Conversations With Wakiuru’s Son. The Man in the past.

Conversations With Wakiuru’s Son. He is not going away easily. He and his cheekiness  have refused to stay in the past. Dive back into the chaos, the laughter, and the lessons 

Entry 1: The No-Show in Nyeri

By Wami

I can still remember it like it happened yesterday. We had agreed to meet at a telephone booth in Nyeri, a simple word-of-mouth plan that I had been looking forward to all week. I got there right on time, standing in that exact spot like it was my job. I didn’t grab a snack or a drink; I just stayed put, keeping my eyes on all directions, heart full of anticipation.

Hours passed. Three p.m. came and went. Still, there was no sign of you. I thought about my mum’s words: “I have to behave.” And then it hit me, your sense of time had failed miserably. You had let a timid, hopeful girl wait for hours, only for me to go home and tell my mother what had happened.

Even now, years later, I can laugh about it. Mostly because life gave me enough time to realize that some no-shows aren’t just disappointments, they are lessons in disguise.

Reply – Wakiuru’s Son

Eh Wami, you really went digging into the archives, didn’t you? Reading this felt like being caught red-handed by history itself. I’ll admit, the Nyeri no-show was my bad.  I can almost see you standing there at that telephone booth, waiting faithfully, while I was somewhere failing miserably at keeping time. My bad, truly.

Still, what hit me most wasn’t the blame,  it was seeing how vividly you captured that moment. You made it alive, real, important. Maybe we didn’t last because life had other plans, but I’m glad I got to be part of the story.

Keep writing, Wami. Some of us will always be reading, even if we pretend not to.

Still the cheeky one,

Wakiuru’s Son 

Entry 2: The Lost School Box

By Wami

It was one of those chaotic days when nothing seemed to go right, yet one small oversight turned into an unforgettable adventure. My school box, packed with everything I owned, disappeared on a matatu without me. I had left it at the stage in Othaya town, thinking I would take a quick stroll. By the time I returned, it had vanished, heading all the way to Murang’a.

No mobile phone. No way to track it. Panic set in, but I kept it to myself. My roommates knew, and one of them shared her things so I could survive. Three long days later, it miraculously showed up at school. Relief washed over me, but the memory stayed sharp: never again would I let my guard down.

And yes, I blame you a little. You delayed me that day, and while I was tangled up in your presence, my whole world seemed to roll away without me. Timing, as always, has a funny way of teaching lessons we do not want to learn.

Reply – Wakiuru’s Son

Ah, the school box saga. I remember this day better than I want to admit. I still think that matatu had a secret vendetta against both of us. But yes, I’ll take the blame,  my delay made everything worse, didn’t it? Guilty as charged.

Even then, you were learning to handle the chaos, to turn small disasters into stories worth telling. I can’t help but smile knowing that box had a grand adventure, but it still found its way home.

Keep writing, Wami. Every lost box, every misstep, every late meeting becomes gold on the page.

Still the cheeky one,

Wakiuru’s Son 😉

Entry 3: Facing Mr. Kimongo

By Wami

The week had been chaotic, but nothing compared to standing in Mr. Kimongo’s office, heart pounding, after the Thika Town fiasco. He knew everything: that Wainaina’s son, our persistent villagemate from Kenya Mafuta Firm, had been involved, that three of us had delayed the school bus for hours.

I did not know why I was there initially, but under his stern gaze, I crumbled. I confessed the truth , all we had done was enjoy some bread, chips, and sodas. Nothing else. But Mr. Kimongo was unmoved. My punishment? An A4-page apology on behalf of others. I left his office crushed, carrying more weight than I should have.

That day, I poured everything into my journal: fear, shame, frustration, and the strange relief that came from being honest with myself. Writing has always been my way to process chaos, but that day, it became a lifeline.

Reply – Wakiuru’s Son

Wami, I had almost forgotten how scary Mr. Kimongo could be, but reading this brought it all back. And wow, you really did take one for the team, didn’t you? Classic Wami, owning up while the rest of us squirmed in the background.

Yes, I’ll own a bit of blame,  if I hadn’t delayed things before, maybe the chaos wouldn’t have been as intense. But maybe I wouldn’t have had the honor of seeing you transform panic into a lesson worth writing about.

Keep writing, Wami. Your words have always had more courage than any of us did in real life.

Still the cheeky one,

Wakiuru’s Son 

Entry 4: Letters That Never Reached

By Wami

There were letters I wrote that never made it to their intended recipient. Some were intercepted, some got lost in the shuffle of small-town life, and others I simply never sent, fearing I had nothing worthwhile to say. Writing became more than a way to communicate, it was a private conversation with myself.

Even in the silence, even when no reply came, I discovered that words could be enough. They could carry me forward, teach me patience, and remind me that some messages are for the soul rather than the recipient.

Reply – Wakiuru’s Son

Ah, the letters that never reached. I remember bits of this, though I’ll admit I wasn’t always the best at responding. Some letters I never even knew about.

But reading your words now, I see why you wrote them, and why you needed to. You were finding yourself, Wami, in ink and paper, in thoughts and emotions that no one else could fully understand.

Keep writing. Some of us will always be paying attention, quietly, and learning from the brilliance you’ve always had.

Still the cheeky one,

Wakiuru’s Son 

Entry 5: Why We Drifted

By Wami

Looking back, it is clear why we drifted apart. We were in different schools, at different stages of life, learning about love and responsibility in our own ways. We lacked the maturity, the understanding, and the timing to hold onto something serious.

Writing this now, I realize that sometimes young love is not about holding on but about learning to let go gracefully. That chapter shaped me, taught me resilience, patience, and the power of reflection.

Reply – Wakiuru’s Son

Wami, reading this makes me smile and sigh at the same time. We were kids trying to navigate feelings far bigger than our understanding, and yes, timing was never on our side. Different schools, different lives, but somehow intertwined for that brief, unforgettable moment.

I’m glad I was a part of your story, and more than that, I’m proud to see how you turned every misstep, every waiting hour, every chaotic day into words that matter.

Keep journaling, Wami. Your words are proof that even imperfect, short-lived chapters can shape a lifetime.

Still the cheeky one,

Wakiuru’s Son 😉