Say what?

Madge Swindells is my fave woman writer of late. I don't need to read any more of her books to discover this. I especially love summer Harvest. If you wondering what to read next then wonder no more.

Moreso i saw her books at Ksh. 150 at Books First. I guess they didnt know the value of books. Summer Harvest is a 1983 book so i guess you know the books is quality not the ones they write these days.


So today I have nothing to write but to avoid blog menopause, I have to keep writing.

So this weekend was fathers day or so Prousette declared (google searches indicates a date in March). So I could have wished my father a happy one but you see he was not in town for a business deal. That is the story of his life. I love my father,.i have always done. When I was a bit small I went with him to the show alone. So were the good memories when we ingiad the then deacons and I insisted I wanted a half petticoat. The reason being my cousins were telling me that only children wear full petticoats. So I needed to feel like an adult and wear half ones.

So when I was a child my father & I had a perfect relationship. Better part was when I went to school, I was always number 1, 2, that made him immensely proud of me and to that a trip to visit my aunty was organized. Such are the days I don’t remember sleeping. My aunty lived in Mombasa. I was excited,.truth be told.

Somewhere along the way my dad lost interest in us. He would be away for long periods. I never understood then until I was in Standard Seven, Eight. I guess he started his philandering ways then. Nothing more,.a dad who used to talk to us with so much with respect started shouting. So it started then we would be afraid of him to the extent that when he came home, we would all go to sleep. He became violent so much it was getting to us. Needless to say he never hit me even once reason being I was him mother technically and you never beat your mother. The rest were never spared.

I saw him hit my mother once; many countless times, throw the food to the wall I don’t know for what reasons. Pack his bags saying his clothes are not been washed properly only to come again with them after probably been thrown out.

I do not wish to continue with this post. I already feel depressed.

Anyhow these days after my mother left he is trying to be nice. He is not violent any more; he actually sits down with us,.adores my small brother. We even sit down and laugh many times.

I always feel the need to be independent because I know much as men can be good they can be as destructive. Not the least to say I abhor violence.

A new bout of depression has hit.