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dreams

Dreams

12

Dreams are bizarre. They’re like badly written stories with good execution. I think dreams are our minds’ way of showing us how haphazard thoughts are, how we think we have it all together but really we don’t. It is a way of showing us that there is a power beyond us that we cannot control.

I especially hate how dreams mix up people and events. One moment your shopkeeper and lecturer are talking about your grades in your grandmother’s house at the sacred piece your grandfather was buried and the next, a cow with canines is chasing you down a steep hill you used to slide down as a kid. It never makes sense. You could be chilling in bed listening to The Weeknd and the next moment you’re having raw untamed steamy sex with a female friend you’ve never looked at sexually, and then in the morning, you have to wash your shorts and sheets. You’ll also have to deal with sexual feelings towards that plutonic friend because now, you will never be able to look at her any other way but sexually.

If you were me, you would blame all these terrible dreams on the lecturers’ strike. I have been sleeping a lot lately and it’s all because of them. There is nothing much to do other than sleep and wake up feeling guilty for wasting another day. So to drown the guilt, you sleep again, and again, until all your mind can do is linger in a slow hibernating state that can’t process complex emotions like guilt; you’re high on sleep.

These are the times I dream the most twisted and memorable dreams ever. Dreams about ogres and Kenneth Matiba, dreams about weddings and Game of Thrones. Dreams where I’m talking to birds and Khaleesi. Dreams about deceased people or living people that are dead in my dreams. Just weird dreams that don’t make sense.

Most times, I wake up and head out to pee and when I get back to my room, I’ll have forgotten it like I peed it out too. So I came up with a solution for this. Immediately I wake up after a dream, I write it down on a notebook beside my bed. It has worked perfectly and so far, I have five of the most nonsensical dreams I wish to share with you today.

 

  1. A Dream about Fire

In this dream, there was a fire at home. A fire that I started as I tried to boil beans with a charcoal jiko that I really hate outside the house. I have no recollection of how the fire burst out into flames but my was it big. So I run into the house and lock myself inside and sound the alarm and wait for help.

I wake up sweating and terrified and write the dream down. It goes without saying that I haven’t eaten beans since that day.

  1. The Pop Star Dream

I’m at an abandoned building I see around Allsops only that now, the building is not overlooking the superhighway, it’s overlooking the Indian Ocean. The Ocean looks magnificent and the breeze is wonderful from the second floor.

Bruno Mars is seated on a builder’s stone staring at the ocean in awe. He asks me if I’m done with the previous’ day assignment and I say yes. He says he wants to copy it and I agree. Rihanna breaks out in song (I can’t remember it for the life of me) from the other side and we (Bruno Mars and I) join her.

I don’t know what this dream meant but if some force out there is trying to tell me something, I hope it’s not that I can sing. Because I can’t.

  1. Nini Wacera

For people born in the early and mid-nineties, you’re familiar with a local show (probably a soap opera) that hit the waves in the mid-2000s. It was called Wingu La Moto and its lead actors were some light skinned guy and Nini Wacera.

At that time, Nini Wacera was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I used to watch the show because of her and every time her scene would come on, I’d feel shy and blush. She was a goddess, Nini. I thought about Nini a lot those days. I would picture us run together towards the sunset on a beach, her in a bikini and me in shorts. I loved Nini.

My crush ended when I accepted I’d never get her, or so I thought.

She came back to me recently in a dream after listening to her podcast.

I’ll not go into details for respect to her. But that morning, sheets were washed.

  1. Two Thieves and a Boy

In this reverie, I am walking home and two men approach me. One of them wants my phone and the other one wants money. Although they came together, they rob me individually and it’s all weird. I give them what they want because I love life even in my dreams. But the fiend that wanted money started beating and stabbing me even after giving him what he wanted, his friend joined him soon after.

I fought back and managed to take their knife (even after being stabbed 112 times) and killed them both with it. I left the knife inside one of the thief’s chest and fell down and died.

This is my only complete dream.

  1. A Robber and a Primary School Classmate

This is my most recent and most disturbing dream.

The dream begins with someone trailing me. I hurry home quickly and try to lock the gate behind me but the padlock doesn’t lock. I see him approaching and I start to get restless as I fumble with the padlock. I’m panicking as he gets closer and closer with a wicked smile spreading on his daunting face. And then he stops and turns to attack an oncoming guy who turns out to be my primary school classmate called Derrick.

He holds Derrick hostage with secateurs to his finger asking me for something I don’t remember, probably cash. He says he will cut off Derrick’s finger if I don’t’ give him the cash. I am terrified. I don’t want Derrick’s finger to be cut off but I fear facing this man. The padlock continues to misbehave. I rush into the house to tell my mom.

She looks at me like I’m mad and proceeds back to her phone.

As I shout at her frantically to listen to me, I wake up soaked in sweat and panic and I pray.

I don’t know why I’m dreaming a lot about robbers. It’s scary, to be honest. For now, though, since I’m all about positivity, I believe it means that someone will steal my heart.

 

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King

King is a mad writer on the loose. He is suspected to have lost his mind a few years after he was born. Since then, he has been writing his mind almost everywhere he can put his pen on. Someone – a government, a state, a police force, a parent, a teacher, a rabbi, a president, a sacco, a doctor, a deranged ex, a church, a therapist, or anyone with a bit of power bestowed upon them – should reprimand him and help him.

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