20

This place reeks. It stinks actually. From the endless echoes of passing cockroaches and rats here and there. How I hate those dirty insects. Some flying aimlessly while others Criss cross my feet shamelessly. And the countless spider webs scattered across this place. It seems as though this place was deserted ages ago. A bloody ghost town. The tiny drops of rainwater slowly leaking from the rooftop,slowly descending towards it’s companions: a small puddle on the floor constantly increasing in size. Wind howls from the cracked walls,: the cockroaches rush to their dark holes in fear. I’m literally shaking my head right now. My absence from this place has made it look so dead. Come on! It’s only been a few days, or weeks…wait a minute. It’s almost past a month. Damn! Well, what can I say. The world and its never-ending cruelty. Just when you think all is done and you can now sit back, relax and enjoy a cup of hot coffee in a roadside Cafe while doing(finally) what you love when you are suddenly punched in the face by the cruel world(I told you). Something came up and there you go, rushing as though you are racing with Bolt himself. You therefore end up forgetting about your obligation to fill the masses with content. Time flies and you realise its past a month and you have no writings to show. That’s when you eventually make up to your mind and..here we are! Me, writing at the demonic times of the night. Quite a peaceful time it is by the way. The silence is just mystical.Legend has it that at those who are awake at these times are either witches or writers. Either way we both are magic, right. Let me bring this place back to life once more. The stench of abandonment is too strong.

Two bloody decades. Twenty whole years and some few months counting. I have lived, loved and laughed on this cruel world for twenty years. A quarter of a century….and still more:many many more to go. I look at my life in those few years that I’m bragging about and the transformation is astonishing. Having graced both the 20th and the 21st century, things have changed. Really changed. I one day had that lazy stroll across the ocean shores. Shoes on my hands , the rough waves of the ocean come from the deep sea, roll over each other into whitish foam which slowly cascades towards the end of the shoreline. That feeling. The salty, warm, wavy water streaming past your feet giving you a tingling sensation on your legs. And it’s constantly coming back and forth your feet. Plus the way your feet easily sink into the sand as you walk, leaving behind footprints that quickly become filled with water and begin disappearing. Trust me no matter how stressed or how life has fucked you up, when you take this walk, those burdens will slowly wash away: yes, it works :like a charm.  That’s when you learn the beauty of life. All that stress you’ve been loading on yourself you’ll realise its defects. 

So sad to say, but I’ve personally compared 20 year old males and females and damn! Honestly speaking, we, the boy child, are so very fucked! A twenty year old young woman has her priorities all set up. It’s like God placed some secret brain somewhere that lets them figure everything out. I have no fucking idea how they do that. She is physically twenty but intellectually way past that age by far. This young woman walks with elegant elegance and confidence one might mistake her for working at a high-end International bank. The way she carries herself, priceless. We the male species of that age just eat with our eyes, literally. You wonder if she’s living in the top, creamy, yummy part of life and we the counterparts lie deep below the dark,congested and saturated part.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves. Winter is coming. The world we know of is about to change. Drastically change. Winter is actually here if I may say. Let us now talk about a twenty year old male species. Dear Lord, please have mercy on us-on our noble souls. And before I begin, all of you must know that life is tough for the boy child. Keep that in mind as we enter this dark, sad tale. A twenty year old male. We, the boy child, are totally fucked. First accomplishment of any typical twenty year old male is at the top,literally,so that all can lay eyes on it. The long, really long hair. The shaggier the better. The sky is the limit for this one Hehehe. We are all victims of this. Semeni ukweli. After finishing high school, this one is like a course for all of us. A rite of passage in this life. One begins his career of keeping hair till the day our Savior will grace us. No mane, no lion, right?. That’s what it is to us. Mane. He gets into trouble here and there, thats just natural in fact. And the ripped jeans. If females wear it, it looks spectacular. If we wear it, the stories you will hear. So and so ‘amekua mkora’ nowadays. Even the dreadlocks. They keep it, society approves. You try and see flames of curses coming even from our ancestors graves. A disgrace, product of a burst condom. You name it. The list is endless. And they say we have no goals or ambition in mind. No, wait a minute, there are ambitions in their minds actually. Let’s just refer to them as sleeping dragons, shall we? Boy child, I’ve just saved us! I will narrate and further narrate about the misfortunes of the boy child but the fact remains, no one gives a fuck about us. We are, and continue being on our own. Society gives our counterparts more and more privileges while we fade away. 

I shall call you for mass action one day if need be, but in the meantime, I’ll submit my complaints to the Supreme Court for further investigations. 

Author: Wilson Westwood

Writer. Dreamer. Wanderlust

2 thoughts on “20”

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