A Letter to My Brothers

Dear brothers,

When you read this letter, I am already in Addis Ababa. Do not worry about me. I am fine and settling down well. I am in a new, focused country with an energetic leader who dares even the Pharaohs over the Nile waters. I am already in the arms of my empathetic lover, Edel, and her beautiful daughter, Beli, eager and ready to start a new life. I am in the country of Menelik II, the most outstanding African emperor who defeated the feared dictator and fascist Mussolini and his Italian armies on our sacred African soil at Adowa. I am in the nation of Gabrielle Selassie, the long-distance track legend. I am in the land of Ras Tafari MacKinnon, the prince and founder of the Ras Tafari religion. Being here reminds me of reggae music; that line, "the system does not cater for me." That is why I have left you, my dear brothers. That is why I have left my beloved daughter Emily back home. I cannot say that about her mother. She deserves my abandonment. It is good I have left her. Otherwise, living with her another second would have killed me.
Brother Manga, it is only you who can understand me. You have lived with these young women of this age. You have seen how torturous it is. You have experienced it all, from them throwing the little hard-earned money you give at your face to the enormous insults projected at you. How does a man bear that? How does a grown-ass man watch and tolerate his ego brought down among neighbours and strangers? I now understand why Kevin beat sister Clare that much. I now know why he had this colossal bat stored under the bed for his wife. People say words don't break bones. But they forget that they break hearts and spirits. You went through this torture Manga and came out alive. I respect you for that. Perhaps, I should also thank the weed you took to kill the stresses women give. I am sorry that Velma turned you, our innocent brother, into a drug abuser.
I know our father is blaming me for my bold move. He thinks of nothing other than his sons getting married and maintaining those relationships. He believes that since he has handled our stubborn mother over the last forty years, we should also have the calmness and tolerance to stay with our mean wives. He told me I should not abandon Tesa because finding a good woman is hard. He stressed that there is no good woman and advised that I should not leave Tesa because it would lead to having multiple women in my life. I am sorry to disappoint him. I have to take my chances and seek the best life possible. The good thing about father is that he is light-hearted. He will soon accept what I have done.
Mother never liked Tesa. However, she is unpredictable. It is hard to say whether she will be happy or sad about my move. I wonder if she will keep staying with Tesa. I am sure she will not be pleased with me being far away from her. She has never liked it when we move out. Do you recall how she quickly brought Manga home when he moved to Migosi? She never likes it when we go for those interviews that promise to take us to the big cities far away from her. I wonder if she knows we are too old to live around her. She may like the idea of me leaving Tesa but not leaving the family. She has got us deeply rooted in her.
Mother hates Tesa's overambition. She hates her desire for the high life, yet she is unwilling to work for it. Recently, she told Dreda that Tesa's frustrations had reversed my development. I am becoming more childish and sluggish. The vibrancy of my youth has ebbed away. I have become like Njoroge, who Ngugi wa Thiong'o describes as an "old young man." Mother knows it. She understands it. She knows how a wife can turn a husband's heaven into hell. Probably, she did the same to our father. You can see how quiet of a man he is. Her daughters do the same to their husbands too. Now, Tesa was there, frustrating me.
Remember, I told you we could not judge Davy for marrying another wife. You can recall how sister Celine used to thrash him. At one time, Celine told us how she climbed on his back and stabbed him there severally with a scissor. Do not forget how she vandalized his car and beat him black and blue one morning. The poor guy collected himself amidst all that shame and reported the incident to the police. I can imagine the embarrassment and derailment he faced from your incompetent officers. Who knows what more action-drama our brother-in-law faces under Celine's domination?
Have you ever wondered how hard he finds discussing such matters with us? What avenues of help have men who suffer physical and mental abuse in marriages got? Society expects us to stay strong and suffer quietly. The laws and traditions are against us. Probably, that is the reason most men die first in marriages.

People often wonder why a good Christian like Mistari turned bad after marrying Akothe. Mother usually praised his powerful prayers. Mistari no longer attends church. All he does is smoke bhang and drink. That is what happens to a man who marries a trophy wife. Her work is only to squander and bankrupt you when you work hard. Mistari gave Akothe the comfortable life that few people in your country live. He rented a posh house in the high-end side of Murang'a town and took his children to the best academies. He even started a bakery with his brothers and cousins. Unfortunately, Akothe frustrated and chased his brothers away, claiming they were dirty. The bakery business stopped as she kept spending Mistari's dime purchasing designer clothes and expensive shoes. When Dreda and I visited her place, she never wanted us there. She had the nerve to tell us that since she had sent Mistari's brothers away, we, too, should leave. Now that poor Mistari is broke, Akothe calls our mother and father, crying as she narrates Mistari's irresponsibility. What a devil!
We do not know what made Ronny run away. People say he met a sugar mommy and decided to live with her in Mombasa. All they see is sister Sarah and her little daughter. Nobody bothers to ask what motivated Ronny to take such an unexpected move. I have never judged Ronny. I will not judge him today. I will wait until I hear his side of the story.
These quick and wrongful condemnations of men are leading to the rising rates of suicide among married men in your country. This unjustified expectation that we should absorb an immense amount of pressure from women without a word or a sigh is driving us to the gutters. I won't fall for it. That's why I left you all to start a new life.
You all know that Tesa has been a pain in my ass. I have told and hinted at that to you on several occasions. You must have noticed how I have withdrawn from you lately. That's because she never likes it when I talk to you. She claims that sitting with you people makes me less ambitious and lose focus. Some nights, I have to go without supper as punishment for spending time with my brothers. I can't take this anymore. Why does she have to do this to me, yet I let her roam around and spend time with those useless women who only sit around and say vile things about other people? Since she started spending time with them, she has turned into a negative, insatiable hyena. She wants more and more.
I have never come across anybody so insecure as her. I can neither talk to nor have any woman as a friend. Her insecurities made me delete my social media account. She snoops around my phone like a dog, searching for a bone. I was even surprised that she knew my phone's password. That makes her feel like the most intelligent person in the world. She read my messages and replied to them disgracefully. Then she claims that I shame her. She does not know the love and respect I had for her.
Brothers, you know I am always indoors nearly twenty-four hours a day. I only leave to dump our daughter's poop and pee in the lavatory or to have a small chat with you. When do I get to cheat? Tesa had imprisoned me.
Do you know that she stopped Derrick from visiting me? My bosom friend from childhood. We went to the same high school and college and did the same course. She claims Derrick corrupts me. Tesa made me live a secluded life. She neither loves you nor my friends. I could not take it anymore. According to her, nobody is right for me. I fear she might lock me up and kill me someday.
She gives me no privacy. Indeed, everyone deserves some bit of privacy; partners included. When you look for dirt, you will always find it. She read messages from my friend, Pats and became wild. She assaulted me. I had to defend myself. In this age, who understands a man who protects himself from a feline attack? People only see the bruises I gave her. They forget about my finger that she almost ripped apart.
Do you recall when I was playing wrestling with her, and I almost choked her to death accidentally? The nurses declared I was guilty of her condition and that I did choke her intentionally. They pressured her to press charges against me. She did not. But that has been her leeway to blackmail me. I promised not to touch her again. However, my retrieval made her more dominant as she pressed me into her small corner.
Last week, I had to rise again. I had to face my fears and undress this timidity that covered me. When Tesa lashed at me like a hungry lioness, I had to give her a beating that she would never forget. I am not proud of what I did. I wouldn't say I like fights, and this is not the life I wanted.
When I was young, I believed those men who beat their wives were devils in men's form until I found myself doing the same. Tesa provoked me. She attacked me ferociously. It was my life and health at stake. I had to respond. That's why I keep saying, "if you don't know the story, do not judge the book." I left since I didn't want to continue living that violent life. I hope you all understand.
Sincerely,
Moremore.

My Beloved

It’s been a while, But I haven’t missed her.

My flower, though miles away, 
Is every step I take, 
With me always, deep in my heart,

mind, and soul's part.

Peace I feel at, When I hear her voice sweet,

telling she misses meat, my heart skips a beat,

My nerves halt, For her alone.

Our lone time, I hold and cuddle her,

Like a pillow tight, I feel her warm curves,

Her pink thighs, real soft and tender, 
Her body, a site of wonder

Her saliva, tastes like butter. .

I’m afraid of dark, she changes that,

When I’m with Pat, I can step out,

she is my man, she is my sun,

She lights my world, she provides life.

It’s dark outside, stars up the sky,

My mind, comes my lover’s eyes,

Dark and white, like night and street light,

I know I shall die, observing my lover’s eyes.

Roll One

 Chwa found Bandia sitting on the concrete slabs that formed the stairway for the door leading into the house. Bandia's eyes were red, comprehensive, and lazy, indicating that he had taken some puffs of weed. They greeted each other with a moderate meeting of fists, and then Chwa sat beside his brother. After staring at the empty vicinity momentarily, Chwa began, "Bandia, it's time I started taking weed. I used to think I could pass this tough life with a sober mind, but now I feel it has stretched me to my limits. I feel downtrodden. I need something that can energize me. I need something that can make me active again. Nothing is happening in my life. It's as if someone buried my luck in an abyss."

Bandia smiled sceptically at his innocent older brother. Then he responded, "weed does not energize or activate people the way you think. It makes time pass quickly and abnormally indulges you in an activity. It makes farmers till without noticing this scorching afternoon sun. It makes unemployed youths like me sit and sleep around the whole day without minding our houses' unkempt and stuffy nature. It makes dreamers float on cloud nine for the next couple of hours, thinking their lives are better than ours."

"Don't give me that crap bro. Then why do you keep taking it? By the way, I forgot to tell you that Mose came here looking for you yesterday evening. We sat in my house for an hour but you never came."

Bandia laughed softly and replied, "Mose was looking for that thing that you also desperately want. 

 "Ever since I gave him a roll of Manu's high-grade marijuana, he has been nagging me for more rolls, yet I don't sell them. He is losing his senses because of weed now. Can't he understand that I am no dealer. I have no rolls waiting for him on demand. I'll refer him to Brayo. He is the new dealer on the block."

 "Weed is usually something else. See Mose now. A good kid has gone bad. He was always busy taking care of his animals. Now all he thinks of is weed. You are a bad influence Bandia," they both laughed as Chwa ended the statement.

Bandia continued thoughtfully, "Do you recall when Manu came here desperately looking for me?"

"Yes, I do. That day he almost met the lioness. Lucky was he. Had mother opened the gate, he would be dead by now."

"Nonsense," Bandia disagreed, "Manu is a good orator. I am sure he would have calmed mother's calamitous spirit that doesn't want friends looking for me."

Chwa laughed off that comment and then argued, "Have you forgotten that even Mose is also a good speaker? Did he withstand the torrents of mother's angry words and loud reverberating voice? His calmness and composure disappeared. He had to run bananas out of the narrow corridor before mother's anger consumed him. Manu is not different."

"True," Bandia concurred. Then he added, "that day, Manu came to ask me to be his dealer in this area. I rejected his offer. 

"I cannot believe that Manu is this serious about dealing in weed. He has turned that business into a profession." 

 The two brothers laughed riotously at Bandia's statement, dreading that this miserable life had turned Manu, a graduate, into a drug peddler.

After a moment, they stopped their laughter. Chwa continued the conversation. 

 "You wanted to do the business too, but we stopped you. It is hard to believe that you had bought marijuana seeds and was planting them in the backyard." 

Disheartened by that memory, Bandia responded, "you people are only good at timidity and killing dreams. I could be reaping my harvest and making muller now. Unfortunately, I let your fears grip me and stop me from engaging in this promising venture. Wait a few years and see where Manu will be."

Then Bandia hopefully added, "Musa told me he planted some of seeds I gave him in Nyawita. I hope he is not lying to me. I should visit the farm and confirm if it's true. As for now, I'll focus on this poultry and hope that I have a decent number of chickens for sale by December."

"All will be well." Chwa responded empathetically. Then a thought crossed his mind.

 "Have you ever wondered how many times we have been told that all will be well? I am getting old, years keep passing, yet I keep hearing the same thing; 'all will be well'."

Bandia, looking to get into that line of thought, replied, "It seems this wellness is a distant dream."

"I hate faith and religion. 'All will be well' is what they keep saying. They make us wait for imaginary things that we die without witnessing. 

 "Gospel music doesn't motivate me any more. I better listen to reggae. It relates to our situation. 

 "Even prayer is worthless. I used to pray consistently every morning. Can you recall that church Caro and I joined where people pray while shouting at the top of their lungs? I had to go through all that embarrassment to seek redemption. How many years yet misery does not end? and it's not me alone. Nearly everybody prays, but how many get pity from the Almighty? It's misery all over."

Bandia laughed again sympathetically and responded, "You have passed through a lot and seen many things at your tender age. You surprised us when we heard all those drums and noise coming from your house in the name of prayer. I even thought you had joined Legion Maria. For a moment, we thought we'd lost you. These women you people marry, and the things they bring into your life. They make me pity married men." 

Then Bandia got serious and philosophical, "I don't think God exists. Religion is just an invention of early man to give people hope since hopeless lives are meaningless. Many people pray to God regularly and still die poor. Look at those troubled men, women, and children of Syria living under bombs and air strikes daily. They pray to God for peace, harmony, and prosperity. But what happens to them? Painful death stares at them like a snare. 

 "If God existed, this world would be a better place. There would be love, peace, harmony, and prosperity. These are the things most people seek from God. Unfortunately, they die without receiving them. God does not exist. If he does exist, then he is a different being from the one religions describes."

"True," Chwa agreed. 

 "Have you ever prayed so much for a breakthrough that you even start arguing with God? If God existed and was as robust and benevolent as most people claim, he surely would have listened to our plea; the cries of little children in Syria; the refugees and migrants in Europe and America, and the poor in Africa and Asia. 

 "Moreover, this world is significantly skewed to injustice. Sinners live well, yet people claim God exists. 

 "God is an illusion created by men who failed to trace their origin in an attempt to explain their unexplainable existence."

 "Yeah," Bandia agreed. They rose and started strolling towards the gate. Bandia then changed the course of the conversation.

 "Did you bet on Chelsea to win?"

Give Me Feedback

 David sat on his sofa. Even though the cushions were made of a highly dense mattress, they felt hard, like a plain hardwood bench. He had been doing the same thing for several days; waking up early every morning, observing his phone and the email inbox painfully. He had done an interview a few days ago and was very hopeful that this much-needed job opportunity would be the breakthrough in his life. He was tired of living on dregs and crumbs. He needed change in his life. 

 

 The interview had gone well, at least, according to him. He had left the panel amazed and in awe. He had gathered a lot of writing, media, and literature knowledge that made him suitable for a writer or editor position in any reputable organization. However, the call was not coming.

 

 In the past few days, he had made several calls to the interviewer. The receptionist kept telling him that the HR manager would call him. He desperately wanted to speak to the hiring manager. He wondered why he had to pass through the unbreachable barrier of the receptionist to reach the HR manager. The receptionist adamantly refused to let him speak to the HR manager. It was out of a will or a directive from the hiring manager.

 

 David’s life had stopped. He felt the organization was mulling over giving him feedback, which placed an unwarranted burden of expectation or hopes on him. “Usually, feedback for an interview is normally given a few hours after the end of the session," he thought. "If the organization dreadfully needed a person to fill that position, they must have communicated by now to the chosen person,” he continued. “However, why should they make other people who did not pass the interview wait?” David wondered. “This is torture,” he murmured. 

 

 Opportunities were rare. David was not in the habit of wasting them. That Tuesday evening, when the organization called him for the interview found when he was cleaning his house. He had no money. The call came as a surprise. It also carried a lot of demands. He quickly needed to mobilize funds to facilitate the attendance of the interview. First, he asked the HR manager to try and postpone the interview for another day. The one-day notice for the interview was short. His request fell on deaf ears. Thus, he embarked on seeking instant soft loans from friends and relatives.

 

 Fortunately, David raised the money. On the long-distance highway to Nairobi, he boarded the Easy Coach bus at ten and travelled with other passengers on the cold and shivery night. After seven hours of sitting, fidgeting, and stretching, they arrived at the Easy Coach waiting lounge in the misty Nairobi morning. His mouth was smoking cold breath. David cursed his memory for failing to remind him to wear a hood. The warm weather of Kisumu made him unaccustomed to dress codes involving hoods and jumpers. It was normal for him to forget these heavy attires. 

 

 He spent one hour at the lounge, which seemed like a day, waiting for Pauline, his cousin, to pick him up. Watching the boring channel on TV and passengers sleeping beside him made him feel awful. That place resembled the refugee camps he had seen in Italy on Al-Jazeera. He could not wait to leave there. Fortunately, Pauline arrived to pick him up by six. 

 

 Everything went well that day. The interview was good and left David very hopeful. That evening passed without David getting a call from the interviewer. This situation was understandable since the interview had been conducted that afternoon. It ended very late. It was too soon to get results. Therefore, he slept peacefully. 

 

 David had planned to visit his sister in Machakos the following day. It was over a year since he last saw her at their grandmother’s funeral in Migori. It was customary to pay courtesy calls to close relatives. Such calls depicted the love, care, and concern one had for the family. He scheduled that visit at around midday the following day. 

 

 David woke up around seven that Thursday morning. He found that his beloved spouse had called him twice. David knew what was troubling her. He called back. When she received the call, her first question was, “Dear, when are you coming back?” 

 

 He hated such questions after attending interviews. David despised the pessimism that accompanied such questions. They hugely suggested that organizations merely conducted interviews as formalities and were designed to fail people, which in his case, were nearly facts. He believed Caro felt his time in Nairobi was over after another formal and failed interview.

 

 He momentarily sat on his aunt's couch, staring blankly at the African gospel-music YouTube channel Pauline selected to entertain him. This song kept playing in his subconscious:

 

 “Sitabaki kama nilivyoooo” (I will never be the same) 

 

 He thought about how much music had been created to give people hope in the last few years. Prosperity gospel had taken centre stage in the teachings of most churches. Many people had turned to God, hoping their lives would get better. 

 

 David closed his eyes as tears welled up his eyes and murmured, "God I am sinner, but why punish me so much. Some people are even greater sinners than me. They live better and do not know trouble. Why me, Lord? Why me, Lord?" he finished and opened his eyes.

 

He spent that morning staring at his phone every five seconds. Time passed. There was no call except from his father, who repeated Caro's question, "when are you travelling back to Kisumu?" His hopes of ever getting positive feedback started dwindling tremendously. Later, he packed his bags and left for Machakos.

 

 After spending a night in Machakos, David left early in the morning for Kisumu. He arrived on a Friday to a warm welcome from his wife and ailing daughter, who had missed so much that she became sick. The love and smiles of the family were enough to liven his beaten heart. He kissed his ladies softly and promised to toughen up the following day. 

 

 Keeping this promise became hard. Days passed without David getting a response from the interviewer. He grew anxious and agitated. His desire to know the result of the interview so that he could kick start his life once again overwhelmed him. 

 

 He recalled the 2018 hit Indian movie titled Padmaavati. This religious Guru tests Padmaavati by asking her, “what is the hardest moment in a person’s life?” She replies, “waiting for results after a test.” Now, more than ever, David concurred with Padmaavati. 

 

 He recalled seven years ago as an intern at the Ugunja Sub-county Public Health office. His supervisor had once told him, "feedback is the breakfast of champions", when he failed to report to her one evening. Now he had learned the importance of feedback and promised never to delay giving it. 

 

What Makes a Good Professional Blog Post?

 

Blogging remains one of the primary digital marketing tools that are accessible and pays off well. New businesses look towards blogging as an immediate solution to their problem of developing a marketing strategy. Established brands integrate blogging into their multifaceted marketing strategy.

Blogging brands businesses. Preparing informative articles shows one's comprehensive knowledge of their products and the industry, earning them a huge customer following and loyalty. One becomes a customer's point of reference for information about products. 

Quality blog posts earn customers’ trust. They develop faith in one's business to supply quality products to satisfy their needs. Thus, businesses must learn how to write excellent professional blog posts. Below are six critical tips for writing an awesome professional blog post.

Tip 1: Understand Your Theme or Topic

A theme is a message a piece of art carries and passes to its audience. Like music and literature, blog posts have themes too. They communicate specific messages to their audience. Thus, before you write your blog post, know and understand the message you want to pass to your readers. Knowing your theme helps you gather and put relevant information in your blog post. It guides your research by focusing on areas that provide information related to your blog posts. Good research results in a highly informative blog post.

Tip 2: Research Your Theme or Topic Well

Research is a person's activity to gain a deeper understanding of a topic or issue. Several research methods include interviews, reading other sites' content, testing similar products and comparing their performance. Research gives you the facts and information you need to write your blog post. It enriches your blog with definitive evidence that improves its reasonableness. Proper research makes writing easy. It provides you with much information you need to transfer to your blog. It prevents you from making several stops when writing to search or guess more details on your topic or theme. Moreover, it prevents you from veering off your topic since you have adequate information for writing your theme. 

Tip 3: Write Your Blog Post

Putting pen to paper requires great courage. Usually, people face a situation where they have torrents of information but have trouble writing them down. This situation occurs because of fear or lack of confidence in their writing ability. Fortunately, the solution to this problem is simple; start writing. You can start writing by preparing an outline that will structure your blog post so that you organize it well. Once you have your outline, write your blog post.

The next three tips (Tips 4, 5, and 6) for creating an awesome professional blog post focus on what to do when writing your blog post. I have explained them below.

Tip 4: Use a Clear, Friendly, Professional Voice

A great blog post is clear, and its tone is friendly and professional. A clear blog post uses a language that its target audience understands. It avoids using technical jargon. For example, a blog post targeting patients with heart attacks should use the term “heart attack” instead of “cardiac arrest.” Many people do not know “cardiac arrest.” Such a clear voice improves the readability of the post. 

Additionally, a blog post with a friendly and professional tone uses the second-person voice. The pronoun "you" is the major feature of this voice. It is very effective in "How to" blog posts. A second-person voice brings a reader closer to the text since it speaks directly to the reader. It keeps the reader glued to the text because it is direct and respectful.

Tip 5: Support Your Ideas Relevant Research and Citations

We had discussed earlier in Tip 2 that proper research gives you adequate information to write and present your idea or theme. When writing, apply the fruits of your research to support your ideas. These fruits are citations, such as facts, figures, and examples you retrieved from research. Use relevant citations to back up compatible ideas in the body of the paragraph. Citations improve the reasonableness of your blog post and make it more plausible.

Tip 6: Understand the Business That has Hired You to Write Its Blog Post

We mentioned earlier that blogging brands businesses. Thus, if you are a hired web content writer, know your client well. Know your client’s policies and principles so that your writing matches your client's character. Make sure your writing reflects your client's business culture so that it is in line with your client's brand. It will improve your relationship with your client by building trust, which earns you an opportunity for future endeavours with the client.

My Hometown

 

I was born and raised in Kisumu, a tiny, loud city in western Kenya. Due to the tense political situation in the country, Kisumu, the turf of opposition politics, was a rough place for an upbringing. The annual “Sabasaba” rallies, marked by violent protests along every street of the town, spelt danger to us children in an equal measure to adults. There was no place in Kenya where the riot police met their wanton brutality like in our beloved Kisumu, thus forging our innocent young minds into renegades. We grew up taught to opposition by the marginalisation and lack of care that our city and region received from the central government.

Despite the political troubles that plagued Kisumu, it was bursting with cultural heritage and pride. The dominant Luo people of the city were renowned for their love of fun, leisure, and pleasure. The Luo Benga, Rhumba, and Ohangla music permeated every corner and nook of this country. Members of other tribes and races appreciated music created by legendary Luo artists like Okatch Biggy, Owino Misiani, George Ramogi, Osito Kale, Bana Kadori, Ochieng Kabasele, and Aluoch Pamba. I loved the song Helena wange dongo by Okatch Biggy. I still dance to its tunes.

Kisumu, situated on the shores of Lake Victoria, traditionally known as Nam Lolwe, was home to the pioneering intellectuals of western education in this country. It was the first town to have an African mayor in colonial Kenya. It has produced numerous scholars who have achieved great feats for this country. Myth has it that the fish-eating culture of the Luo people made them brighter than other tribes or communities in Kenya. Furthermore, comedians like Eric Omondi theorise that every adult in Kisumu has a college degree.

Kisumu's hot and wet climate was sometimes frustrating, especially during the dry season when our pockets were dry. The high room temperatures of over 32 degrees Celsius, the scorching outdoor sun, and the dusty roads could sometimes make it the worst place. However, there was love and marvel when the August rains came, and children sang and screamed, “koth bi abia” (rain, just rain).

Nowadays, it rains there in December and even January. They were the hottest and driest months in the city. Things have changed for the better. I hope my hometown becomes more peaceful and lovelier than before.

Fathers' Day

I do remember him. He suffers quietly and is lonely. He keeps it all to himself. He is a man. Men should not complain.
 He educated them, all his children, boys and girls. He supplied them with necessities. He loved his daughters more, not because they were weak, but because he knew they were vulnerable. Now he suffers alone, alone in quietness.
 They do not give him money, "Mama, have it all. Men waste money, they waste it on women and alcohol," they say.
 "Baba is a drunkard. Baba never worked hard," they say.
 "Baba, I do remember you, yes, I do."
 "Baba, its not because u were drunk, its because they never take the blame. Even today, they still dont take the blame."
 "Yesterday, she paid our house rent baba, now the whole neighborhood knows I depend on her."
 "Her mother called, told me to stop bleeding her daughter dry."
 "She left me. she left with my kid. she left with my Brian. all because i sell beer."
 " I cant find sleep baba. my presence, my existence, is irritating."
 "Yesterday, my favorite Argentina played, but it was all messy in my house. My legs on my table, abomination dear friend."
 "why can't you find work? what plans do you have for us."
 "Baba, you never said anything. I won't say a thing. Baba Brian cant complain, because they never take the blame."