A bed wetter’s diary

My apology to the Chairman Kunyora Members Association Class of 2003.


Forgive me Ndekwe. I beg your pardon. I know I should have written this long ago. I know whatever I am going to write today does not make sense as it did 13 years ago when it happened. I know you must have grown up saying something like what a bunch of ungrateful morons. I know exactly how it feels. I have been there too.  But as I write this, I am entangled in an emotional quagmire. On one hand, there is excitement. The excitement that you will get to read my letter. I am excited that after sixteen years of gagging your million dollar invention I have guzzled the courage to talk about it. But on the other hand I am scared. Scared at just how you might take this.

Let me first introduce you to my fans. I can picture you smile at this.Fans? Yes. But just a handful. A few friends who believe I am an avalanche of tales untold. People of goodwill. The reason why I am writing to you. I am going to tell them the whole story uncensored. They must know that you are the one and only Joseph Ndekwe. The Chairman of Kunyora Members Association (KMA) Class of 2003.

I will tell my fans about your scope of duties as the Chairman of Kunyora Members Association. I will tell them about how you single handedly drafted the first constitution to govern the affairs and conduct of KMA. I will touch on how you funded the activities of our association. But I will do that in a different letter. Today I am here, first, to apologize and secondly to say “thank you”.

Do you remember that meeting? It has been thirteen years since you called the meeting to order. Remember? You might have forgotten about it. I will forgive you if you forgot about it. Forgetting trivial events is a thing that comes with people of your caliber. Great men. Highly successful executives. Since you might have forgotten, let me jog your memory. I know this will take you some time. It took place in your vast Estate. Nelson Mandela Dormitory. It was on a Saturday. We were engulfed in your mansion made of old blankets covering the entire sides of your bed.

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since that meeting. But I have never forgotten about it. It feels like yesterday.  I remember the aura and bravado with which you called the meeting into order. Declaring the agenda as I took notes. That might be the reason why the event is still nostalgically fresh in my mental faculty. I wrote this thirteen years ago……………………………




“Meeting of Kunyora Members Association Held on the 24th July 2003 at Ndekwe’s Estate”

Members Present

Daniel Ndekwe- Chairman and Alpha Male

Brian Mulati- Vice Chair

Juma Juma- Secretary

Lawrence Simiyu- Member

Samuel  Ochieng’- Member………….


“Invention to stop the unholy habit of bed wetting”.

I remembered your opening remarks as you introduced the only agenda for the day. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step…… Pause. Sips juice. Today, history will be made….Another pause. Longer. The menace that has kept us in this association for years has finally come home to roost. Today, we will lift our middle finger to the stigma that we have for years been entangled into. Today we will shade our “Leprosy” just as Naaman the leper……….”


And you went on and on. And finally lay it bear. I remember you pulling (From your bag) a clean sugar bag. And you methodically tore it along the longer edges. Mulati paid the most attention as you threaded the paper. Even though darkness got the better of us in your mansion, he managed to enlarge his already big eyes with the help of the dim light that peeped through the crevices of your mansion to witness history being made. And it all began………..

“Wrap the paper gently but tightly around your foreskin.”

“Remember!”(Insert stern look). “Always make a knot that you can easily loosen.”

“You are dealing with your future, handle with care.”


How can I forget that demo? How can I forget how you pulled down your shorts and gave us a real demo? I just can’t. You even passed some urine and it got trapped in the cup of your prepuce. And you explained that once the cup got very full, a slight pain resulting from the overstretching of our manhood would force us to wake up and do our thing off our beds. You even swore by your cojones that we were going to have dry nights. You gave us hope. We would no longer bear the shame of airing our beddings in broad daylight as the beautiful girls watched.


Sure enough we had dry nights. And dry weeks. And months. All because of you. But we never thanked you enough.


If you will ever read this. Please know that I am sorry. Your loyal Secretary Juma Juma.


Passionate about writing.

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