One Sunday afternoon, yours truly was busy doing some room clean-up when that damned call rang and I got screwed up.

She had been making my heart beat a little faster lately and so I could easily tell it was she, I mean everyone else was busy with their loved ones-thanks to miss ‘Rona.’

Her voice, breathtaking as always she uttered the eager ‘Hello,’ and I followed suit grateful for her existence. Her next statement…

“Babe, I’m pregnant!”

I was screwed.


I do take my time in letting that sink in for a moment before whispering, “You’re sure?” Because if indeed she were, then I had screwed up big time, you feel me?

I wondered to myself, how? I mean, Bensoul says timing matters. What had ‘Big Daddy’ in the heavens thought to play with me like that? It is in the middle of a freaking pandemic! The economy is set on a nosedive, how the hell was the good Lord expecting a young budding fellow to do this? Was there a blue-print? The word you’re looking for is fu***d.

I had to decide and I had to do it fast.To keep the baby or not? To whom do I confer this information to? I and she alone knew of this new development. Going back to the scenes of that particular night, I didn’t understand, how could this happen?

 I had texted her the previous week and mentioned of my intent need for her to come over. Like any other queen, she had downplayed  the invitation alluding to ‘lockdown’, you know…’stay home stay safe!’  How do I tell her that I missed her with every bit of my being, as well as kissing ,and not necessarily in that order.

 As taught by the ever competitive ‘Nairobi lads’, yours truly was relentless and guess what? she gave in and did come over. To a room with all the pleasantries your typical city girl would desire. An already rolled blunt, Gin and food, she radiates with joy when she sees food!!!

 (Fellow gents,(fellow Kenyans,gerrit?) if you ever forget any of the three kindly remember the last one.)

ALSO READ: Papa Remember me…


 So it happened, our passions did get the best of us, by default social distancing was a myth, as well as the necessary ‘mask’ and in that stupor, what is pulling out even? So yeah, I reiterate, I screwed up!

 I had already vowed , if I ever were responsible for a damsel’s pregnancy, I’d do my best to bring forth the child. This vow was now at stake. The zygote stood a high chance of not developing into an embryo. My first kid, no stream of income, nothing but my KCSE certificate to show for my academic prowess, becoming a dad was not a page I was ready to flip into.

 I risked losing the one person who had shown me affection and love in the one way I yearned most. If she kept the baby, ‘our baby’ she would become the mother of my kid forever. In retrospect, her mother had been nothing but supportive of our budding love. She had invited me over for lunch severally and would let her innocent girl go out till late or at times the following day, as long as it was with me. We could even say she knew me and where to find me. I had indeed redefined the word sloppy!

I had envisioned such news of my becoming a father in the comfort of my house, with a lady I call a wife. The site of this dream smouldered away bringing with it a sense of sadness in my every being.

I had decided and so I wired the lady I had known in ways many would never get the chance to. She was in tears as you would have thought the magnitude of such a decision. Different questions lingering and thought processes emanating from God knows where.


I said I was sorry and that I had screwed up,…in that instance, I heard the sound of my door-room open and my nephew entered and told my half awake self that I was needed downstairs. It was daytime, I had taken a nap only to have invited a dream I’d rightly term my worst nightmare!

Stephen Okwemba

Life enthusiast, creative and passionate on life lessons.


  • Kagure

    Welcome back Mr. Macho Man.

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