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Alas! Could probably be the perfect sigh to kick off me a back to my rich childhood . Maybe the trees to start off or rather the chef part anyway bird hunting was exemplury,i remember the long gone days when i would rise (after my mum ofcourse )creep out and shout “hurray!” at a stonethrow distance .Sonner that later squad would join .I recall my b.f.f(best friend forever) johni who was the cheekiest and literally the cheeky one (chubby).I with my kinky hair which nowadays i take pride in as trademark “kitu designer” and finally the silent one “mwagii”,  which was supposed to be mwangi but due to unavoidable circumstances it remained a firm undisputable typical”mwagii”.We would trek to the famous bicycle repairer ‘fundi wa bike’ to pick bicycle tube leftovers before he arrived and considered it stealing and report us cutting short our plans at the very start .Having the ‘supplies’ at hand we would reach out to  an abandoned home which was famous to almost every kid in the village for its’  hard v-shaped sticks .We would later collect papers and mwagii would show off his prowesses in the art of making a slingshots  feya.We would later  reach out to conquer our  meat. Bold  ,chests out .Oops! We had none at the time ,anyway we would aim once,twice ,thrice ……..and the birds would fly away ,ndutura ,come on  .We would go  disappointed in the direction of the birds ,little did we know they were leading  us home ” deceivers” I recall on most occasions we would meet up with johni’s mother who wasn’t soft on his chubby cheeks and left him crying as she went to work “umetoka  wapi bira furana ” ‘massage’ his rossy cheeks as we laughed at johni lungs out, he would feel embarrassed and  opt to go and have breakfast  we would later repeat the same the next day  .What a life.The endeavor at the river was most exhilarating we would dive in showing off our skills that’s johni and I of course  mwagii and others boys were watching from expertize.No lie ,why lie our clothes did just vanish in the thin air as we pursued backstroke,backstroke,butterfly,no! Never  .There was always a pay for mischief but this  one hardly had consequences.

During the planting season I would sponsor you ,your cousin ,your nephew ,your niece and the rest..we were way there.where was the wealth  from? is the question.Hukoo(mole hunting),guthikirira(weeding) which was a tiring but lucrative business venture.Mole hunting was easier as long as one was skilled and had the hunting tools ;wire ,flexible stick,Mexican marigold,and your done. For the practical call it a date .Weeding ,was a whole kettle altogether ,mwagii, brought huge sacks , gunia ,which we stormed with, in the involved party’s shamba. Fill up the sack with weeds and get our decent pay  .We would run focused to the shop and arrive panting and order   skari  guru and some patco .It coexisted in our mouths admirably like sprite and codeine.Ngumuu or dotty and quencher to quench our thirst  without this ..Destitute..Other miscellaneous sources of funds was  skrebo (scrap metal) which was  ideal but not mum’s or dad’s metals .Otherwise one would sleep with whips on his backside .This venture wanted patience ,collection was key though wagithomo overexploited us so we had to wait upon the other dealers for   fair prices.Harvest season wasn’t that bad   kiraiku had something to offer .Perhaps the adage, when an opportunity strikes you seize it with both hands.we bought marbles.Unlike  nowadays where a kid would spend the whole day playing play station and brick games .we played banyo ,(I miss this game) which I had an advantage over others due to my long fingers .We created ‘cars’ from bottles  and their wheels from bottle tops  or bucket lids or rather wires .My  car was somewhat not attractive compared to others  ,since they had bigger brothers who did the mechanical work .Ooh! How could I forget football where the entire village boys converged.the whole team contributed in collecting polythene papers to make a ball and play street football  ,it was barefooted and lively .The squat boy was always the goalkeeper and the better of player decided who to play and who not to.The game would start from 2pm –   6pm  ,the game was longer than messi’s at camp nou  .There would be no rulers except hand balls ,no thing as rough game and the sort.    I remember playing defence, midfield and striker all at the same time .Life had a lot to offer, fun defined us adventure made us.While playing the chief would stopoover and would give us a lift(in his cabin) at exactly 6:27pm while going back home in the government vehicle    Lots   have changed ,we parted ways with some fortunately or unfortunately ,am now Africa’s youngest most influential blogger  I grab a piece of paper ,believe am dextrous with the pen and drain ink of personality with passion cause am the story .watch this space.

      I JUST CAN’T

      They say habit is a disease and addiction however I don’t  really know what it has instored for me .I wake at my usual hour, grab my phone ,then pray .Dad I pray you forgive me .Rightaway,I am on Instagram ,I post on my story ,I update it or start a live video with my little sister or share something intriguing, you know me better .I love my followers and they probably love me,the likes are proof,I guess love fuels me.Later, I move to WordPress to view my blog and read some.For sure the temptation is irresistible,I just can’t resist your blogs;poems,photos,reads,and act like everything is just alright ,I feel destitute. Sometimes, my mum tells me I can barely do anything as long as my phone is charged ,loaded (bundles).I can’t oblige but accept since most of the times am caught pants down .For me ,I love me,and do a lot for me,writing glows my heart ,why lie ,it drains my adrenaline ,a bond as hard as diamond so unbreakable. I move to Facebook ,to like some posts and share some.WhatsApp is a must do on my list ,since my friends are here. I update my playlist almost everyday,I love music ,it is just … Music.I move about with my phone everywhere,my personal assistant.Research here ,everything.If it was possible to turn back time and I was put in the 17th century, I would die of phonesios.I tell my elder sister and she laughs out loud.Maybe this is the 21st century a lot concerning technology has transpired and still on the offing. Perhaps I have to just allocate time for everything right since I just can’t get over it.Temptations!