I remember the soft supple fruits of your chest, So erect before the smiling moon. They stood so sharp, like your father’s spear, Inviting me to touch, and to fondle.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re married or not. People in the village want to hear of your conjugal prowess so feed them some.
You carefully and strategically throw a joke about cows and how they’ll look good in your father’s compound. She says that should not be a problem since there are already too many cows in the form of you and your clansmen. And you’re not making your father’s compound look any better.
And because today is a Sad Madaraka day, and because my father sold his coveted cows to send me to school so I can eventually force knowledge through your thick craniums, I’m going to give you a brief history of this man Tom Mboya.