Author: Eric Onyango

Words are living things. There is no life lived to its fullest without madness and passion. I want my life to be proud of me by the time we part ways.

On many hot weekend afternoons in dusty Kitengela, 1994, daddy would plonk me onto our old brown living room table when his favourite song came on the radio, prodding me to dance for his pleasure. Pepe Kalle’s “Roger Milla” reverberated through my ears as my father’s penetrating stare unsheltered my shyness. Aurlus Mabele and Yondo Sister would be my best friends whose tunes gingered up the people around us. In a way this was my baptism into what would steer me into being the man I am today. Music. One and two, a step to the moon, my pint-sized seven…

Made of music via @theMagunga
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We were bundled at home that fateful December. Uncle had gone missing since taking his wife to Naivasha for a new posting. The eerie election hue had swamped the country in a drunken stupor. Time was sluggish. There was a lot of emptiness in the air. The smell of dread simmered through our lungs. Dad was away in Nairobi meeting fellow authors for a joint writing project and mother was just about to undergo a miscarriage. My siblings and I hadn’t even known she was pregnant. Mwai Kibaki was hurriedly sworn in as President that evening as though he had…

Kenya Has Not Healed via @theMagunga
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Two weeks into discovering my writing, it was time, she felt, to try connecting with this word wizard offline. I am an open person. Working with people opens you up, especially when you have a huge base of readers who constantly want to be talking to you. You talk to great, weird people and lost ones, like you. Wangari* boldly asked for my number. We’d text all day long and three quarters of nights; sharing thoughts, teasing, flirting, and talking about nothing. She was 30. I was 25; igneous, curious and trigger happy. I had always been fascinated by older…

My Last One Night Stand via @theMagunga
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The truth is I have shed leaves Struck down by goodbyes That cared not a dime For my reverent constancy Oh such is life- astounding Beating you up for your passions As though it is criminal to cherish The truth is It is enslaving to be numbed- deadened by memories abhorred That one inhabits outside themselves As a soul abandoned Whatever life shall beget I shall feel- to be free © Words are living things. 

[POETRY] Feels | by @RixPoet via @theMagunga
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