by Eddy Ashioya | Nov 14, 2025 | Chinedu Tales
At Wanyee Rd, off Naivasha Rd, off Ngong Rd, was a peddler, first name Bo, last name Lo. He sold shirts and shorts and weed on the side. Or were the shorts and shirts on the side? Don’t matter. He was here on merit—he’d done all the right things, including bribing the...
by Eddy Ashioya | Jan 9, 2025 | Chinedu Tales
There was a shylock who ran the economy of the village, and if your parents needed quick cash, they’d swap something in the house for it. We called him Muindi Mweusi because those days only Indians had money. There was always a calculated correctness in him that I...
by Eddy Ashioya | Nov 8, 2024 | Chinedu Tales
Shyly the girl jumps into the pool. She’s teaching me how to swim, but I am learning how to leave. This falls on the wrong side of my pleasure principle. This won’t work. The swimming, and the relationship. She’s a good girl. The kind of girl God gives you young so...
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 | 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 | 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...
