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Late Night Shootout at Embakasi

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www.krazyinsidekenya.wordpress.com While on the battlefield, most soldiers fantasise about palm-fringed beaches, sex, and alcohol when, and if, they get back home; not necessarily in that order. They watch poor quality porn on their phones to remind them what they are missing and what the female body looks like. That’s most soldiers, but I am not most soldiers. All I think of is murdering my fiancée. I have not slept. Most nights, I don’t. I am thinking of tomorrow when I leave Somalia. AMISOM 13 is over. I am in the last batch of my unit to leave. Others went back piecemeal since the 8 th Battalion the Kenya Rifles arrived. I stare at the wide panoply of stars and luminous darkness that rules the night from my sentry post. A loud shrill of the muezzin’s call for fajr pierces the pre-dawn silence. It is the dreaded hour. Al-Shabaab come at this time. Reports received yesterday indicated that the dastard bastards were planning to attack a KDF camp in Sector Cen
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Kutupwa na System

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Major Stanley Ekuton sat ramrod straight on the senior passenger’s seat in the Armoured Personnel Carrier (APC) manoeuvring along the winding motorable track eight kilometres beyond the Kenya-Somalia border, his throat dry with agitation. His Commanding Officer’s last words were still fresh on his mind: OC, do not cross that border! (Source: intelligencebriefs.com) Ahead, through the dust, the enemy was escaping. “We should not be sitting ducks in the camp when al-Shabaab come to attack us,” he had replied. “We, too, should take the battle to them.” And with that, Officer Commanding Bravo Company, 80 Airborne Battalion of the Kenya Defence Forces, imposed radio silence on his battalion tactical command headquarters. “We are pursuing the enemy to the depths of hell if we have to,” he had told his platoon commander. “Order the platoon to cross the border—” “But, Afande, we are not supposed to cross the border. The rules of engagement—” “Officer, adui ni yule unamwangalia akito
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Deaths of Right - Part 1

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Growing up regaled with chronicles of humans who willingly compromise their comfort and stand guard, put their lives on the line, to protect the country, I was not insane to admire the military. I have been a certified military brat ever since I opened my eyes, and I’ve never entertained the silly thought. My father knew all the faraway lands more than his family as his father did. Once it hit me, I asked them “why”, to which they smiled and replied, “so you could live a better life”, which I did. The army biscuits, corned beef, the CamelBaks, military rucksacks, Swiss Army knives I stole to show off to kids at school, and the military T-Shirts were the evidence of a better life. Not to mention the truckloads of food Father came home with. Soon, Mother opened a kiosk. And that was my epiphany, which made me realise the pain behind the good life. *** The soldier’s face was impassive in the hot afternoon sun, waiting for the light to turn green. When he moved, he was as agile a
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Unbroken Happiness

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I woke up with a start. The smell of burning flesh congested the air. I did not know it was my skin singeing until I screamed in pain. I’m dying. Oh God, please no. I can’t breathe. My body gave to unknown force, and fell into a dark abysmal hole, head first. “You left me,” I heard a voice say. Love killed me! *** Marline sat across from Eddah on the bed, the bench, where they judged their friends, sentenced obstinate boyfriends to death, gossiped about whose of their baby-mama girlfriends’ boyfriends was deadbeat, and who was trying to snatch so-and-so’s sugar daddy. tumblr.com  Eddah reached for the glass of tonic water on the bedside stand and gave it to Marline. Marline wiped her eyes with Eddah’s handkerchief. “He did not even care,” Marline said. “I needed him, and he told me to leave.” Eddah watched Marline’s hand’s delicate movement as she dabbed at her eyes. “I will talk to him?” Eddah offered. “The worst part of it is that I couldn’t walk, the pa
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VIP Escort

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(First published on elovepoetry as Diary of a Rich Men's Girl. ) 15th June; I look at the girl staring back at me in the mirror and I love her. On top of my hospitality profession I've cosmetology and hairdressing skills from beauty pageants I've entered since I joined the University of Nairobi. I even at some point entertained the idea of going modeling but it was a bad, misinformed, career move after series of débâcles on the runway and virulent censures by the judges. But I ended up with a good hand with brush, eyeliner and mascara. I hear the soles of this week's client's shoes on the slate floor of the Nyali Beach Hotel suite. He had gone to the beach to banquet his lusty eyes on other women's busts, butts and thighs. I had refused to accompany him even if he had paid me to escort him wherever he went for the whole weekend. Jeez, does he think I am Secret Service or something? His being away was the only chance I had to get his credit and debi
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