Men thrive in a cruel business. For every girl won over, there is a trail of losses.

On this month of love, we tell these stories of failed pursuits.

Beware! Any coincidences are related and intended. Most likely it’s you!

Next week we will feature stories told by them galz.


Blind Bartimaeus

‘Oyaa msupaa. Excuse.’

You know sniper shots are about to be fired when a village guy says this. At this point, no retreat no surrender.

She halts. He catches up.

Sasa…” ”Poa sana.”

Then he sees it. Jaw drops and were his tongue not visible, the cat would definitely be in possession of it.

Niendelee kutembea ama? Shit bana. (Mind)

In that moment, he knew that he had brought a loaded gun to a demilitarized zone. Her gaze wasn’t helping at all.

Our man could neither turn back nor make a detour as the road was straight. Worse still, there was no one coming that he could stop and make small talk in order to turn back. Therefore, he walked past her and onwards till the fork.

At the fork, he took the least used path and hoped. Yeah, she didn’t take it. Back to base he went, the gun not a bullet lighter.

In the words of ‘those who didn’t oil our backs with bottle butts’ , you can not fill a full gourd. People are getting their backs oiled? Must be nice.

Now fellows, this stupid tale actually has a moral.

Here it is; Invest in a poker face. Best believe you’ll need it.

It especially comes in handy when you drop your rake and pick up the courage to pursue a derrière. Without proper reconnaissance, a poker face will save face when you catch up and realise she does not walk alone( read is pregnant).


Amateur anthropologist, expert chaser

She was an exotic chase. I had met none like her.

On the other hand, she was typical. The smile was notable. Each time she bared her teeth, it was as if a crippling sensation came over poor me.

She was pretty and modest. Not jaw dropping beauty but it had noticeable presence.

My adventurous spirit was seeking novelty.

What drew me to her was her cultural heritage. She was from a tiny country north of the Limpopo, south of the Nile and eastwards from the Congo.

Her accent was intriguing. There was drip on her tongue. She dragged vowels between consonants. Each time I would feign inaudibility just to hear her pronounce the words again.

I wanted her for myself. I figured the way to her heart was becoming her, by learning her culture.

Hours spent memorizing her vernacular language in front of an overheated computer in a crowded computer lab. The history of the Chichewa speaking people on the fringes of my brain.

I was on a divine path. Paving way for my tribe folk. They would say I was the Gikuyu man who conquered Malawi.

Muli bwanji? ” I’d greet her with a grin on my flushed cheeks.

In retrospect, I was a stalker. Albeit not physically but culturally.

Each moment spent with her I squeezed information about her country and its people.

What do you eat? Which is the biggest town? Do you do witchcraft? I heard people in your country eat children…

To balance the scales I exaggerated my own tales. I lied of a childhood spent hunting porcupines and chasing elephants on the slopes of Mt. Kenya.

I was intoxicated, infatuated. Every man was chasing this exotic fruit. This was my chase.

Deep down, I knew that without her unique cultural heritage, she was normal to me. Through her was an opportunity to mentally travel to a mystical foreign land.

As you would expect dear reader, this futile chase was a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat. Inevitably, the mask will fall away and reality hits. The show ended as quickly it had started.

You realise origin and culture are only pieces of an individual. They influence who they are but don’t define them.

I took my chance. My rascal friends now call me, the chaser. Notwithstanding, it was a worthwhile adventure with the Chichewa girl.

Oh..f***k Valentine’s day. It’s about time someone said it. Story for another day. Ciao!

The Uber Driver

The footpaths of Kitale’s rolling greenery tell so many stories. So do the Block E tuckshop and Malindi 46. A Venn diagram of those stories will bring you to my tour of duty as a romantic.

When the country locked down, WhatsApp and Airtel calls sustained our relationship. Then by great luck, she found a job and moved in with her friend Melvin.

Finally I got to see her!

Try as I may, the ambience of the restaurant escapes memory. All I remember is the buzz of activities on a Friday evening. And the way the servers balanced loaded platters had me thinking about my unbalanced balance sheet. I had no excuse.

Across from me was the first reason why I didn’t take in the ambience. Reason number two; I didn’t know I’d be writing about this.

Have you ever made a cup of rich Cadbury drinking chocolate? Take in the color. Picture it on someone’s skin in front of you.

We were having a lovely dinner. Conservation flowed, the silences had no awkwardness. She’s a better joker so I laughed at all of hers while she rolled her eyes at half of mine. The better half of the jokes drew do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do laughs.

Then the damned phone rang. She ignored. Then it rang again.

‘Chukua tu.’

She spoke for about two minutes.

‘Kwani ilkuwa mzee ndo hukuwa unataka kushika?’

Eye roll.

‘Utapigaje na uko hapa(Wink)? Anyway ni Melvin ako kwa mlango na hana key.’

‘Aaah haa. Ni sawa, I’ll drop you.’

Frozen stare.

‘Ni Waiyaki way. Utawezana na traffic then bado urudi Rongai?’

‘Jam si shida. Tutaitumia kama jam session.’

This one got a laugh.

I beckoned a server, asked for the significant portions left to be packed and paid. We walked out, handed over the food to a street kid and drove off.

For details on the jam session, please subscribe to my YouTube channel.

At around 10 , we get to some godforsaken muddy stretch in Kinoo. Reason number one looks a bit uncomfortable after a bout of furious texting. I ignore and insist on waiting till she gets in.

There’s a gentle knock on her window. It’s a heavily bearded guy in glasses. She alights without meeting my gaze. He gives her a long grabby hug.

Melvin meet Collo. Ni msee wangu wa uber.’

‘Bradhe ni ngapi?’


‘Price imefika ngapi?Utachukua Mpesa?’

Then it dawned on me. Melvin wasn’t the Uber guy. I was.

Then a bigger one hit me. Remember the frozen stare? Why had I always assumed Melvin was female? The hug? It was more than friendly.

My friends, I put the darn thing in gear and left. In hindsight,I really should have made a charge.


Stay fresh and when things get stale, remember Freshly Mwamburi’s stellar hit,’ Stella’. The only song that gets an annual commemoration.

5 comments on “TO THE GIRLS WE CHASED

  • Wothaya

    ? ? ? Hilariously sad… I love it.. ? ?

  • Happy

    Laughed a bit too hard in the morning.

  • Emmanuel M.

    An entertaining read this one….Haha


    Woooi…mtu wa uber??khai…

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