I left the church confused; how could it be that God loved me so much that he sacrificed his own son that I might live? What had the sun done to him? I had so many questions I wanted to ask but Joyce, the Sunday school teacher, rushed through her teachings in a speed that did not give me time to put my thoughts together.

I was also afraid of the other Sunday school pupils and how they would react when I asked my questions. They all seem to know and understand everything. I thought asking would make me look stupid or even ungrateful to God’s love and that could be the reason why I took time trying to frame the question, that I never got to ask.

I left the church when they were about to collect the offerings. I didn’t have anything to give and while they prayed, I slipped out and started my long walk home. I picked a long, thin dry stick outside the church as I walked, I dragged it behind me. I headed east from the church. It was a longer way home but I needed to pass time to ensure I got home in time for lunch, not a moment earlier.

I also loved walking on that side of the town. It looked and felt better than the other road. The road passed through Woodley estate into the slums where my mother, brother and I lived. I loved walking in Woodley estate; the road was clean, well maintained and tarmac. Every house was built on its own piece of land and fenced with a big grilled iron gate.

Huge trees providing shade during the day stood next to the lamp posts that automatically lit up at night. I threw away the piece of stick I was dragging with me before I got on this road. I didn’t want to litter on it. I walked slowly, wishing I lived on the estate.

I had walked on this road for two years hoping that I would look like the children who lived here. There was something different about them although I couldn’t place it. Adults said hello to them in English but hardly ever looked my way and when they did, they greeted me in native Swahili.

It had nothing to do with my clothes because my mother made sure they were as clean as they could be when I left home on Sundays.


The road winded to the junction that led to where we lived. I branched off to it, walking faster. This road had no shades and the houses on it had shrunk in size. There were now, one roomed houses closely built together, each touching the other.

These had no fences around them. The quiet atmosphere was no more, as children covered in dirt chased each other loudly around them. Women hang their clothes outside while there were two or three men talking every few paces.

Garbage was littered almost everywhere and the sun felt hotter. As I walked here, I wondered whether teacher Joyce knew people lived in areas like these. If she did, she won’t say God answered everyone’s prayers. I knew people here prayed yet their conditions did not get better. In deep thought, I almost bumped into James, one of my school mates, who was running at full speed with his two year old sister in pursuit.

The sister, whose running resembles like a duck’s waddle, was dressed only in a blue worn out T-shirt and her protruding stomach showed below it. James smiled at me before running off with his sister chucking in laughter behind him. He stopped attending school when his father was jailed for robbery with violence.

I knew he was not embarrassed by it, because he wasn’t the only student in school whose father was behind bars. Maybe his mother couldn’t afford the fees, I thought wondering about why he missed school. My mother said I should stay clear of him, least he taught me bad habits. Of course there were things my mother said that I didn’t take seriously. She talked too much and had too many rules, not that I could tell that to her face.

Mike, my elder brother once told me that he would tell her and I couldn’t wait to see our mother rough him up when he gathered his guts. Of course I am still waiting. I was jealous of James, at least he knew his father. I didn’t know mine. I prayed so many times for God to bring him back from the dead if only for a minute that I may see him but it never happened. I walked on a few meters and bent my back to avoid touching my mother’s washing that was hung right in front of the house. Something smelt good; something always did on Sundays afternoon.

I got in and found Mike already in the house. He sat on one of the sofa sets looking annoyed. In the last one year, he had changed a lot. He had become taller, his voice rougher and his attitude towards life different from mine. My mother said that he was disturbed by adolescent, his bad habits due to the bad peer group he hung around. She had threatened to spank him a couple of times but had never got round to it though she was always pulling my ear over the smallest mistake.

When he talked back, she shouted at him and that was it. If I dared looked at her with displeasure after a rebuke, I got a spanking that left my behind sore for days. I was already feeling unwanted in the house. My brother spent less time at home, threatening to quit school whenever he got angry. Mother on the other hand spent her time either pulling my ear or talking to Uncle John. Uncle John came home from nowhere about two weeks ago and since then, a lot of things changed.

Mother stopped her day time job at the factory and spent most of her evening time talking to him. He came home daily, bringing our mother money and buying us things like clothes and books. Our mother was in love with him and we felt alone, abandoned though we still lived with our mother. John was slowly trying to act like the father we never had, though he never slept at our house. I guess there was no more room. I overheard him ask my mother to move in with him but she said the family was not ready.


I didn’t like him and could have told Mike that he planned to marry our mother but I knew better. Mike hated him with a passion and did not hide his feelings, and telling him would only fuel a fire that had already become too big to extinguish. Our father had died when I was still in my mother’s womb and Mike was four. Our mother kept no pictures of him at all; she said they made her sad. Mike remembered him; at least that’s the impression I got when he told me a bit of what he remembered though I had a feeling that most of it was made up.

I learnt even less from our mother. I stopped asking her because I seem to upset her with each question. When Uncle John started coming home, Mike told me that he had learnt where one of our father’s brother lived and when he got the money, we would run off together to live with him. I agreed to go with him if our father’s brother lived in an estate like Woodley. He said that the estate was better and I couldn’t wait to go although I knew I would miss my mother.

I loved her even though she punished me all the time. I often wondered why she couldn’t she be as merciful as God. I would have asked her but the thought of her fingers pinching my ear kept my mouth shut. I sat after saying hello to both my brother and mother, who looked equally annoyed. She sent me to wash my hands outside and when I got back, she handed me a plate of rice and meat stew.

Mike was looking at his food without touching it. I said a prayer silently and started eating my food wondering what could have made Mike that unhappy. Lately, all he seemed to do was eat and complain. This was the first time he looked at his food without eating it. I didn’t understand what was going on.

Uncle John, who was the usual source of discomfort at home, was nowhere in sight. My mother came with pictures from the corner of the room. She threw them at the table. Mike looked at the table with interest although he didn’t touch the pictures.

“There is the proof, you can either believe me or continue treating your father like a stranger,” my mother said in a small voice. Mike took the pictures from the table and looked at them. I got up and stood next to him, looking at the pictures with him. Uncle John was in many of the pictures carrying a very small Mike.

Tears started flowing down Mike’s face slowly and I found myself crying with him. Our mother sat across the table, a handkerchief on her face. “I didn’t want you boys growing up knowing your father was in jail,” she said looking at me. I looked away. “He was released a few weeks ago and he is trying hard to make up for the wrongs that he did,” she continued.

Mike looked at her and then carefully put the pictures on the table as if they would get hurt. He then stood up and started walking towards the door. “Mike,” my mother whispered his name in a sort of a plea that was filled with love. He stopped where he was and looked at her. There were tears running down her cheeks. As they looked at each other, the door opened and Uncle John entered holding a bag of groceries.

Mike looked at him then rushed and hugged him crying. My mother stood up and hugged the both of them crying out loudly. I looked at them confused, tears flowing down my cheeks. “Son,” Uncle John called, smiling at me and I joined them in the middle of the room. “Dad,” I answered tears in my eyes, my hands trying to hug his waist.

As he hugged me back, I realized that God does answer prayers.

I remember this. I believe I commented favorably.

Can't remember your old name, though. I see you are in my time zone. My curiosity is aroused.

All of us refugees are wandering about as we look for a new home. Good luck.

Mwavizo? Is that you?

Okay, to the story. My first thought is to cut, cut, cut. My mind kept wandering and I wanted you to get to the point. The descriptions of the neighborhoods and all are nice, but pull most of it out and save for another story.

Title: This is kind of awkard. I'm not fond of the title. Maybe "Reply to God, Uncle Johnny and Me" Though, that doesn't really do it for me either.

Beginning: Sort of interesting, but I wasn't really hooked.

Characters: Only Mike really showed personality. Drop some of the description of the neighborhood and add some to the people.

Plot: Not much of a plot, but I write stuff without much plot. The point is showing how the characcters act in a situation, not the situation itself. This was fine with what you were doing here.

Pace: Really slow. Cut, speed it up and get to the meat of the story.

Originality: Not much to say. This generalized idea has been done.

Language: Very formal. Loosen it up and use some contractions.

Dialogue: A little stiff. Same problem as with language. Too formal.

Ending: Okay, but I saw nothing earlier that showed me that Mike would so quickly accept Uncle Johnny as dad.

Presentation: Fairly good.

Overall: I'm not really satisfied with the story for the reasons mentioned above. The core is good. It just needs tigtening, paring.


*****
Technical: There are a number of rough areas and places that can be cut back. Reading it out loud will help you spot those places.

road winded: wended

had no shades: shade

Women hang their: hung

two year old : two-year old

disturbed by adolescent: adolescence

Mother, on the other hand, spent : set off with commas

one of our father’s brother: brothers

hugged the both: them

The ending brought a nice emotion to this piece that I didn't see elsewhere. I think a rewrite with Marva's suggestions, pare down and less formal language, would improve it greatly. Also, I'm always interested in reading about cultures other than my own. If you wanted to add more of that in place of non-relevant details, I think it would serve the story well. For example:

In deep thought, I almost bumped into James, one of my school mates, who was running at full speed with his two year old sister in pursuit.

The sister, whose running resembles like a duck’s waddle, was dressed only in a blue worn out T-shirt and her protruding stomach showed below it. James smiled at me before running off with his sister chucking in laughter behind him. He stopped attending school when his father was jailed for robbery with violence.

I knew he was not embarrassed by it, because he wasn’t the only student in school whose father was behind bars. Maybe his mother couldn’t afford the fees, I thought wondering about why he missed school.

The bit about the sister doesn't add much to the story, but the stuff about many of the students having fathers who were in jail was fascinating and gave insight into the protag's plight.

I caught a few things that Marva didn't mention. There were others, but they are of a similar nature, so I'll just list some examples here.

chucking in laughter: chuckling? if so it's redundant with laughter and either could be dropped.

was jailed for robbery with violence: unnatural; "was jailed for a violent robbery" would be better

The sister, whose running resembles like a duck’s waddle: "resembled; tense switch

Mike, my elder brother: "my elder brother" should be offset with commas on either side

hung right in front of the house: "right" adds wordiness and should be dropped

In the last one year: using "last" and "one" is redundant; drop "one"

got round to it though she: drop "round to" and offset "though" with commas

I'm about as rusty as anyone with grammar and punctuation, so I always find examples in this area particularly area helpful. Hope you do too. This is an interesting story about a boy's struggle to come to grips with events that are emotional for him and that he doesn't understand. If you do a rewrite, concentrate on that and less on the physical things around him. I hope you do the rewrite; there's a very good story tucked in here.

Good story, Mmm.

I think Marva and Gayla have already given you some good advice, but I will say this: don't cut out so much that there isn't a story left.

I think you were trying to surprise the reader with the Uncle/Dad bit. And that's good, but I think to effectively pull it off, you need to introduce him earlier.

Overall, a good story that just needs some fine-tuning.

Over all I liked your story mmm. There are a few little things that could shorten it, but not much. I think you could cut the part of bumping into the kids chasing each other. This doesn't seem to have any effect on the story.

I enjoyed the read. Good heart warming ending, to an otherwise depressing tale.

Tomper

Hi MMM,
Interesting story. The most important part of it is probably the fact that a lot of the fathers were in jail. That adds a lonliness to the plot, that anyone could feel just reading it. Seems a Name Change is suggested. If it were a comical story I would call it: "Uncle Dad." But, since it's not, I don't know what to say about that.

Nice twist that Uncle turned out to be Dad, and also trying hard to make a good second start of his life. I haven't made any corrections because Marva beat us to it. I would agree on CUTTINg....it does ramble a little. Taking out alot of (Unimportant sentences that do not contribute much to the story.) Might help! Anyway, I liked it, and enjoyed reading it. Keep writing!
Pat

Oh its alive.

Thanks for the comments guys and the corrections.

Finally i feel like i have found a home. Will make ammends and get back to all of you.

Marva of course this is me, who else?

Oldron, you must have read too many of my posts though this you havent. Goes to show that i have a style you like ehh? just kidding :D

Pat - I will think of the uncle dad thing. You havent lost your sense of humor. try losing the earphones on your avature.

Tomper- Thanks for the comment. You still sound the same, encouraging.

Killian- Good to see you here and thanks for the comments.

Gayla- Reading your 5000 word story was highly inspiration. Thanks for reading my work. I will keep my eye out for yours.

Thanks again guys. The comments made me feel at home.

Mmm,

I'm in a good position being at the end of these responses since Marva and Gayla did all the hard work. :)

There were one or two other places that switched tenses, but since I know you'll be looking at what Gayla pointed out I'm sure you'll run into them as well.

I liked the feel of this kid. Young enough to be wanting questions answered in the big scheme of things (God), yet old enough to recognize the disparity between the lifestyles around him.

I do agree with Marva's point about Mike's taking to his father so quickly. Because you had described him as a rather surly adolescent, I'd imagine he might be a little ticked off at the deception that was handed him. But, if you can play into it a bit earlier as you do with the MC, "..I prayed so many times for God to bring him back from the dead if only for a minute that I may see him but it never happened.", it might be a more believable ending.

Speaking of endings - nice wrap up with the God situation.

Overall - I enjoyed this. I like descriptive pieces -- you don't necessarily have to take me anywhere but into the people's hearts and I'm happy.