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Homecoming Part Four

Check out Homecoming Part Three

Mercy spent the whole of the next day shopping: five pairs of trousers for her father and three pairs of shoes to match; three trendy dresses for her mother and two pairs of shoes to match; two pairs of jeans trousers each for her three younger brothers; five loaves of bread; two kilograms of margarine; five kilograms of sugar and two giant-size packets of tea leaves.

That done, she went home and prepared for her journey early the next day. Before she went to bed she made a solemn prayer asking God to grant her a peaceful journey.

She was up and about very early the following day. After her toilet and other preliminary preparations, she was ready to go.

When she got to the stage, there was only one bus that was travelling to her destination. She boarded it.

Throughout the journey she did not pay attention to the beautiful scenery that they passed. Her mind was replete with thoughts of home…home…home. Home sweet home.

She knew she would see changes at home. Every wild idea of what kind of change she would see, traversed the breadth of her mind.

“It will be a whole new experience,” she thought.

“Maragwa…Maragwa. Nani Maragwa?” the conductor shouted at the top of his voice. “Nani anashukia hapa. Ah, dere, twende. Hakuna mtu anashuka.”
[This roughly translates to: “Maragwa…Maragwa. Who is alighting at Maragwa? Driver, it seems there is no one getting off. Let’s continue with the journey.”]

Mercy was jolted from her reverie. Maragwa was her destination.

“Please, let me alight I have reached my destination,” she told the conductor. The driver looked at her angrily and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was wasting their time.

She pretended not to have heard, paid her fare and got off the vehicle.

Her first impression of Maragwa was that it was dry. The ground was dusty and parched, a sure sign that it had not rained for weeks. Maybe even for months.

She went to a shop that was near the stage, bought a soda and sat down on some stones that were beside the shop.

Nursing her drink, she took in the whole scenery. The shop was new and the shopkeeper was unfamiliar. There was a primary school nearby. She had not left it when she left for the city. Farther left, there was a police station. That was new to her too.

When she left for the city, there had been many trees but now there were fewer trees in the horizon. Where they had once been, there stood buildings of various shapes and sizes.

She paid for the drink and started her climb home. Her home was less than two hundred metres from where she was.

Her baggage seemed even heavier than before. She was tempted to leave part of the load with the shopkeeper and send her brothers to fetch it when she got home. She decided against it for she did not know the shopkeeper well.

On the way home, people kept looking at her in a queer way. She recognized some of them but, because they did not come to her to either greet or help her, she pretended not to know them. Among them she saw people she had turned down when they offered to marry her. Maybe they had never forgiven her.

At last her home loomed in the distance. Her heart started singing and her heartbeats tripled. And, for a reason she could not place, a cold sweat trickled down her spine.

She trudged on painstakingly, wishing that she were already at home.

On reaching the gate, she pushed it open. Its creaking hinges made a hell 0f noise. That did not deter her.

“Anybody home!” she shouted with a touch of liveliness in her voice. “Father…mother…Mwangi...Njuguna…Chege I am home. Mercy Mugure is home!” Silence.
Pregnant silence. Ominous silence. Loud silence. Only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees could be heard.

Gradually her spirits were dampened but she cautiously advanced towards the crannied, dilapidated house. Lines of weakness ran from one corner of the house to the next. The iron sheets were done for: brown with rust.

“Anybody home,” she tried with renewed vigour.

It was a futile attempt.

To be Continued

Drug Rehab

Nowadays many of us are working hard and earning money for our day to day life. But in spite of the money that we earn through our hard work, many are wasting their life by getting into some bad habits. Among that drug is such a main thing, which is causing so many problems to the entire world. For this in order to save us out we all definitely need a perfect guidance provider. At the same not all are that much legalized one’s to cure us from the habit of drug. Recently I visited a site Chapman House INC there is a technique that was originated by Vernon Johnson of the Johnson Institute in Minnesota. Mr. Johnson’s original idea was to create a “controlled crisis” for the Alcoholic who was reluctant to enter into drug rehab. The Chapman House staff is trained in the original Johnson method, as well as techniques developed exclusively by our own treatment team. We are capable of performing intervention on both adults and adolescents. As professional Interventionists, we have witnessed firsthand the method of Intervention, which again is 96% successful. It can be successful for you as well, because there’s one thing that we’re sure about; although each person is unique, the process of addiction is not. This type of Intervention was then modified to address all crisis situations. Intervention, when conducted by a trained professional is 96% successful in convincing a reluctant person to enter into drug rehab. They would welcome the opportunity to answer any questions you may have about drug detoxification, drug intervention, addiction and inpatient drug treatment for adults, co-existing disorders, our exclusive inpatient program for adolescents, and their Executive Drug Rehab at Capo. Thus this site is designed in such a way that we can get to know whatever we need about drugs, their effects and so on. So try them out and make use of it…

Homecoming Part Three

Check out Homecoming Part Two

On looking, she saw that it was her best friend, while she was in college.

She was overjoyed and literally ran across the road, arms flying in the air – the traffic the least of her worries!

They hugged and exchanged pecks on the cheeks.

“Bena, where’ve you been, lady? You’ve grown so fat; just look at these shapely er…er… bums!” Mercy teased her friend.

“Don’t say that. Just look at yourself you’ve grown gorgeous, Mugure. Wow! Tell me, who’s the man behind your evident beauty? Who’s pampering you?” Bena asked, her eyes all over Mercy.

Mercy cast a rather icy look at her, softened and said, “Ah, no need to ask. I am behind all this. Let’s just say I am taking good care of myself. Okay, girlfriend?”

Bena grinned and pretended to be satisfied with the answer.

“By the way,” Bena said, “I met with your younger brother, Chege, four weeks ago and he told me to pass his regards to you if we ever met. Now we have. Receive them.”

Jolted, Mercy said, “Oh, you did. What a delight! Did he tell you about people at home?”

“No, he didn’t. When I met him he was in a hurry and he told me he was hurrying to see someone downtown. So, I didn’t want to bother him with questions.”

After sometime they parted ways, promising each other to keep in touch.

That evening, the thought of visiting home came down heavily upon Mercy. She thought about her home; her old parents; her siblings; and the many lives she had shattered.

She brushed that thought away.

“I must only think of the good things about my life at home. The negative should not spoil the party,” she told herself.

….. ….. ….. …. …..
The next day, at the office, she took a week’s off so that she could finalize everything she had in mind.

“People in my village must know that M zee Kuria has a daughter. Not just a daughter, but an affluent daughter at that. I’ll build my parents the best house in the district,” She mused.

That thought whet her appetite for the ‘homecoming’ experience.

To be Continued…

A Story to Share - Part Two

Check out Homecoming Part One


Her name was Mercy Mugure. She had left her home in the village for the city in a bid to land a big job. Of course she was entitled to a good job. What with the skills, enthusiasm and vim she possessed for secretarial work. Any manager with a head for business would swoop on her, never to let go.

Her speeds in shorthand were breathtaking. Her grasp of language was superb if not excellent.

So, when she presented her certificates and résumé to the managing director of Afuong’o Soap Company, the boss literally blurted: “You’ve got yourself a job, Miss.”

She was head over heels with joy; brimming with joy so to speak. No harsh encounters with a boss who reduces one to an infinitesimal ant. It had been pure luck and a God-send, so to speak.

If the boss’ intention in giving her the job was different from that of just giving her the job, then it was hard to tell.

But, anyway, Mercy Mugure was a woman of class. Beautiful in all aspects of the word. What with sparkling, white eyes that always gleamed with innocence.

Her chubby cheeks were endowed with immaculate dimples reminiscent of the centre of a whirlpool. The milk-white teeth that graced her mouth were exquisitely carved to fit.

Her gorgeous, long, smooth and chocolate-brown legs were sure to excite any man who gave concupiscence and prurience paramount consideration.

Mugure started working for the soap company as head of the secretarial department. She proved to be worth her salt because everything she set out to do was done explicitly and with the precision of a trained marksman.

Her salary was doubled, and then tripled. And the perks started coming in.

She became a woman of repute. Then her boss started making sexual advances. But she put it across clearly that lewd jokes and sentimentality suggested in jest did not work with her. She simply did not like them. Period.

The boss apologized and strived as much as he could to put his relationship with Mugure at business level; no strings attached.

….. …. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. …..

Two years down the line and she was fairly swimming in opulence, at least for a lady of her age – unmarried as she was.

Mercy put aside some finances to build her parents a decent house when she decided to visit them. And that was God-knows-when!

Three years down the line, no husband and the idea of visiting her parents had not come to her.

Then one day as she was crossing a busy road, someone beckoned to her from across the road.

To be Continued...

A Story to Share

Happy New Year good people. Thank you all for supporting me last year. I look forward to working with you even more this year.

I’d like to start this year by sharing a story with you. I wrote it in 2001. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

The title is:
….
“So tomorrow’s D-day,” she said to herself. She was utterly enthralled and elated by the thoughts that were doing their rounds in her head. She sat down on her bed but found that that was not good enough.

She needed to stand and flex her muscles, if anything, for the next day. Yes, she would need all the energy she could muster. The energy to whoop with joy. The energy to have a chin-wag after another; a rigmarole after another. Yes, the perfect homecoming. She shot from her bed and the words, “Home, here I come!” escaped her mouth.

Slowly she moved to window, a grin playing on her lean lips. After rolling up the blind, she peered outside. Instead of seeing the view outside, she saw the pictures of her father, mother and brothers dancing before her on the window.

These people were very happy. What was that again? Their lips were moving, they were communicating. But there was no sound. She blinked her clouded eyes. When she reopened them, the images were still there – vivid and life-like!

She wanted to say she loved them; that she cared. But she simply couldn’t. How could she even claim that she loved them yet she had spent three solid years away from home?

They had been communicating in the first year of her absence from home. But the communication had died off as quickly as it had started.

Tears clouded her eyes and slowly meandered down her chubby face to her chin where they stalled for a bit, made a fat drop and tore through the air to the floor.

In no time her face was awash with tears. She let tears roll freely. As she stood reminiscing the good times with her family so was her resolve to go home strengthened and solidified.

“I must go home…tomorrow!” she said with a firmness that startled her.

To be continued…