You have voted! Carlos the Jackal by Chrispus Kimaru is this week’s chosen story. You can read it after the Kenyan Conversations reminder. Congratulations Alex!
Kenyan Conversations continues. As announced earlier that we will be posting two photos a week on Tuesday and Thursday.
Comment under the picture on the Storymoja Blog or Send in a story or dialogue that is not more than 500 words long. Send in your story or dialogue to firstname.lastname@example.org. Clearly mark in the subject Contemporary/Kenyan Conversations (insert number indicated)
The prize details are as follows:
1st Prize: 2000/-, 2 Storymoja books and 1 complimentary day pass to the Storymoja Hay Festival
2nd Prize: 1500/-, 1 Storymoja book, and 1 Complimentary day pass to the Storymoja Hay Festival
3rd Prize: 1000/-, and 1 complimentary Day Pass to the Storymoja Hay Festival
3 complimentary day passes for best comments on the pictures.
Although we will not be accepting any more story/dialogues based on the photos posted on Tuesday 20th July and Thursday 22nd July, you can still comment on the photographs and stand the chance to win Kshs 2000/-, Storymoja Books and tickets to the Storymoja Hay Festival coming up soon. Be on the lookout for the photographs that will go online this week, comment on them and send in your story dialogues to participate in the contest.
Have a look at the contest guidelines here before you send in your piece.
May the best writer win!
This contest is ran in partnership with Generation Kenya.
Carlos the Jackal by Chrispus Kimaru
“No, it can’t be, this can’t be me, not again, please Lord,” his self-pity was engulfing him. Kanga was seated in the empty Kampala coaches’ lobby. The usual hub of activity was no more; everyone was out in the streets drinking in the rumours. The sirens outside were at pitch high like angry chirrups. A well of tears threatened to gush out as he felt his helplessness. More bodies were being pulled out of the hotels and a lump of bile started burning up his throat.
The advert had asked for energetic, graduates to serve as messengers. Having tarmacked unsuccessfully, he had applied and funny enough, was called for an interview and clinched the job. The company explained that it dealt in security apparatus and the information was very sensitive. Being desperate as he was, he saw nothing sinister in handing in his authentic national documents and working under a new name entirely. The old Simon Karuma was gone and in came Carlos Kanga. He happily delivered the first package to a popular hotel in the outskirts of Nairobi little did he know that it was in fact his induction into a deadly odyssey.
“Kanga, we need to emphasize your utmost confidentiality at every point in your job. We pay you well and so, we don’t want you talking about your job out of these walls, is that understood?” the manager of Spec International had been emphatic when he requested to sign contractual documents. The change of didn’t strike him as odd. He however smelt something fishy and the horror of drug cartels manipulating jobless youths started trickling in. When he submitted his resignation letter a few weeks later, Bako’s reaction was swift and cool. He calmly threw a newspaper article on a grenade explosion at the hotel he had delivered a package to a month back,
“Does this look familiar? You happen to have delivered something there and later…boom! Three people died by the way,” the weight of realization hit the young man like a pungent gust from a sewer,
“Sir, what are you saying? You made me…kill innocent people? Why, why? I have to report this” he was frantic and his heart was almost stopping.
“Kanga, I told you, this is a job for strong, get my drift? You and I are now joined at the waist and if you try anything silly…you might be looking at the electric chair!” Bako had a wry smile but the evil beneath was obvious.
“And now, I have some packages which you are to deliver to Kampala Uganda, such a good town, are you watching the final game by any chance?”
“Why me, lord? What to do? Wait for another delivery and shed more blood? Mahutini Hotel, Uhuru Park and now this?”As Kanga thought of Bako waiting for him back in Nairobi, he wished he had died in the blasts instead of killing innocent football fans.
If you would like this piece to be the Story of the Week, please vote below on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being weak, and 10 being excellent. The numbers will be tallied on Friday and the story with the highest figure shall be Crowned Story of the Week. Be sure to fill in your name and verifiable email. You can include your critique/comment after the vote.