In My Head

In my head

“Mamaa, mamaaa”, I called.

“Maaaaaa, you not listening to me”, I further said.

“What is it now that you bothering me with Mwakodi?”, She asked.

“Where would you like to go on your birthday month?”, I enquired. “Well, I’d like to go to Botswana. I have missed Mama Alice, my childhood friend. I’d love to see her again”. She said.

“Your wish is granted”. I replied handing her over her visa and air tickets.

“Ain’t we going together? You’ve been away from home for along time and  you never settle in one place. Atleast make this memorable for me. Kindly come with me on this trip.” she begged.

“Alright Mamaa, I will”, I said back to her. I smiled a genuine one. I rarely smile. I’ve been known as a loner most times. I find it difficult when I try to interact with other humans. Don’t blame me. It’s never been my thing. I like my own space. Unless I let you in, then you’d never really know my inner world.

“I have my visa ready, my air tickets are sorted. Happy early birthday mother.”

July 16th 2016.

Chala Estate.


“Mwakodi, wake up. For heaven’s sake. You can’t be sleeping all through like a couch potato.” I could hear her voice across the hallway.

“Kodiiiiiiii, you better wake up. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get late especially when we supposed to be on a flight!” Damn! Why does she have to wake up early. The damn flight leaves at noon. What’s wrong with her anyway.

Whenever she comes to my room, all I can hear is gunshots, grenades, RPGs and all manner of ammo. No parent enters the childs room without stealth mode.

The way she swings the door ajar?Damn! Then her high pitched voice.

Today it was all quiet.

A beautiful morning it was. The sun rays pierced through the curtain folds illuminating the room. She held me in her arms. All suitcases packed. She was talking to me.

Mama: Kodi, stop these games. Wake up.

Me: I’m awake Mao.

Mama: Kodi, (while shaking me). Wake up. Jeez, you so good at perfoming. Why did you have to drop out of art school and follow some veterinary dreams?

Me: Can’t you hear my voice?

“I should hear the shower flowing from your room”. I have no time for your shenanigans.


“Kodi, goddammit! Wake the bloody hell up!”.

“Are we going to play this game over and over again?”, She asks.

No reply comes forth. She opens the curtains so that the light can illuminate my room. Perhaps I would wake up from the tingly sensation of sunlight on my skin. Nothing happens.


She is crying. Her eyes are already red and puffy from all the sobs and tears. Not a single inch did I move. Peaceful I lay. Covered all up to the chin of my neck.

Aaaaah, my older sister and her wails. It’s a big blow for her. Both of them actually. Loosing a son and a husband in a span of months was quite heckful for mother. I was her only hope and savior, now I’m just cold and numb.

Sister wailed, well she howled. She tore her clothes. Dusted herself. “Brother why?” She asked. I tried to answer. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hold my phone. I cant text that beautiful girl to tell her how much I feel her. No need for it. I floated across the room.

Phonecalls were made. I was abit sad actually. I couldn’t talk to them either way, tell them why it happened.

I couldn’t go to my favorite kiosk to buy my favorite brand of cigarette. I wished I could visit Elma and tell her life would be okay and that she would get out of that hospital bed. Mama Alice had always hoped that I’d go visit her in Botswana. I miss the smell of biriani from Khadija’s house.


I could see V8s, and more SUVs streaming into our compound. The sun felt good on my skin. As I smoked my cigarette. It would be a while before I fade away, or wherever souls go to.

All pretence they wore on their pitiful faces. Feigning pain and sorrow.

“We are so sorry Mama Kodi,” they said. Mama would put on a brave smile and would say, “it’s God’s will.” She found it  hard to sustain the tears from her eyes. She was broken inside.


Sad I was. I was never prepared to go in such a manner. I tried reaching out for help. I went to various councillors, even visited a median for consultance. The court cases took a toll on me. The extended family never helped either way. A fight we had. Kids bloody showing up to claim a piece on father’s estate. Many contestants showed up challenging the will of father. Each claiming to be a biological son or daughter of him. Bastards they were. Where the fuck were they all this time?

Each case and each loss sunk me further. A few months later. The HR calls me into her office, “We are sorry Mr. Mwakodi, the management decided that they no longer need your services. You are abit expensive for them.” Damn! Another blow. Jobless I was. Lawyer needs money. Where would I even begin?

Everyday I drowned in whiskey and up the thighs of every woman I’d find. Sex looses meaning when you know you can expect it from every woman you meet. You meet a gorgeous lady in the morning, charm her with your intellectualism, have lunch with her and by evening you lay her. The accolades are many. Every woman that gets your sausage gives you the feedback, “Kodi daaaamn, immah leave my guy for you. That was so intense and deep.” The reviews and reputations got into my head.

July 15th 2016.

I had one too many, pondering over everything. The journey that I’ve had for the last few months. Trying to be a son, a brother, a father figure to the two women in my life. Mother and sister.

Tomorrow we’re going to Botswana. I’ll meet with sister when she comes from Pretoria. It’s been a while since I last saw her.

July 16th


“Son, let’s a walk, it would be a while before the sun rises up”, he says.

There he is. In his navy blue Giorgio Armani suit. He looks good and sharp. He never changed how he donned he’s spectacles.

“You’ll be back before midday, I have answers to the questions you’ve longed to have them answered” He speaks in a deep husky voice. I could smell his cologne wafting across my room.

“I know it’s been a while,” he continues.

The path ahead is well lit. Not so dark as I thought.

“Lights will guide you home and ignite your course and I will try to fix you”, hasten your steps thy child.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. Duncan Nyambu Mwanjila says:

    A fantasy of the dead who is yet living to tell his own story. In credible.

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