by Eddy Ashioya | Sep 13, 2024 | Chinedu Tales
There is a boy next to me making love to his Smirnoff Ice. Smirnoff Ice tastes like expired antibiotics, but I don’t tell him that. A girl and her lover make way to ask for a matchbox. They reek of Dunhill cigarettes. I haven’t smoked in years mostly cause I end up...
by Eddy Ashioya | Aug 16, 2024 | Uncategorized
The dead are born every day. I know because I am at the Langata Cemetery. There are more fresh graves today. The mud is still virgin, the ground thick and warm and damp and smells like formalin and wet dirt. A fig tree, the modest mistress of solitude, sits alone...
by Eddy Ashioya | Jul 19, 2024 | Chinedu Tales
It was ten to 11 PM when the lights went out. Close your eyes. Yes, that kind of darkness. Like that Kenya Power rogue monkey had cut off power. A cough here. A whistle there. A glass shattering. The parabola of tension. The air was heavy, as if there were too much of...
by Eddy Ashioya | Jul 9, 2024 | People
Nobody needs to tell me, but I know when Mother’s Day is approaching. I usually have an Instagram-worthy caption that will accompany the flattering photo I post of my mother when she was a jeune fille, a young lass, before I destroyed her mental health with the kind...
by Eddy Ashioya | Apr 20, 2023 | Chinedu Tales
The first thing to understand when laying down a comrade to rest is that a comrade never rests. They give up the ghost. They kufa. They chew. But they don’t rest. And a comrade is never buried when the sun is at high noon. No. It has to rain. Because rain is the tears...
