THE HIDDEN ROOM

 THE HIDDEN ROOM

Days crawled too slowly for Sarah. She was so stressed and David's absence made the situation so unbearable. Sarah got to a point where she could not take it anymore. She began to seek information on how to get rid of it and with time, she got a contact and made all arrangements. It was not very expensive. It was only Sh.15,000 between her and her freedom. The planned day came. The air inside the room was heavy with the sharp smell of cheap disinfectant masking damp walls. Sarah sat on the edge of a vinyl-covered examination table, her fingers digging into the fabric of her handbag. The practitioner was a man in his late forties wearing a faded, unbuttoned lab coat over casual clothes. He didn’t look up from his desk as he scribbled on a plain notepad. "You said on the phone you are two months along?" He asked. "Two, maybe three. I… I’m not entirely sure. The method I was using failed." Sarah said, Her voice trembling. "Methods fail all the time. That is why this place exists. But let us be clear before we begin. Once we start, there is no turning back. Do you have the money?" Sarah Nodded, reaching into her bag "Yes. The fifteen thousand shillings. It’s all here." She placed the envelope of folded cash on the desk. He picked it up immediately, counting the bills with practiced efficiency before sliding it into his drawer. He stood up and walked toward a metal tray covered by a worn towel. The metallic clink of instruments made Sarah’s stomach twist. "Good. Lie down on the table. Strip from the waist down." "Is… is it safe? Will it hurt?" Sarah asked. She was very afraid more so after noticing the rusted edges of the tray. The practitioner turned to face her. "Young lady, you came to me. If you want safety guarantees and a soft bed, go to a referral hospital. Of course she knew that such a request in a government facility would make them call the police on her. "I just want it over with. David isn't speaking to me. I can't do this alone." Sarah said with tears welling up her eyes. The man seemed annoyed. "David is not here. Please lie down. If you tense up or scream, it makes my job harder, and you will bleed more. Do we understand each other?" Sarah slowly lay back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling tiles. Just as the practitioner picked up a syringe, her phone vibrated violently inside her handbag on the chair. As she reached out to it, the screen lit up with the caller ID: David. The Practitioner frowned pointing at the bag, "Turn that off. No distractions." Sarah stared at the flashing screen not knowing whether to pick it or not. "But why David, why?" She thought. Maybe he was too late. A simple procedure was the only licence to her freedom. "Leave me alone, David" She returned the phone back to her bag. She was almost a free human being.

@Stephen Mungai

REVIEWED FOREIGN AID PROTOCOL

 REVIEWED FOREIGN AID PROTOCOL

The small, sun-drenched nation of Karachua now stood at a crossroads. A new solar grid that would be capable of powering four of its twelve provinces was the latest foreign aid package. But the ribbon hadn’t even dried before the attached demands arrived: open the protected coastal waters to deep-sea trawlers and devalue the local currency to favor imports. President Kuraiha was pressed with the stark contrast of his country’s realities echoing around him. So far, he could not underestimate the impact that foreign aid had had on moving his country forward. Talk of eradication of the last remnants of polio, roads that connected rural farmers to urban markets, hospitals stocked with medicine and schools with enough textbooks for learners. Yet, with every receipt of such capital, a piece of Karachua’s sovereignty felt quietly bartered away and worse, Karachua seemed to be losing grip in control of some important pieces of its being. The President’s economic advisors were locked in a tense standoff. The Minister of Finance argued the necessity of the funds, pointing to the industrial boost that the funds would create and employment opportunities that would be created for the youth. Without the aid, the fragile economy would buckle, and inflation would quickly outpace wage growth. Conversely, the Minister of Agriculture warned of the impending devastation to local communities. Opening the coast to industrial fleets would starve the local fishermen who had sustained coastal villages for generations. "They give a tilapia on one hand and take a Nile perch with the other," the Minister had cautioned during a late-night cabinet meeting. " We risk becoming tenants in our own land if we accept these conditions" To Kuraiha, the reservations of the agriculture minister made a lot of sense. The terms of the foreign aid protocol had been reported by the local media houses and was causing public protests especially from the would-be affected coastal communities. The president remained with no options than to find a third option, a balance between rejecting and accepting. He could not simply reject the aid and condemn his people to preventable hardships, nor could he blindly accept terms that compromised the country's future. He initiated a series of closed-door negotiations, leveraging Karachua's strategic geographic position and its rich reserves of critical minerals. He proposed joint ventures with regional development banks and smaller international donors to ensure competitive bidding, refusing to be bound to a single geopolitical power. Kuraiha pushed back on the currency devaluation arguing that a stable local currency was essential for domestic businesses to thrive and transition Karachua from an aid-dependent state to a resilient, self-sufficient economy. He compromised by offering tax incentives for foreign tech investments, provided the corporations hired and trained a majority-local workforce. Ultimately, Karachua accepted the infrastructure aid, but on their own terms. The solar grid was built, but the fishing water remained fiercely protected. The nation had walked a tightrope, balancing the life-saving need for external resources with the fierce, non-negotiable demand for self-determination. The publication of the new aid protocol quelled the unrest seeming to be a better path for the nation. Henceforth, any development deal would only be taken with an ultimate gain assured for Karachua.

@Stephen Mungai

THE BOARDROOM WITHIN

 THE BOARDROOM WITHIN

Janice had a small catch up meeting with her friends at Java TRM on a Saturday afternoon. With her friends Eva, Emma and Lucia, such a catch up had become a norm for several years now. This was a college friendship that had stood the test of time. Eva and Lucia already had families. Emma always said that relationships were not her thing and would rather enjoy the blessings of singlehood. Janice was still dating Tom since college. And as the friends sat down to do their orders, the engine room of Janice's mind was at it again. It never seemed to sleep. Inside her psyche, a simple decision like choosing on what to order on such a date required a full boardroom meeting of clashing impulses. "We deserve the Chocolate Fudge cake and chocolate blush milkshake. We love anything chocolate. You know?" Her sweet tooth whispered, salivating and waiting for the wonderful bite and sip "It has been a brutal week. Softness is a human right." Janice's muscles retorted, enjoying the comfort the Java House offers "A brutal week? Not really." Janice thought. She knew that she had been sitting behind her desk the whole week trying to balance off her workplace accounts. Minimal movements. That week, she had only skipped the gym twice. That was not as bad as a whole week without gym like sometimes happens. "Sugar is a toxin, not a reward. Order the dawa drink and a bowl of fruit salad." Her blood vessels said. "Dawa tastes like grass clippings," Sweet tooth whined. "Exactly," her heart said. "But it builds character through mild suffering." Janice didn't know who to follow. There were now two competing parties within her. One said, "If we eat the chocolate, our cholesterol spikes, then at some point, the heart will get tired, we gasp for air, then faint right on the tile floor, probably be no more." The other group said, "Dying? Who lives forever? In some fifty years, everyone in this house will be dust. The Chocolate flavor context is statistically irrelevant." The Social Dilemma for Janice was real. She blinked, staring at the menu booklet. "If we are dust, then nothing matters, so eat the Chocolate Fudge cake!" Sweet tooth cheered. The internal voices screamed over each other, a deafening chorus of restraint and indulgence, terror and apathy.

"Chocolate Fudge cake and chocolate blush milkshake " Janice said aloud to the lady taking orders. The inner boardroom went dead silent.

"Cake?" Blood vessels muttered in disgust. "That is the compromise of a coward."

"We only live once" Sweet tooth offered weakly. "And we should enjoy the short life"

Sweet tooth won and Janice enjoyed the delicious cake and milkshake. And when their meeting was over, she walked out into the sun, entirely at war, and entirely at peace.

@Stephen Mungai

DAVID'S BLUEPRINT

 DAVID'S BLUEPRINT

Saturday morning arrived with a quiet, sharp clarity that Kahawa Sukari only experiences before the public transit buses start roaring down the service lane. The music system was silent, replaced by the low, rhythmic scratching of a ballpoint pen. Sunlight cut through the window from the balcony illuminating a living room that looked dramatically different from the night before. Tabitha had forced order onto the chaos; the clothes were folded, the mugs were washed, and the scent of freshly brewed ginger tea filled the air. The initial paralysis of the shock seemed to have worn off. David had taken an A4 notebook from the coffee table next to the Sofa. Tabitha’s words from Friday night still echoed in his mind: 'We must accept things as they are.' His sister watched from the kitchen counter as he drew precise columns across the first page. Tabitha smiled to herself. This was the old David trying to construct a scaffolding around his shattered world. He divided the page into three columns: Logistics, Finances, and Sarah. "You can’t spreadsheet your way out of a pregnancy, bro," Tabitha said softly, leaning against the doorframe with two mugs of tea.

"That's not the case, Siz," David replied, his voice raspy but steady. "I'm trying to survive it and if I don't write down clear plans, then the panic will definitely come back."

Under Logistics, he listed clinics that he had learnt over the internet, comparative costs of prenatal and delivery packages as well as probable baby delivery date. Under Finances, he listed his savings account balance which was initially for his planned trips but now would be used for Maternity and Infant Care. But when his pen hovered over the third column—Sarah—the point remained suspended in the air. How do you quantify an injured heart and how do you map a timeline for reassurance? Tabitha looked at the page, then at David. "The plans, numbers and timelines are the easy part, Bro" Tabitha said, setting him tea down right next to the notebook. "Look at the third column, David. You need to call her. No more 'all will be well' scripts. Tell her you were terrified. Tell her you're still terrified, but that you are there."

David swallowed hard. He picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over her contact name. The routine of the past two weeks had been a coward's loop: call, deliver a hollow platitude, hang up, panic. But now, he had to call her confident of a plan and way forward.He pressed the dial and it began to ring.

@Stephen Mungai

THE GREATER HARVEST

 THE GREATER HARVEST

The room was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and sweet persuasion. Beautiful faces leaned in close, their voices a synchronized chorus of temptation. Each one offered a different version of a golden future of romance, utterly irresistible. "I am already bound to another," you pleaded, lifting your hand. The ring on your finger caught the light, a silent witness to a permanent vow. Yet, they only smiled, brushing the gold aside. "A ring is just a token," one whispered. "You would make the perfect partner." The air felt thick, like a trap closing in, but with a sudden surge of resolve, you broke free from the crowd and stepped out into the open air of the street. Before you could catch your breath, a vehicle pulled up to the curb. Inside sat your past—your former love, smiling alongside their family and a few faces from your own family. They seem to be coming from a commitment event of your former person. Surprisingly, no malice in their eyes, only a warm, collective peace. They called out a hearty greeting, acknowledging your presence with genuine joy, before driving off into the sunset. The past had moved on, beautifully reconciled, leaving you standing in the present. Suddenly, the scenery shifted. You were standing in a grand mansion, alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and celebration. Tables heavy under the weight of exotic foods and flowing drinks. Your best friend was the host, and the rooms were packed with everyone you had ever loved, friends from every season of your life and the deep roots of your family tree. As you drifted through the crowded halls, you shook hands, embraced, and shared lighthearted jokes. Every corner revealed another familiar face eager to greet you. It felt magnificent to be valued, to feel the warmth of mutual affection. And why shouldn't you? These were the souls you had poured your life into. You had championed their dreams, supported their burdens, and made lasting contributions to their happiness. They loved you for it. They appreciated you. But as you looked closer, you realized something vital: they were full. They were satisfied. They loved your presence, but they no longer needed your rescue. You walked toward the exit as a quiet emptiness beginning to settle in your chest despite the noise of the party. Just before the threshold, two men stepped into view. They motioned you into a quiet, shadowed anteroom away from the music. These two you don't seem to remember, but they spoke of the past with deep gratitude. They reminded you of an organization you had once supported, a seed you had planted long ago. No memory but then came the ask. "We need you," one said softly. "The children with disabilities in our care need a teacher. Just a few hours a week. A regular presence." The weight of the request hung in the quiet room. You didn't give an immediate answer, promising instead to send a word in the coming days. That night in your bedroom as you lay staring at the ceiling, the pieces of the journey clicked into place with terrifying clarity. The temptation of romance, the closed chapters of content loved ones. Your old mission fields were fully harvested. But the world was still crying out in some forgotten corners of humanity. There were souls waiting for a teacher, a helper, a lifeline. All you need is to look around because the Lord is calling you to make a positive contribution to humanity. Can you hear His voice calling? Matthew 9:37-38 still stands true, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.' Are you there?

@Stephen Mungai

TIME AND CHANCE

 

TIME AND CHANCE

And it was morning and it was evening on day one, day two up to the sixth and God rested after completing the creation work, so goes the Bible. How fast mornings turn into evenings these days....and weeks roll onto weeks. And that day you walked into your new school smelling of newness. Every piece of clothing was new from top to bottom. And more in the tin box as you joined form one. Much water has gone under the bridge since then but the events of that day remain as good memories. But a statement has a tendency to come to your mind many times.....'if I was to go back there, I would use my time in school differently'. And how different we are because, some would study harder but still some would think that they studied too hard unnecessarily, meaning that given another chance, they would not work as hard. What about that day you got your first job in that company? If you were to go back there? That opportunity cost? You still count today and think that it may have prevented you from further studies or maybe it made you not pursue business that may have put you in a better place today. There is still a percentage of people who feel like they wouldn't change a thing but would still do things the same way, were the years to be rolled back. But what if we think on the lines of God placing you where you are at a time like this so He can use you to fulfil His purposes? Would we be wrong? Am not sure it fits very well but someone used the analogy of beard in men to explain achievements in life and his most important explanation was timing. Men dont grow beards at the same time. Some at 14, some 18, some 24 or even 30, meaning we don't achieve our goals the same time as others. Some dont grow beards at all meaning that it may be true for some never to achieve goals. So? Set and stay put on the grind working to achieve your goals. Naturally, some will achieve in good time but some will take years to come by but important is to stay on to it. And God has His final way as He says in Ecclesiastes 9:11, 'I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.' And so will everyone have their time and chance. So, be attentive to see chances.

@Stephen Mungai

THE PRIVATE PLACE

THE PRIVATE PLACE

I close the door behind me and bounce over a few shoes lying behind the door on the narrow corridor leading to the living room. The mug from which I had sipped tea last night still lies on the coffee table next to my now favourite sports magazine and so does a tiny box of biscuits. I remove the 2 remote controls on the couch, lie on my back staring at the ceiling. The bunch of clothes on the recliner seat still waits for me to fold though becoming smaller, ever since I placed them there from the clothing line. I have been picking clothes from there to wear or iron. And those clothes stand as a tiny monument of my procrastination. But who cares. With whom do I have a contract to place everything in order? This is my space. My private space where I make the rules and if what goes wrong, I am the judge, the jury, and sole audience member. And for food, I can eat cold leftovers directly from the container while standing over the sink, staring at a patch of peeling wall paint and feeling more home than in office space where compliance to order comes not in question. And that is the beauty of living alone that should be enjoyed by those who find themselves so anytime in life. That tells us why alone living people's homes rarely find themselves on social media statuses. These spaces remain not as curated aesthetics but rather, messy reclamation of freedom and autonomy. Of course, the rules are different for couples or roommates because they have to be co-authored and likely to make one lose their freedom or just a chunk of it. That hardly means that living with people is a bad thing. No. Actually, the advantages sometimes surpass alone living by far. That said, it does not take away everyone's need for a personal private place for rejuvenation. That place of control and with personal rules. That place feels so free. It could be a private office somewhere. Office workstation or just an office drawer where you throw in papers, pens, neckties, lipsticks, earrings, coins...literally all and no one accesses it or has a right to. It may be that personal bank account with which you can do all you wish. It may be an upcountry home you visit for a few days to unwind or your wardrobe in which clothes interact as they wish. These real places allow people to be real, and real away from the pressures of life and demands of the public eye. Sure, there is a gritty, honest joy in being unobserved. It is peaceful when social media does not know every corner of your home or office. Sadly, there are people whose homes we can describe having never been there. That steals their peace. For real. And so recommends the book from heavens in 1 Thessalonians 4:11-12 "make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands". Need I say more?

@ Stephen Mungai