from somewhere         around mombasa’s nyali beach

a post drops in my                 newsfeed: ‘it’s

sunday.            i just want ice-cream           and sex .   i am dripping                 

wet.’ my reply            is pithy: ‘a pity we are            worlds

apart. we need             the same things.’   how i post without a lol, without

an lmfao –       i mean business; i’m famished.           nightfall.          some day important to

a world’s poet. some slam.     high                 on kisses

from the muses, i glide home to                      rest. inside

the government reserved area:                         sex workers

flaunt their wares. i hiss                                  & chuckle aloud.

i do not buy roadside goods.               a young wife squeals               her sorrow. three

years of matrimony, two great kids,

not a single      orgasm. stay on top                 her mother

tells her,          keep your man under,                         rock him

to         your rhythm and         pleasure. stay on top.             & in a chat group

on the internet, a dude

from osgoode stuns the house:                       i bang her

like a stallion, but she       just lies      like deadwood.

what! did you take her                       from the morgue?        take her

to a revival meeting.    please.                         incoming

news of sexploitation              in nairobi’s lungalunga: a louse gets

his underage maid pregnant,               blames old devil.         a talk-host seeks

my view.         in this era of easy sex, old devil should


to lead this louse         to         a nearby whorehouse.

reuters report: a florida man               shags a pit bull            from behind. the law

calls the pit bull                      a rape victim.

the other day,              same hemisphere, another

was caught      having sex with a tree.             if i could hazard a guess, pronto,

we are              often at the tail of       that all blurry

libidinal           economy, with all these body riots    & aches, with hot &

wet pants. there          are open pits   here & there.               got it?




Image by Anthony via Flickr

About the Author:

Portrait - Redscar‘Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga (of @RedscarMcOdindo) is a love’s clown if not a chaser of dreams. He writes in English and Swahili and hopes to publish some collections posthumously. A winner of Fern Poetry Prize, his work has appeared in Jalada, Brittle Paper, Kwani?, KUT, Lawino Magazine, EXPOUND, Mandala Journal, Praxis Magazine, Boda Boda Anthem and Other Poems: a Kampala Poetry Anthology, Best New African Poets 2015 Anthology, Taifa Leo & Taifa Jumapili, Hivi Sasa Magazine, among others.’

















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I'm finishing up a phd at Duke University where I study African novels, which I believe are some of the loveliest things ever written. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

One Response to “The (A)typical Scenarios | by ‘Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga | African Poetry” Subscribe

  1. Fred Joiner 2016/10/13 at 10:12 am #

    You may want to make sure these poems are not plagiarized.


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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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