Letters to Cheptolo (1): Java Porridge☕

Greetings Chep, from within the earthy and textured walls of Java House, where a friend of mine has taken me to drink Java porridge in the hope of finally forgetting you. He has also just recently dumped his girlfriend coz she didn’t want to listen. Sounds familiar to you, doesn’t it? So here we are, trying to reason if we were the problem in our respective relationships, and also of how next we can get more reps and equipment in the gym.

You see, us wangwana we like to stick together, and the porridge is to discuss how both of us non-coincidentally dumped our girlfriends, while trying for a first time city-brewed porridge. Obviously our mothers’ porridge, drank from deep agwatas, were second to no other homestead. Top tier. We have taken this one just because we need something to burn our throats as we reminisce, and we do not take liquor. We are commonly known as jo-Adwen (Adventists). But you already know that.
I just feel like I haven’t spoken to you in a while, hence the letter, and I would love you to know I’m actually still a ja-Adwen keeping the faith. My days of missing church coz of you are not so long gone, but they are gone now.

This porridge is worth it - every time we say something that is absolute facts, we sip and laugh our molars out. Everyone around thinks we are drunkards who have stumbled their way into Java. But we are here purposefully, and so are they, so let everyone enjoy whatever is in their tumbler.

Sorry, this letter is supposed to be about you, not how much porridge tastes different in agwatas as compared to mugs. Or maybe I’m just a village boy, but even you know there’s a difference.

All these people stare at me while I laugh away my pain, not knowing that you’re under different skies than my own, laughing to unfunny jokes with whichever Tom or Harry. Why are you laughing, you only used to laugh at my jokes. And now that I think about it, why were you laughing? I am not that funny. No other girl finds my SpongeBob jokes funny, but you enjoyed them like you were co-writers with me of the scripts.

I saw you dancing with some guy on the road, and I’m like f both of you!! What’s a guy doing dancing TikToks? I might not be the strongest of men (yet), but I’m dead sure in times of adversity that TikTok dancer will neither help you nor offer solutions, whatsoever! I thought you didn’t even like dancing? Your feet face exact opposite ways when you stand, what makes you think they’ll be in sync when a beat is played? I can finally speak bluntly, without you cutely punching my guts. But I mean what I say with all honesty and whatever amount of love is left in me.

I sent anime memes; you sent back smiles, laughter, and clips of Patrick Star’s hilarious stupidity. But all the smiles stacked up in miles. We tried to plan, we set dates and picnics, but time and distance wouldn’t wait. Matatu fare got pricey, school schedules too tight. So “maybe soon” became “goodnight.”

Buana if I could fold the map, shrink all the space between our chat, I would be there cuddled up with you, binge watching uncensored documentaries on how old time African slavery was more an African-led-affair than Caucasian-led. And our perspective on life and history would continue to change; edited perspective you like to call it.

But till I can, you are forever far away, more so now than ever!

Chep, don’t mind the letters that will be flooding your inbox in coming months. I just thought writing to you from a restaurant is cool, and it is!

I gotta go, there’s no idle sitting at Java after you finish your porridge, and they’ve probably noticed I have their Wi-Fi password all this while.

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PS: If you have a few seconds to spare, please hit the <reply> button and let me know what you thought of this article. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it and what could be improved. It also reminds me that there’s another person reading it on the other end of my screen😅. Thanks.

Have a wonderful week ahead!

✍🏽Reagan.