Political Tensions Escalate As DeKUT Nears Elections

After the ECK announced that there was only one successful nominee for each Dekutso council position, we embarked on the path to what could go down as the most unique election in Dekut’s history. It was astonishing to note that though there had been multiple candidates eyeing the various positions on the council, in the end, there was only one successful nominee for each of the seven positions. Comrades could not help but wonder how this had happened. Some of the explanations that have been offered include: betrayal in previously formed alliances between candidates and the influence of the deep state. John Gwambo, in an article published on DekuTrends, called for hygiene in Dekut politics, blaming the current situation on the heavy influence of tribalism in politics. Martin Pombe also called for the “losers to stop throwing tantrums and join hands with the winning side” for the betterment of Dekut, praising the nominee for Chairperson, Gakere Nyingi, as an able leader.

Comrades’ Choice Awards

Nomination for the CCA 2020 is ongoing, with voting set to begin soon on the DekuTrends website. The objective of the awards is to recognize and appreciate comrades in different fields, including sports, talent, comrade service, influence and entrepreneurship. To nominate someone for any award category, contact Learn more about the awards and see all the categories here

Concerns On Why Elections Are Being Held If There’s No Competition

There have been concerns among comrades regarding the necessity of the forthcoming elections since there is no competition. Normally, students elect delegates who in turn choose among several candidates. For each post, the candidate with the highest number of delegate votes becomes the winner.

But with the way things are this year, some comrades believe that it is useless to vote for the delegates since no matter what happens, the successful nominees will win. However, according to Muia Stephen, who is running for a delegate position in the department of Civil Engineering, it is possible for the nominees to fail to get into office, even if they have no competitors. This can happen if majority of the delegates decide to vote against the candidates. In such a case, a by-election will be organized by the ECK. If the same scenario occurs again, and the candidates fail to get a majority vote, then another person shall be appointed by the student council to fill the post.

This is explained by this excerpt, taken from the Dekutso constitution,

“In case there is only one candidate contesting for a post, the DEKUTSO electoral commission shall arrange for a special ballot paper where voters shall either vote for or against that candidate. A simple majority must vote for the said candidate. If the candidate fails to be voted for by a simple majority, the Electoral Commission Chairperson shall declare new dates for a by-election. If in a by-election only one candidate contests for that post, and the said candidate fails to secure a simple majority vote, the Students’ Council shall appoint another person to fill the post.”

Vice Chancellor Address to the First Years
The Vice Chancellor giving his official address to first years

On Tuesday 17th November, first years gathered in the Freedom Hall for the Vice Chancellor’s address and official welcome to the university. The VC, Prof Kioni, emphasized the university’s commitment to ensure that students finish their courses in the shortest time possible without compromising the quality of education. He also highlighted the importance of empowering students to establish and run successful enterprises in addition to giving them technical skills and knowledge. After the address, as a way of welcoming the first years to Dekut, they were given free yogurt.

Successful Accreditation of New Courses in Dekut
The VC upon receiving a visit from the CUE at the CBD campus

Following inspection by the Commission for University Education, close to ten new programs have been approved. These include three undergraduate programs: Bsc in Chemical Engineering, Bsc in Geology and B Tech in Building Construction. The other programs that have been approved are Masters Programs in: Telecommunication Engineering, Biomedical Engineering, Machine Tools Design and Manufacturing, Civil Engineering, Chemistry and Forensics and Security Management.

More on DekuTrends:

1. Con-men Take Students’ Laptops in Nyeri View

2. Official CCA 2020 Categories and Sponsors

3. Dekut to Mass Produce Coffee Flavored Yogurt

4. Dekut Student Embarrasses Himself in Ladies’ Washroom


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By Beardy Ed

Image credits:

It is a warm breezy afternoon. Her hair gets blown back lightly revealing her bright hazel eyes. Your heart flutters a little. Goddamn she is pretty. Her perfume lingers in the air every time she gestures with her slim beautiful arms. You cherish each second of your short walk from church to your hostels. Each Sunday is magical whenever she is around. Her voice entrances you as she weaves in from one event to another relating her week to you. Adjectives cannot fully describe her countenance. “If I could get her the moon!” You believe you must be special since she seeks you out every time so that you can walk her back to her hostels. Sadly, your thought train is cut short by her goodbye as you part ways to your different residences. Damn it! Does the distance get chewed up short on Sundays? As you walk off to your room, a tiny smile flutters on your lips. Happiness, joy and longing well up in you.

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“What is love?” The question has been on your mind for the past six months. Should I also mention that coincidentally it is also the same period of time that Amy and you have been having this sort of ritual walk? Sure you have been to a number of events together but nothing beats the perfect afternoon weather with Amy walking beside you. You can tell you feel something for her but cannot pinpoint it.

I would like to confidently state I do not know the answer to the above question. Love is a complicated emotion that has baffled many. Trying to describe it is akin to subjecting a toddler to complex calculus principles. She/he is spellbound by the concepts but cannot grasp an inkling of whatever is being taught. Many have tried to define love but can only do so from a given perspective that does not encompass the true and complete definition. In today’s world, the term love is most commonly taken to mean the erotic/romantic kind. It is not my wish to discuss this over-hyped and overrated form. There are numerous books, articles, journals, writings, radio programs and TV shows on it. As such, I would like to tackle a type of love that has been in the shadows for far too long.

Platonic love is defined as an emotion that leads to a close non-sexual relationship between heterosexual individuals. Simply put, it is the mutual feeling of connection between heterosexual friends. The Aegean philosopher Plato first described it in ‘The theory of Eros (love)’. We all express this love towards our friends whether male or female. Bromance is a great example of this. However, the society of today has it all mixed up. This is especially true in male-female friendships. Stereotypes have led to the transmission of ideas that lead to dating and casual sex causing sentimental confusion. A lot of guys mistake platonic love for erotic love thus bringing about an awkward situation once they get to realize they feel different. However, this does not mean that platonic love does not evolve and morph into erotic love. It does but not all the time.

Image credits: Pinterest

Some of the important pointers that indicate your emotions towards someone are platonic include:

  • You love being around them more than with anyone else.
  • You try your best to make time for them.
  • You feel they understand you the most and best. They can literally read you like a book.
  • You are happy whenever conversing on the phone with them.
  • You keep pictures and souvenirs of them.
  • You try to include them in your plans such as hikes, events, camping etc.
  • You cannot picture a life without them.
  • You feel comfortable around them. Fights are more common and take longer to resolve between romantic lovers than between friends in a platonic relationship.
  • You are interested in their lives e.g. their joys, pet peeves.
  • You have a lot in common e.g. your love for football, your shared dislike for a certain innocent individual.
  • You can both have endless conversations where you share your deepest thoughts and desires punctuated with numerous light-hearted moments. The awkward silence never occurs.
  • They are the first recipients of news about your life and hot juicy gossip. Their opinion is very important to you.
  • People often mistake you as a couple.
  • You avoid flirting and intimacy. You do not feel guilty when flirting with other people nor jealous if they do so. Sexual feelings do not crop up whenever you are together and alone.
Located opposite the DeKUT main gate on your way to Catholic Hostel

How can we deepen these relationships? First, express your love. You can get them gifts that clearly communicate your intentions. Make them a friendship necklace or buy them a yellow rose on Valentine’s Day. Second, spend time together to strengthen the relationship. You can go out on a friendly date, try new activities together or just take a walk together. In addition, always try to support them in what they do no matter how menial. Lastly, in order to avoid any confusion, always define the relationship. Many might tag you in some nasty memes about being in the friend zone. It is not a cardinal sin to strictly be a best friend but it is disastrous to be in a sort of limbo in the ‘what are we?’ stage after a romping session. 

Love is not about wanting the other person to be yours, it is about wanting the other person to be happy – Vadim Kotelnikov.

More articles by Beardy Ed:

  1. Cyber Security
  2. Toxic Masculinity

Of Dildo, Masturbation, Jason, and Death-2

By | Alan Shadowrine, Alan Shadowrine, Blog | No Comments

Continue from part 1

 Jason was the last explosive missile that had finally blown apart my hardened heart. Or we could say I was the reason that Jason would be falling apart in less than a year, not able to swallow the ocean of form around his sore mouth, his great smile fading across his sunken cheeks. To him, I would be the time-bomb waiting to explode on his face. And the last seconds of the time-out was at the abyss as soon as his call would off in the middle of this night.

In a flash of a second, I reviewed hell a lot of stuff that had brought us here.

I remember how it all happened, like it is all fixed at the tips of my fingers. My friendship with Jason began at the basketball pitch in the August of 2016, a time of the year when the cold weather across the country was unforgiving. I was a finalist, studying a course my parents had conspired I would pursue long before I was even conceived, while he was a third-year, pursuing an engineering course that he said he loved like Jesus loved the church.

Jason was the bright guy with the longest pair of shorts with green stripes and a pair of black and white baseball shoes, almost every day. He was unusually talkative, essentially outgoing, and almost always, cutely smiling. He smiled to the orange basketball, to the opposite team, to the rude and as dark as my grandmother’s pot coach, and even to space. His smile was the kind that found me uneasy, freely smiling back without authorization from my hard-to-get ego. The type of smile that is bright enough to light up the darkest souls. He was fast, a little skinny compared to other players, with a light skin complexion that made the smile more irresistible.

He did not style his hair like other campus dudes did. Nor did he show off his growing muscles through the sleeves of an unbuttoned shirt. He did not argue with the captain even when he was blamed for missing the score. When I asked him why he never justified himself, he said that while his team was learning how to shoot without missing, he learned how to fly without perching.

I never understood what exactly he meant by that phrase. But there was no way I would admit that I had no idea of what he meant. I would wait for the right time to ask the connection between a shooter and a flier. As the old saying goes, when the moon is shining, the cripple becomes hungry for a walk.

My cute Jason was composed, a little funny, and, as I would find out, very intelligent. He never missed practice both on weekdays and on weekends. Even though he missed many matches because the coach thought he was short and not as strong, he never missed practice. And as long as I can remember, I never missed practice too. Only that I never touched the basketball with my hands or let my shoes pet the concrete of the pitch.

I only sat on the side bench, cheering and shouting Jason’s name like a shot hornbill. And true to that, I would later become Jason’s hornbill, only that this time I would not be making loud noises into his tender ears or buzzing into his face like a hornet. I would be staring at him die, listening to him whiz the last gulp of his life, unable to curl his delicate flesh underneath my weakling wings. Poor Jason.

We fell in a sporadic kind of love that knows not knocking of doors or ringing of bells. I baked him cakes on his birthdays, and as bad as I was at baking, he always enjoyed them. He would wait for me outside the bathroom, playing Motor Combat or Need for Speed, oblivious of the need to live. I would go over to his place, and he would come to my place. Sometimes, he would come for a sleepover to my place as I stayed alone only to leave a week later. He was my mantra; I recited him every day.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that the call was almost ending. I led out a forced-relaxing breathe, my heart beating thunderously like a Yamaha motorbike, my mind racing like an Aston Martin. I swiped across the phone screen to receive the call. And like a mechanical machine that had not seen a lubricant for ages, I dragged the phone to my ears, the pulse on my arms too loud to ignore, the race in my mind so endearing, the blood in my veins too heavy to lift.

“Hello Jason,” I stammered.

“Hello Coll,” said the voice on the other side.

“How is it?” I enquired, pushing the dildo away.

“Good, they are taking me in to the buzzing machine in a few,” Jason struggled.

“Are you like, scared?” I asked. He never sounded afraid, not even a single day.

“Naah, but I have something to tell you,” he punched my heart, like I anticipated, clearly struggling to say it between two loud coughs. You could feel the pain in them, the pain of a human soul slipping out of the human flesh.

“What is it? Jason,” I sat down on the edge of the bed, my shoulders collapsing to myself momentarily.

“Sometimes, distance is the only way to heal and find peace. I hope we get enough of it to heal our wounds.”

“What do you mean?” I said to the hanged up call, the beeping sound of an ended need blaring to my ears.

What is your body count? Yes, you am asking you.


By | Fashion | One Comment

By Beardy Ed 

Photo credits: Memepesa 

I can tell you either laughed, giggled, chuckled, smiled or whatever the heck you do when amused. There is a lot of ‘teasing’ on social media most of which revolves around the physical appearance of ladies. Foreheads, flat bottoms, skinny frames, not-so-blessed busts and the list goes on. Notably, this is not only restricted to ladies but some gents also face the same treatment 

(I feel you light skinned men). 

What can be considered to be just harmless joking and where does the line lie? Are we going  overboard and leaning more towards cyber bullying? This is an emerging issue in today’s society. UNICEF defines cyber bullying as bullying with the use of technologies. It can take place on social media platforms, gaming platforms and mobile phone messaging apps. It is  repeated behavior aimed at scaring, angering or shaming those who are targeted. 

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Tweeps can actually attest to the occurrence of this phenomenon daily on the bird app (Twitter for the lesser). Not a day goes by without the use of harsh and hurtful words towards other app  users by unapologetic bullies. KOT is a proud lot of gossips, keyboard warriors and clueless individuals all who have a single mission; to expose and make fun of others for clout.  

I was recently treated to a horror show in one of the WhatsApp groups I am part of. A young  fellow decided to celebrate a man he considers to be one of his heroes and role models. Mind you this was on Facebook. The man being celebrated is considered to be a fraud by the rest of  the group members who has spent years in law school. The agents of doom never sleep a wink. 

A screenshot guru shared the post in question and all hell broke loose. The fellow was accorded  a front seat during his roasting session. Almost everyone delivered a sucker punch lowering the  fellow’s esteem. It still baffles me how he never left the group. 

Photo credits: Techweez 

How many times have we subjected others to such unwarranted treatment? Psychology tries to  explain the core reasons behind this uncouth behavior. Jealousy, obsession and a lack of  empathy tend to lead social media users down this dark path once in a while. Take a scenario  where a not-so-handsome sixteen-year-old boy comes out as gay online or a skinny nineteen year-old girl posts a photo of herself clad in a skimpy crochet top. What would your first reaction be? Jealousy at their brazen and maybe misguided confidence would burn through you. It is human to have negative emotions towards others but how we manage and let out these  emotions showcases our humanity. Frustration and underlying feelings of failure can also fuel bullying. Nerds and model students get the short end of the stick on this one. I can go on and on with a million examples but I hope you get what I am driving at. 

Almont Arts Photography Dekut, 0759982355

We may want to join in on the ‘fun’ with the bullying pack since everyone is doing it why not  me. Cyberbullying tends to occur on a one-on-one basis but the more common way is in form of pack bullying. Stars like Mulamwah and Jimmy Gait have had very rough journeys due to  pack bullies. Some of us may have been part and parcel of such marauding bands. 

It would do us no harm to restrain from crossing the line when joking with friends or keep off  making smart, sarcastic or rude remarks towards strangers online. Kindness cost nothing. I get  it that we all have our own issues. Offloading the anger and pain on others only gives a  temporary high. Give appreciation where it is due. Making others smile actually gives a sense of fulfillment. Remember that one time you gave someone a tiny gift and they got really excited? Does it even compare to the evil satisfaction you get when someone cries because of an insult? Always remember the golden rule: Do unto others what you would want them to do  unto you. 

Photo credits: 

In conclusion, for the cyber bullying victims, seek out a therapist to try and heal from the trauma.  It would also be great to remember that some evil guys just spend their time hating on others  because they consider themselves to be failures. It has nothing to do with you most of the time.  Keep on being you and doing what you do best.  

Surely good deeds will erase bad deeds – Al Quran 11:114

A Case of Addiction

By | Blog | 2 Comments

*By Mo Kim*

The facilitator arrived half an hour earlier than the rest of the support group members so that he could prepare the room for the session. It was an alcoholics’ support group. He brewed a jug of coffee, arranged the chairs into an intimate circle then adjusted the lighting to a comfortable hue. He knew from experience and from the training he had received on how to conduct a support group, that such seemingly trivial matters foster intimacy, trust and an easy feeling, all which work wonderfully well for a support group. After his preparations, he took his seat and patiently waited for the members to come in. The only blemish to the amiable expression on his face was a scarcely noticeable frown, the cause of which was the arrival of a new member into the group, a member who was in her final year of study at a certain university. He secretly hoped Debra, the new member, would not upset the group dynamic, for he had gone to great lengths to instill a sense of trust into the group, and people are generally unwelcoming to change.

All members having arrived, he opened the meeting by welcoming them. The sweetly deep tone of his voice, the softly pleasant expression on his face, his gentle use of gestures and his amiable posture were all noted by the members, and it eased them into the group so that each experienced and appreciated a distinct sense of belonging. The facilitator then explained to them the rules of the group: that no member should call upon any other member to contribute, that only first names may be used and that even though they were going through similar problems, names of medicines and doctors should generally be avoided, as one man’s medicine may be another’s poison. He then opened the meeting to any member who felt ready to share, carefully avoiding looking at Debra who sat next to him, so as not to make her feel pressured to contribute, even though it was her first day.

Contact Almont Arts DeKUT at 0759982355

Mark went first. He shared that it was his first time to stay away from alcohol for three months straight, ever since his addiction to booze roughly three years ago. Debra noted that he took great pride in his achievement, and even greater pride in sharing it. The scars on the corners of his lips were almost healed and the slur on his speech was scarcely noticeable. Clearly he was determined to kick his addiction. When Mark said that he drew strength from the group and the various coping mechanisms his fellow members used, Debra knew that she was in the right place, for he said with such a steady voice that she couldn’t help but be moved. The facilitator was thus a little surprised when Debra offered to share next. 

“Hi. I’m Debra. I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi Debra,” came the sweetly welcoming response. 

“I’ve been sober for five days now for the first time in one year, “went on Debra. “Before that, I was a teetotaler. I wouldn’t touch alcohol with a ten foot pole. Yet within a few months, I was chugging booze like my life depended on it. “ Here she let out a nervous chuckle. The facilitator saw through her disguised nervousness and, gently placing a hand on hers, told her she was doing great.

After a short pause, Debra narrated how it all started. She said it still surprises her how what began as an innocent experiment turned into a full blown case of overuse and dependence. Her friends invited her to a party one Friday evening, saying that of course drinks would be served, but she need not drink if she didn’t want to. Yet even as they granted her that petty freedom, she detected undertones of charity in their voices, as if they were disappointed she never drank and were forcing themselves to make do with her queerness, as she felt they saw her abstinence from alcohol. Tired of being “queer” and of disappointing her friends, she turned up for the party and took her first sip. It tasted foul, like the devil’s pee. She wanted to spit it out and go back to drinking simple water and lemon tea. But, alas, her friends. They were all so excited with their new gal, so beaming with pride that she swallowed the bitter pill. Thus many Friday nights after, she accompanied them as they went out to have fun. By degrees, it became a thing.

Her boyfriend, however, was not thrilled by the new Debra, to say the least. The only pleasure he allowed himself was an occasional extra lump of sugar in his tea. Thus he saw Debra’s new ways as bordering unrestrained extravagance and spared no words in condemning them. He occasionally threatened walking out of the relationship if she did not change. Scared of being dumped, Debra tried to stop drinking, for he was devoted to her and, leaving aside his intolerance of her Friday nights out, he waited on her hand and foot. Yet even as she tried, she realized she could not succeed. The harder she tried the more entangled she got. For addiction is a dangerous thing and trying to quit cold turkey often makes things worse. Thus by degrees, her innocent Friday nights transformed to span the entire weekend and occasionally weekdays. 

She got behind in her studies (predictably) and was often attacked by terrible mood swings, which she counteracted by more drinking and deftly excused them by saying it was her time of the month. She often drank in secret to deal with terrible hangovers. The very friends who initiated her into the drinkers’ club were concerned about her drinking and bid her take it easy on the bottle. However, this annoyed her. She drank even more, so that in a short while she drank every morning to steady her nerves and every night to fall asleep. Her doting boyfriend could not endure her anymore: he actualized his threat and left her. She then realized that she had to do something about it all.

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One night she was so guilty about her addiction and troubled by an almost overpowering urge to drink, she could not fall asleep. Neither could she drink, for she was thoroughly ashamed and desperately wanted to quit. Thus she popped sleeping pills hoping the comfortable womb-land of sleep would offer her some escape. Yet she still tossed and turned, for sleep would not come no matter how hard she closed her eyes. With nothing left to do, she took a generous swig from the bottle she had hidden in her closet. Sleep came at last. And what sweet sleep it was!

Next thing she knew, she was on a hospital bed feeling terribly confused, groggy and unwell. Tubes were running into her nose and her arms and machines were beeping around her. Her boyfriend was seated beside her, and on seeing her awake, asked her what on earth she was thinking mixing sleeping pills and alcohol. Then it all came back to her. Her boyfriend said he had come to pick his things and seen an empty bottle lying on the floor and sleeping pills all over the bedside table. Knowing full well what had transpired, he rushed her to the hospital, just in time to have her stomach pumped and a detox procedure initiated. The doctor said that had he been a few minutes late, she would have suffered permanent brain damage, had she survived the pills in the first place.

There and then she quit. “I submitted to a month in rehab and here I am.”

She looked around to see that all about her were staring in rapt attention. She felt distinctly, almost inexplicably relieved after opening up in such fashion, for their gazes were not judgmental but sweetly encouraging and comforting. Indeed, tears formed in her eyes.

The facilitator spoke thus: “Thank you for sharing Debra. Your experience was no doubt harrowing and you’re strong to have gotten out of it. It will not be an easy journey, but we will be here for you whenever you need us. My experience was similar to yours. What worked for me was choosing my friends wisely, avoiding occasions that tempted me to drink, spending much time with people and little time alone, dedication to a wholesome activity and the integration of the spiritual into my life. Needless to add, this group has been a constant source of motivation and strength.”

The other members shared and the meeting was closed. Debra was more than happy she found such a group and realized for the first time in many, many months, she could not wait for the rest of her life. Full of joy and gratefulness, she called her boyfriend on her way home.

More articles by the author:

1. What Matters Most in Choosing a Career

2. The Sub-conscious power may have more power than you think

3. All work and no play leads to a miserable life

Of Dildo, Masturbation, Jason, and Death- 1

By | Alan Shadowrine, Alan Shadowrine | 6 Comments

!Readers Discretion is strictly advised. This article contains hard language and mature themes.!

I was about to masturbate for the second time when my cell phone went off in a maddening ringing. My underwear was halfway down, stretched between my succulent thighs and supple knees. Succulent like maple leaves and supple like pineapples, I tell you- among other flatters that had got my ears wobbling like a praying mantis on a mangrove leaf in autumn. White underwear written ‘Kiss Me’ in bright yellow.

It was hanging across my feet like a loop of stitching thread stuck in between the middle finger and the ring finger. I quickly pulled it up to the waist, letting the stretched elastic lining of the underwear retract on my skin like a catapult. I wiggled my dark hair behind my coconut head, like Arianna on stage, and buttoned my checked blouse to hide my nudity from whoever could be watching.

Before I dared to buy a pink dildo from Kims King boutique (it’s not on the Google maps, don’t even bother), a soapy detergent and a porn video were all I needed to induce an orgasm. There was the fun part of it, staring at the ceiling, legs wide apart, trying to relate to what I saw on the video, and having a vibrating plastic drill into my flesh. So addicted was I to masturbation that I scheduled it twice in the 24hrs daily program, before sleeping and after waking up. Like a mantra, masturbating was the first thing I did before the day began and the last thing I did before I fell asleep.

Yet, the satisfaction of it was not part of the bargain. I loved the thrill of losing myself for a few seconds. Those few seconds when I was far away from the madness of my small world was what really mattered to me; giving a smooth outcry, with a subtle moan, wow, and inaudible orgasm? And like any other soul on earth hungry for a pinch of sugar when burrowed underneath a heap of salt, I barely thought of the ethics of masturbation. Nor did I care about the judgment I would face when I die. Nor the angry flames of sulphuric fire that would consume my flesh if I went to hell.

Like you can guess, I was stuck in this dark hole, imprisoned by my inability to free myself from the addiction, all in the name of a five-letter word. A fucked up five-letter word that has changed lives, given life, and taken lives. After all, like Tokyo once said, love is a good reason for everything to fall apart.

Ten minutes before the call, I had just finished emailing my resume to the consulting firm I had visited earlier during the day. I made a call to my ailing mother assuring her that her daughter was fine, which was a blend of lies and pain. Although I felt hunted by a rage of guilt for not going to check on her, I never missed her at all. Not after she had turned in my father to the harsh police officers in a green Land cruiser when I was in the third form. When they took away my drunken dad in an old Toyota police car, I never saw or heard from him again. I tried to ask around, but in Kenya, you don’t go around asking for a typical drunkard empty-handed. The drunkard he was, I loved him. I loved his manly voice; I could hear him snore when he slept from my small bedroom. I loved his English when he had quenched his throat with liters of alcohol. I badly missed how we could call me his mother when I closed schools.


 I had already inserted the vibrator’s power cable to the three-holed socket, ready to dive my tired flesh into the drug of my choice, trust me, I was so good at this. I unbuttoned my blouse, my skirt flying across the ceiling. Then Crrring!- my phone went off in a ring.

 I groaned silently, more to myself than to the ringing phone, switching off the power at the socket. I reached out for my phone underneath the white pillow, wondering who the hell was calling me at such a time. I pressed the volume down on my phone, so the outburst of the ringing could ease on my ears. I blinked to the blinking lights on the screen, trying to read the caller ID. It was Jason like I had anticipated. Jason Mwaniki. My name is Colletta. And this is my story—a story of love, pain, drugs, more drugs, murder, and death.

What the fuck was Jason up to?