Ever since the end of the rainy season, ever since the destruction of the village green house and the chief’s little baraza, Kombo’s heart bore the weight of the universe. It wasn’t because of the rains that had swept away three huts, thirteen cows, five goats and a toddler. It wasn’t because his alcoholic father was down with liver cirrhosis or that his elder sister Nyakara was a harlot who when ‘decent’ wore short skirts that squeezed her expansive thighs too tight she had trouble walking, a strapless top that let her breasts almost hang out loose for the ravenous eyes to feast on and heels which made her walk as if the ground was burning.
Philly Vivian is a lover of life, poet and an enthusiastic soul. Currently a second year student taking Journalism and mass communication .A literature fanatic .Adventurous mind. Wandering soul.Aesthete. The cosmos is our own creation,let us paint it in colour.