The Day the Sun Stopped Smiling

His unexpected thunderbolt kick took Sphizo by a shocking surprise. The kick connected just as Sphizo was bringing the carton of the delicious brew to his mouth, splitting not only the box container but also Sphizo’s lips – oh shucks! Chibuku spewed all over Sphizo’s shirt – his new white shirt. Blood spluttered on his shirt like stippled brushstrokes on a clean canvas. As he toppled off the half brick on which he was sitting, Sphizo could hear gasps of aahs and oohs around him. His ass was suddenly on the ground, hands grabbing the earth for support. Anticipating further assault, Sphizo crawled backwards on all fours, like a mechanical crab.  The small group of men that had been sharing with him the sweet Chibuku remained seated, somewhat nonchalant, and not offering any form of arbitration. The smell of fermented beer tainted the air, giving it a heavy flavour that could inebriate even the hovering flies.  
 

Sphizo raised his eyes. The man who had kicked at him did not attack further. He stood there glaring down at Sphizo, awaiting his reaction with a contorted face grim with anger. Two-six, that’s what they called him. Even Sphizo called him that. From Sphizo’s eye level, Two-six was a self imposed tower, yet in reality he was much shorter than that. The midday sun bounced off his clean shaven head which, as it was known by all, had the shape of a rugby ball. His face gleamed with perspiration. Like a race horse, Two-six’s nostrils flared with emotion, his chest heaving in sync. He was drawn in a fighting stance, his fingers curled around a cement brick. 

“Two-six!” MmaBoi, the owner of the drinking hole, screamed from across the yard. “O ‘ira eng tota? O tshamekela mo ntlong pula e sa ne! Motho yoo o tla go bolaya kana! Waitse tota?” Her voice was a wavering concoction of fear and anger.

Sphizo looked down at his bloodstained murky shirt. His swelling lips were throbbing, and he suspected he had a broken tooth or two. When he looked up at Two-six, a dog barked, twice, rather a chilling sound that could have come from Sphizo himself. Somewhere, a baby cried. 

“Two-six!” MmaBoi squealed again, cutting through the dense heat and thick silence under the Moloto tree. “O batla go re bontsha eng tota? Sphizo o tlo go go thuba tlhogonyana e okareng bolo ya maburu eo!” 

The obdurate Two-six did not flinch. He stood his ground, carefully watching his adversary, ready to launch the brick held tightly in his grip. Blood dropped steadily from Sphizo’s battered lips. He made no attempt to wipe them off. It was time to make a move. To make the move. For reasons he could not fathom, Two-six had stirred the beast in him. He simpered, only briefly yet calculated, and then jumped on his feet just as Two-six fired the brick at him. Effortlessly, Sphizo ducked and the hurling bullet smashed on the stem of the Moloto tree, scattering shrapnel. Sphizo’s hand reached into his back pocket. Everyone knew what he was reaching for; the Okapi Three Star. 

MmaBoi screamed. Roosters skedaddled, fluttering wings in failed attempt to fly away...        

The Piano Key (An Extract)

An aroma of baked potatoes wafted through the morning cold. I snuggled under the blankets. I didn’t usually get up early on Saturdays. Even if I wasn’t asleep, I’d lie on bed and read a book or stare at the ceiling and let my thoughts go wild. They really could go wild, my thoughts. I looked at the ceiling and muttered a curse. It had been three weeks since she left. Out there, outside my house, everyone saw me as a blissful man. No one knew about the void that she left inside of me; about the tears that scalded my cheeks every night. My pain was concealed behind an ostensibly happy face. Indeed since she left, my world had turned into a stage and I had been reduced to an actor, albeit a neophyte. I lied to those around me that I was happy she was gone. At times I wondered, as I squirmed with pain under my blankets, if I ever crossed her mind. The thought was agonising. Her words still echoed in my mind; those last words she uttered just before banging the door and turning her back on me. There are things you haven’t done in life. But one day you will do them. And you will rejoice. Many times I had been hitting my head against the wall, cracking my skull trying to figure out what it was that I hadn’t done. Hurt and misery corroded the walls of my skull. As far as I knew, she and I had been a having a flawless, watertight relationship. We were the envy of our friends – the prototype of bona fide love. I sniffled again, sucking in the delicious aroma of potatoes. A cold tear dropped on the ala of my nose. I shuddered.

Light a Candle for a Kindle.

I step into a gadgets store and buy a present. It’s a birthday present from me to me, with love. No one has ever bought me a birthday present before. So this is my first birthday present ever since I started crawling on the soils of this earth. I want it wrapped with one of those colourful papers I always see at people’s birthday parties. After paying I ask the attendant to please wrap it for me. “Sorry we don’t sell gift wrappers,” she says. I smile and pull down the zip of my knapsack. Out comes a blue wrapping paper, adorned with bright white miniature moons and stars. I came prepared. I came with a purpose.  Quickly she lays my new gadget on the counter and starts wrapping it. Her hands are dextrous, like she’s been doing this for years. Corners are neatly folded in. No tape in use. When she finishes, I nod in appreciation and gratitude. “Should we write a name on it?” she asks.  I shake my head no and extend my hand to shake hers. “Thank you so much,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” she responds and I start walking out of the store.    
“What’s the occasion? You are gleaming with delight!”the lady shouts across the store. I halt by the doorway.
“A friend’s birthday,” I shout, returning her face-splitting smile.     
“Must be an important friend,” she probes.
“Important is a misnomer,” I say. Then I lift the gift up to her. “This here is for the kind of friend the world cannot give you.” Then I storm out of the store.

I reach home and I find a friend of mine waiting for me. “Hey!” he shouts as I saunter through the gate. “Been waiting here for ages.” That’s my friend alright. I was expecting such a statement.
“What are cell phones made for?” I banter.
“Oh, crap! You know you didn’t answer your phone,” he snips.
I unlock the door and we both step inside the house. We sit and I shrug the backpack from my shoulder.
“What’s that sparkle in your eye? Who did you meet in town?” my friend asks, his eyes searching mine. I know what he’s looking for. Boys always know. I ignore his question and his probing eyes. I empty the contents of my back onto the coffee table.
“And what the heck is that?” my friend points at the wrapped gift.
“It’s a birthday present,” I say, a small smile wavering on my lips.
“For who?”
“For me, boyo, for me!”
“Who is it from?”
“From me, boyo, from me!”
“Cut the crap! You can’t buy yourself a present.”
“Says who? I just did! It’s my birthday today!” I sing.
“I don’t even know it’s your birthday. You tell me it is, but I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your problem, mister. Besides, you are not my mother, so you can’t know. Today I celebrate me.”
He looks at the present inquisitively. “What’s in that package by the way?”
“Guess,” I jest.
“No,” he blurts stubbornly.
“Like seriously, make a guess,” I push.
“Seriously, I’m not making any guesses. I don’t play those foolish games!” my friend whips. I can tell he will stand by his word.
“Okay dumb-head. I’ll tell you. It’s a Kindle,” I say, watching his reaction. He’s blank.
“A what?”
“A Kindle. I bought myself a Kindle!” I squeal.
My friend laughs. I laugh along with him.
“A candle! You are lighting a candle for your birthday?” my friend asks between paroxysms of laughter. “You are losing it, boyo!”
“Good gracious!” I laugh louder. I pick up the package and shake it in front of his face, teasing him. “This is not a candle, caveman. It’s a Kindle!”
My friend snatches the package from my hand and rips out the wrapping. I’m mad at him for doing that. But I can only stare at him, my fists clenched and shaking, teeth gritted.
“Oh!” he sighs. “Birthday boy bought himself a tablet,” he mocks. “Why couldn’t you just say that?”
“That’s not a tablet. That’s a Kindle,” I drawl. 
“Whatever,” he waves a dismissing hand at me.
“How much? It looks cool.”
I toss the receipt on his lap. He looks at it and gapes. His eyes pop. “What the f**k?”
“Yup!”
“Come-on, brother. This is crazy! You’ve been ripped off. This much for just this little gadget?”
“It’s important to me,” I say matter-of-factly.
He turns it over, running his hand on its surface, inspecting it. Occasionally, his head shakes in disapproval. He pushes the on button. The gadget wakes up, emitting neon. The words ‘Kindle Paperwhite’ breathe across the monitor. My friend touches the screen. The words disappear and a menu drops down from the top bar of the screen. There’s a boyish smile on his face.
“This is not a tablet,” He gives up. “What does a Kindle do?”
“It’s used for reading books, electronic books. You load books into it and you can read them conveniently. It’s an e-book reader.” I explain.  He doesn’t seem impressed.
“What else does it do?”
“Nothing else. It’s made specifically for reading. And that’s what I bought it for.”
“You f**king kidding me, aren’t you? You emptied your bank account for this little thingamajig and the only thing you can do with it is to read!”
“Yes.” I say boldly. He’s not going to make me feel guilty for buying myself a present. I know he’s making it sounds like it has cost a staggering fortune. “You don’t understand, kiddo,” I tell him. “But you would if you loved reading. I’m a voracious reader my friend. And this thingamajig will make reading a wonderful delight for me. Imagine carrying a thousand books everywhere you go, kiddo, in this little thing and you can read them anywhere, at anytime. Imagine that, kiddo!”
“I can’t imagine that. You can’t read all day. You’ll blow your little bird brain. There should have given you an option to play movies and music in here. What will you do when you get bored of reading?”
“I don’t get bored of reading.”   
“Okay, Mister Kindle! Happy reading to you!” he says and tosses the gadget to me.
“No, boyo.”
“What, kiddo?”
“Say the right thing,” I scowl.
“What now? What right thing?” Then he frowns slightly. The frown melts away as he bellows a crackling laughter. “Oh yeah!”
“Say it, boyo, say it.” I whisper between clenched teeth.
He leans forward to me and picks up the present from my hands. Gently he wraps it again with the blue wrapper. It’s a messy job, but he tried. He motions me up. We both stand. My friends hands me the present, like a medal of honour. “Happy birthday, kiddo”
I can feel the shake of my ears from the smile that cracks across my face. “Stop calling me kiddo.” I quip, albeit ineffectively.  
“Happy birthday, Dredd.”
“Thank you,” I say in total contentment. “You can light your candle now,” I jab at him.
“Buzz off!” he snaps back as he picks up a remote control. Reggae music blares through the speakers. We dance in celebration. My friend and I.   

The Stuntrat

Okay, this is it! I’ve had enough! How he got in, I have no idea. For hours now I’ve been begging this rat to get out of my kitchen. But the little fellow isn’t cooperative at all. I mean, I’ve tried all the gentle tactics to lure him out, and he runs into places he knows I can’t reach! Smart ass. He plays hide and seek with me. For long I’ve prided myself as a man bestowed with lots of patience. Now today this little thing has tested me to the limit. Problem is, this crooked little creature thinks that what belongs to me belongs to it as well. He feasted on MY bread and MY potatoes and MY sweet pumpkins. That I can live with, but man, he walked through MY soup! He walked right across my plate of vegetable soup like it’s a lake of mud for him to showcase his stuntman skills, I mean stuntrat skills. You shouldn’t have done that, little thing. I just don’t believe there’s a dearth of food supply out there in the wild for rats. Yet this guy chose to be an uninvited visitor in my house. When I get into the kitchen, he pretends he’s not there, but the moment I leave, he tramples all over MY staff. This is encroachment of my human rights. I don’t want to hurt you, little rat, because you have animal rights too. But what you are doing to me, you leave me with no choice. I’m a human being, you must remember that. That means I’m smarter than you a thousand folds. So really, if push comes to shove (and I can see it just did), I can get nasty and get you out of your hiding place – by any means necessary. Also remember, dear rat, that we humans can be pretty cruel, especially to creatures like you, which are deemed quite insignificant and a nuisance to humanity. So just do as you please in my kitchen, stuntrat. A warning to you; armor yourself because I’m going out to the human world. Like ‘The Terminator’ would say in a German accent, ‘I’ll be back!’

A Thousand Stars for Mama

Dear Mother,

Strangely, I remember those months when I lay cuddled in your womb. I remember the warmth, the comfort and the protection in there. That was a pure little world untainted in any way. Many, many years ago, Mama, you brought me into this world. I don’t know or care what I was in my previous life. But this life, Mother, this very life I’m now living, is what I cherish the most. I don’t remember being born. But I do remember suckling in your milk and clamping on your back. Only now do I realise that you were my only source of support – my lifeline.  And I remember – though these are only faded memories now seen through a tarnished glass pane of old age – all those other stages of my growing up. But you, Mother, remembers with vivid clarity all the days of my growing up, from the gruelling nine months when I was a heavy load inside of your body, through the days you taught me how to walk and talk, to that year when you walked me through the school gates. 

You never tired up or complained of me. Sometimes I wonder what you are made of, Mother. But what I wonder the most is; where could I have been, if you weren’t there for me to lean on, and just where could I have gone, if to another I was born? I can write waxing lyrical about you Mother, and shine a thousand stars for you. I just can’t help being effusive in my florid praise of you. Sated I feel, every time I think of what you are worth, and the amity between us. Possibly with no prior augury of what I’ll grow into, I’m sure today you take pride in what I’ve become.

Inspired by a perfect Mother, I’ve always sought to be a perfect child, just so I can project to the world the greatness of the hands that moulded me. Read below, Mother, and see what you inspired. I wrote these words for you. Call it a poem if you will, but these words are sourced from the deepest core of your son:   

I sit here in the fresh shade of a tree
Hugging this body and soul, feeling entirely free
Canopy showering down a freshness that beats the heat
In the inside of my ribcage I can hear and feel the thumping of my heartbeat 

Sun blazes up in the sky and the earth is smouldering hot
Yet she stoops over the flaming fire and keeps stirring that pot
She stirs the thick paste of porridge for the mouth and bellies to feed
In rain or shine, she always knows in time what her family is in need

 

She’s one of a kind and I’ve known her for so long
Here under this cool shade, my heart is singing her a song
Wrinkles now adorning her beautiful old face
A reminder that through it all, she kept up to the pace

We all sat on her lap and leaned on her shoulder
This woman tagged ‘mother’ is a hearty soldier
Through times my love for her will always reverberate
For today and forever it’s only her that I celebrate

With Love From Your Son
A Happy Mother’s Day to You