Long Nights

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Nights means dreams. Mostly I dream of the little girl in the coma, lying there, her small fragile hands in the hands of her mother, her face impassive, the face that lost a body. Machines breath for her. Other times I dream of her running in this big field of brown grass on one of those evenings that the big orange sun seems to take a tad longer to sink behind the hills. Sometimes I dream of her sitting at the edge of my bed, wiping my sweaty brow, and shaking my shoulders gently, willing me to come out of the sleep. Then there are nights I wake up because I can hear her crying, these brittle sobs that snap like dry twigs, only to realise that it’s the cats outside in the modest maize farm behind my room. Those days I wake up with a jolt, heart racing and I lie on my back on that small three by six bed, my blanket half covering half of my naked body and I listen to the the swaying branches of the tree outside scrap the corrugated roof outside our window.

One night I couldn’t sleep so I woke up and pulled up my shorts and I eased myself out into the corridor. It was just after 3am, a nice warm breezy night. I walked, barefoot and barechested, down the long verandah and sat at the steps of the dormitory, with my view the old blue gate and the big mango tree in the middle of the compound. It’s shadow curled over the verandah . The whole center was silent, the admin block empty and in darkness, a mothership that has powered down for the night. I could smell the dew settling on the grass. Nights are the toughest because you have to be alone with your devil. There are no group forums to sit around talking about the days you woke up in strange bedrooms next to strange girls with very dark nipples.

I sat there with my chin resting on my folded knees, staring at the little security house at the gate, now dark. An occasional dog barked in the distance. Lone dark clouds slowly glided up in the pale blue sky. I stared at that gate hard and thought I could just walk over and jump over it. I could simply up and leave this place and these broken people. I wouldn’t even need a shirt. I would leave everything back here because I wouldn’t want to carry the smell of this place with me. The smell of self doubt and dying hope. What do I own anyway apart from my Bible,  four pairs of trousers, five shirts, one pair of canvas shoes, a pen and a book? Clothes that don’t even belong to me, clothes that hang onto me like a disease because I have wilted down to half of Jeff’s size. I look ridiculous in them, trousers folded at the bottom, shirts folded at the sleeves and collars big enough to fit another neck.

I could easily walk away from all that. I could jump over that gate and disappear into the night. It would break mom’s heart. Mom and Jeff.

Suddenly a long beam of light shone in my face from the security house at the gate. I didn’t even flinch because my reflexes have become so bad. I have reflexes of an old elephant. The torch remained on my face for what seemed like an eternity and I stared into it without blinking. Finally it went off and I saw the lumbering figure of Ochi, the ageing security guy shuffling over to me, mumbling in the process. He came and stood right before me.

“You know this is not allowed, Larry.” He growled like an ageing dog. “You have to get back to your room.”

I stared at his booted feet, the toes worn. He had big feet. He smelled of old cigarettes and a warehouse; mouldy and craving of sunlight.

“Get back inside or I will have to report this to Father in the morning.” He said.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Then stay in your bed,” he said, this time his voice softer.

I didn’t move. He shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do. I didn’t care if he reported this to Father or to God himself.

“I dream of this little girl every night” I said to myself. “ I dream of her and of these wheelbarrows. She is always asking me to pick one of the five wheelbarrows to push her in and we have this arguments and she starts crying saying, ‘why won’t you let me choose the wheelbarrow I like? Why can’t I get my own wheelbarrow?”

Ochi stood still like a watchtower as I talked to his shoes. There was a long hollow pause filled only with the sounds of incessant crickets.

“How old was she?”

“Can I have a cigarette?” I mumbled.

He sat the end of the staircase and leaned on the pillar near it with a long sigh, as if this small story had completely worn him out. “I can’t give you a cigarette, you know it’s against the rules here.” I could feel his stare on me. His gaze was warm against my skin, like an open fire.

Then I started crying. I hated when I cried. I seemed to cry a lot since I came here. He sat there, slumped against the pillar like a bag of grains. I sniffled, wiped my face with the back of my hands. An owl howled.

“Do you read the Bible, Larry?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No,..not lately, my wrists are too weak.” He chuckled.

“Read, Galatians 5:1 tomorrow morning when you wake up.”

“Galatians 4?”

“No, Galatians 5: 1. It’s not a long verse, so I’m sure you can make time for it.”

I mumbled it trying to keep it in my head. Galatians 5:1.

“What does it say?”

“Just read it.” Then he struggled to stand up, holding the pillar for support as he heaved his body up. How this guy is entrusted with the security of this place beats me, maybe God helps him.

“Come on, tell me.”

He sighed and lit the furthest part of the compound with his torch. Without looking at me he said, “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery.”

“I wasn’t a slave.”

“You are a slave of alcohol, Larry. That’s why you are here. Now go back to your room.”

The next day was Sunday and we were allowed to call home. I hadn’t called home in the five weeks I was here. There was one phone in Father’s office which you had to book for a three minute call at a specific time.

Mom picked on the third ring. I could hear a cow mooing in the background.

“Is that a cow, mom?” I asked.

“Larry, is that you?” She asked excitedly.

“Yes it’s me.” I said. “Is that a cow?”

“Are you okay?” She sounded panicked. “Where are you calling me from?”

“From the rehab mom,” I said, “I haven’t escaped yet.”

I could hear her breath a sigh of relief and maybe controlling her tears. Mom was as teary as I had become.

“How are you? How are the meals? Are you exercising? Do they allow you to go play outside because it’s important? Are you reading your Bible, are -”

“Mom,” I said, “Calm down. I’m fine. I walk around the field sometimes. And yes, I’m reading my Bible. Was that a cow I heard?”

She blew her nose. “Sorry, I have a cold. It’s cold in Eldoret, it rains all the time.” She blew her nose again, this time louder. I waited. “How are you feeling, Larry?”

“I get these dreams mom, about these wheelbarrows and about the girl how is she?”

She paused a bit.

“Same old. I talked to the mother last evening.” She kept quiet for a while, gathering her thoughts. “What kind of dreams do you have?”

“You know, of that girl. She talks to me, at times. I dream of her and wheelbarrows, blue wheelbarrows. I can’t sleep, mom.”

She sighed. “You have to pray. Do you pray?”

“I do.”

“Prayer makes everything better.”

“I don’t feel better.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel sleepy during the day.”

“Then sleep during the day, don’t they allow you to sleep during the day?”

“If this was play school they would.”

Mom blew her nose again.

“Larry, God’s way is difficult to comprehend.”

The next person to use the phone came into the room, a tall guy with spectacles. He was in for drugs. He reminded me of a fox with his hollow eyes.

“Mom, I have to go – “

“Larry,” she said, “remember to read your Bible.”

“I will,” I said quickly. “Was that a cow I heard earlier?”

***

This is an excerpt from a small novella project I’m currently working on. The protagonist, Larry, is a bit of an ass. But what’s a novella without some ass?

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175 Comments
  1. Some days you think about someone you miss so much, you then dream about them and wake up feeling all happy and just hope you were with them at that time. Dreams does wonders.
    Looking forward to the novella, from the excerpt it will be a good one.

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  2. I can’t wait for it, seems like the type to keep me glued all night, waking up next morning with red puffy eyes. I thought we were past that first to read nonsense.

  3. Keep at it. Alcohol and drugs are ruining our generation. Hope this will open people’s minds to dangers of addiction.

  4. Interesting novella, Biko.
    Can’t wait to download it illegally. Muhahaha 😀

    https://thispostisabout.wordpress.com

  5. Sounds like a good one to watch out for…
    I wonder why Larry was insisting on the Cow?
    Did he hit the kid into a coma while drunk-driving?

    What a story!

    1. The whole excerpt has shades of Joe Black…tad disappointed it was Biko{No hard feelings choco man}…..Please just don’t tug our heartstrings a lot with this novella.

  6. Galatians 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.
    http://www.shesatomboy.net

  7. You know at the start I was wondering why you are having strange dreams Biko. Then the story eased me in an I figured this is not you. I like Larry. He’s an ass but then I have already stepped into his bubble. I feel like his mom forced him to go to rehab and Jeff stood there that day as they signed him into the front desk, head bowed, saying nothing. And Ochi is a good man.
    This will be a good one.
    Good read as always.

  8. You said the Novella is underway? Jakendu you wouldn’t have said that. Now waiting for it to be reddy will take forever.

  9. I was almost sure this was a guest post but then you were written all over the piece.Keep the excerpts coming

  10. We are all slaves to something. Mainly money. And capitalism. And family. And our dreams. And insecurities. There is always something. That verse is null and void. Adulting is a vicious cycle of slavery.

    Happy Tuesday everyone.

    1. True, we are all slaves to something. But i disagree that the verse is null and void, because, yes it doesn’t dispute that we are slaves but we should not be burdened again because Christ set us free through His death. Happy Tuesday to you Sir

  11. What a story it is! Already. ION – I saw a tall dark dude running in Kile this morning. With a humongous forehead of course. Was that you Biko?

  12. ” I would leave everything back here because I wouldn’t want to carry the smell of this place with me. The smell of self doubt and dying hope.”
    This got me thinking hard. How does dying hope and self doubt smell like? Thinking of it, in life and as we live, there are so many scents with just as many meanings. Some attract while others repel. Scents are very instrumental for identification purposes and indicators of different phases in life. I think in one particular time of our lives we have had these types of smell, such is life anyways.
    Great piece. Can’t wait to lay my hands on the novella.

    1. Speaking of scents. I remember one time when i was 5 years, my dad was hospitalized at Nairobi Hospital. Every time i would visit there was this scent that just wouldn’t leave me. 30 years later and i am abroad and at times, i’ll be going on with my everyday life and this scent just wafts by and takes me to those days at the hospital.

      1. I have these two scents. One of diesel from my hearse that brought my aunt home and fresh coffin, from three people that is always the smae. Sometimes even when seated at my desk at work, it just comes. I imagine maybe it is their spirit saying Hi!

  13. This is one puzzling and scarely bio im still shaken by the dream. It’s like a horror movie where you’re scared of the next scene

  14. Great piece, but i was waiting for you to introduce a guest writer. i didn’t think it was you writing this. I did not feel you in those words untill the very last paragraph where you actually admit this is your work.

      1. I also did not feel Biko much in this writing, although there are bits and pieces of melancholy which are Biko-ish.

  15. It reminded me of A MILLION LITTLE PIECES by James Frey. It tells the story of a 23-year-old alcoholic and drug abuser and how he copes with rehabilitation. I look forward to reading more of the novella.

  16. Finally Biko you are embracing your fears and writing a novella, though you still call it small, yet we know its always big with you. We are all slaves of something be it alcohol, fashion or debts.

  17. “Nights are the toughest because you have to be alone with your devil”…or your God.
    Looking forward to the rest of the novella.
    You may be sitting on a goldmine or bestseller.

  18. My two cousins have been to rehab. this story has made me understand what they go thru.It’s just a tip of the iceberg, am waiting for the whole novella

  19. I read the first line and thought, ‘Could this be Chanchori, the Uber Story Guy?’ Looking forward to reading that novella.

  20. Novella!!..Yes. about time..it will be one of those books that hold a proud place in your library shelf..hopefully

  21. Sounds good…I get those dreams sometimes not of little girls and wheelbarrows but of people I should not be talking to and chapters I should have closed. Turning into a pillar of salt does not help when you ant to move on, to get to terms with it. I especially dislike it when the dreams come while driving.

  22. ‘Is that a cow I heard in the background?’
    Still stuck on this line. There’s something about it.
    Nice read.

  23. A book at last! I too thought it was joe black…
    Looking forward to the rest of the story… Especially to find out more on Larry’s obsession with the cow 😀

  24. What’s a novella without some ass?Just some boring shit!
    Release the complete novella already Biko; we wait.

  25. I had a dislike for first person narratives but yours is an exceptionally a good read. I will be amongst the first to buy it

  26. This excerpt reminds me of a books I read afew months ago by James Frey,A Million Little Pieces.
    I’m eagerly waiting for this one!!

  27. is he mad too? does larry have an over active imagination?
    is that why his mum ignores his cow question? questions, questions!
    FINALLY A NOVELLA… Cant wait

  28. Who does your revise/copy editing? There are some simple but silly grammatical errors that aren’t expected from your majestic pieces

  29. Finally!!!Thank God you didn’t say it’s Larry Madowo’s grass to grace story…
    Waiting for the novella and yes, I did not think it’s you in the beginning…

  30. Strange dreams about wheelbarrows and cows mooing in the background. Can’t wait for the novella. Great read as always Biko.

  31. Not sure I like it as much as your blog posts. It is sth. Wish there was more conversation..that’s sth I cherish with your works. He is too much in his head.

  32. Read this while listening to Kevin K.O Olusola cello cover of ‘Turn your eyes upon Jesus and the combination just made it holistic in a certain ineffable way.Can’t wait for the novella!

  33. Nice…not in the usual Biko style of stories told with humour that make an awesome read. But waiting to see how this one unfolds

  34. This is long over due. Finally, something massive is coming out of that creative, big forehead. Chocolate Man, we really need to touch, kiss, smell your well woven words and ideas wrapped up in a book. This is the beginning of a tangible bikozulu legacy. Big ups Sir.

  35. Now look at what you did. Not fair Biko, not fair at all. Now I have to tell my mind to stop wondering about the cow, the girl and the fat security guard. Teasers aren’t kind.

  36. I disagree with all ‘the above’ sycophants egging you on. This is not for you. After two (or should I write ‘2’) paragraphs, I can bet my left nipple that 99% of these fans scrolled down to check whether it was Larry Madowo – or some or some other guest writer with a similar name – who had come in to hog their space.I would suggest another try, perhaps in third person this time, as although your real-life reflections in first person come out well, the fictitious,in my view, do not.

    1. Guilty…LOL I just said something similar before seeing ur comment.But its an interesting story all the same. Don’t discourage Biko.He is brave putting this out there.I agree with you on the third person approach

  37. interesting read can’t wait for the novella, hope it explains why Larry keeps asking “Is that a cow”

  38. I got a bit lost before I finally got into it.But its an excerpt so I guess that could be the reason why am slow to it.plus no sleep#newbornmanenos.It however does make one curious as to where the story is going,thus wanting to read more about Larry’s journey(this name makes me think of Larry Madowo.LOL. So good job.,

    1. Exactly my thoughts too. I thought he’d(Larry Madowo) decided to open up as to why he couldn’t continue with missionary studies when he was aspiring to be a Catholic Father.

  39. “He smelled of old cigarettes and a warehouse; mouldy and craving of sunlight.” Your imagination is spectacular!!

  40. Haha… “Was that a cow i heard” this line will be reverberating in my head. .great piece!
    Looking forward to read the book

  41. Thought of Larry Madowo too( gosh!) I enjoyed the piece. Please let us know when the book is done and out.

  42. When I started reading, I knew this wasn’t one of your ordinary pieces.I can’t wait for the novella!

  43. curious to get that book just to find out if it was indeed a cow mooing in the background or Larry’s drugs were doing rounds in his head.

  44. The face that lost a body…brittle sobs that snap like dry twigs…smell the dew settling on the grass…the smell of self doubt and dying hope…reflexes of an old elephant..
    These little pieces of imagery really paint a bleak picture. You’ve done well setting the scene.But, you want your scene to be impeccable. Clean out the mistakes (not many, but they take away from your presentation.
    The pace will pick up, right? With the wheelbarrows and Mom’s evasion of a seemingly harmless question, you plant a seed of interest. Why won’t she just answer him?

    I’m watching this space…

  45. Long nights…I have tried getting past the first paragraph but still unable to read the whole story and scrolled to the comments for a mwaks and now I have an idea why for a whole week I couldn’t bring myself to finish this.Biko has a way of starting you off and serenading you to the end and an email alert of The Iron Curtain has jolted me to finish what I started,so off I go,hoping to read all of it.

  46. exactly my sentiments! actually hope thats just about the only boring part in that novella otherwise as a shared great writer says “its a great novella that will shock and dismay you”

  47. Haiya! You’r finally writing a novel!! Congratulations in advance. Will surely buy it. Im so tired of reading lousy mills and boons.

  48. Biko why do this to me…. now i want to know, when ,how and why Larry became a slave to alcohol. How he became freinds with Ochi. And why Ochi is able to smoke in a rehab facility. Did Larrys mum Have to sell their cow to pay for rehab.

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  49. It’s 2021 and I’m only finding this now. I’m late to the party so i can’t comment first like some guys here. But that’s not the point. The point is it’s 2021. We wear masks now btw because there is a strange virus that’s in a battle with our lungs. And Mark’s blog has disappeared. Mark has disappeared too. I’m so curious because he’s the type of guy who makes the comments his own little blog. So if anyone knows Mark or what he wrote on his blog please talk to me.