The Impregnation Contract Is Over!

Persistently scratching his head, face wrinkled, left elbow rested on his upper thigh, his hand running up to cup his chin while seated on a wooden bench, Cate’s father is worried. Cate, red-lipped round-glass-worn eyes, – is sitting on the nearby plastic seat, taking selfies of her kiss-twisted lips. She looks up when her father sharply snaps his fingers.

“Darling, come here,” he commands. She tucks her phone in her bra and walks over to her dad. “You should get married,” her father says once she sits down next to him.

“Dad, I can get children while unmarried,” she cries out, immediately standing up like white ants have bitten her buttocks.

“I won’t tolerate this nonsense,” her father commands craning his neck to address his daughter.

“Okay, Dad. Then I’m going to relocate to your other house in Kileleshwa!” She says as she begins to walk away.

“Come back here!” Her father orders but she won’t surrender. She proceeds to her room and comes out with a key in hand. She enters the garage and drives out riding a Yamaha motorbike. Her father shakes his head mumbling something about today’s spoilt children.

Instead of going to Kileleshwa, Cate rides to Club Tribeka. Relaxed on a high stool, legs hanging below, she is on the fourth bottle and not very stable. A young man comes in and bends over to collect Cate’s just-fallen bike keys. His leg cracks while he bends and he kicks in the air to clear off the cramps. “You are cute, baby,” he says, smiling broadly to expose caffeine-stained teeth.

“Thank you. I’m Cate.”

“I’m K.”

They shake hands in greeting.

“I’ve a domestic contract to give away.”

“Well then you should consult contractors.”

“It’s worth it, K.”

K leans by the counter and pulls down his sunglasses. He slightly rubs them down his black Obama T-shirt. I’m about to make an easy catch tonight, he thinks, and makes an inward sign of the cross.

Cate nods at a passing waitress and orders a crate of beer. Soon, K’s eyes are clouding with drunkenness. Cate pinches herself on the thigh. Her trick is working.

Her phone beeps and she sees her dad’s message onn Whatsapp:

“My daughter, your now-big head was once the size of two combined fists. Your mother says you had a big mouth.”

Cate texts back: “What?”

“You didn’t give birth to yourself. Your mother wasn’t impregnated by the Holy Spirit. Neither did you fall down from a tree or hatch from an egg.”

Cate posts an emoji nodding its head. “So?”

“Get married. Give me grandchildren.”

“I’ve already told you. I will never get married.”

“Then my blessings should be a curse.”

K is still drinking. Cate types quickly to cut her dad short.

“Dad, don’t worry. I can just look for some guy and let him impregnate me.”

She quickly switches off her phone. Cate fishes for several papers and a small blue-covered New Testament Bible from her New York handbag and places them on the Tusker-labeled table.

K feebly holds the Bic pen and literally grabs the Bible from Cate with the free left hand.

“Go…Goooo….God, I K, I…I….only me… …swear… you are the …creator and …..”

“That’s enough,” says Cate tired of K’s drunk talk, “From now on, your role will be to fuck me,” she says, pointing at a picture of a fucking couple on the far-off wall.

“For great service rendered, will you build for me a biiiig..bigger club than Tribeka? A hundred thousand shilling salary per fuck, maybe?”

“Fucking a cute lady like me is enough compensation.”

K and Cate laugh, sprinkling saliva droplets at each other. At the washrooms, Cate inserts a finger down her throat, throws up stale beer and rejoins K.

Hands interlinked from the back to clasp each other’s waist, they walk down to Cate’s motorbike and speed off.

Three months later. While in bed Cate farts, forcing K, her lover to turn, wake up and yawn wildly.

“Babe, I had thought the house had become a battlefield,” K jokes. He holds his nose and curls the upper lip wrinkling his face. Shaking herself out of the King-size bed, Cate paces up and down the huge bedroom. She is fed up with K.

“Only dogs on heat appear so restless,” K provokes.

“Yes! I’m on heat. I thought you were learned enough to understand simple ABCD!” Cate retorts, arms akimbo.

“I went to school.”

“Then you must understand I’m no longer interested in you.”

“Why?” K asks, his shoulders rising in confusion.

“I’m no joker. You have already impregnated me. The contract is no more!”

“Wait, which contract?”

“Impregnation. You have been fucking me like crazy. I’ve also paid you enough.”

“I really love you and……” his voice is light and a flashy laughter graces his lips.

“I’m not a fan of love. Now get out!” Cate orders, pointing towards the door.

The next day while driving down Riverside Drive on her Mercedes Benz, Cate sees K flagging her car a few yards away. She slowly drives past him despite the traffic snarl-up gathering just in front of her. When Cate’s car is entering her home, K is there with his arms spread and smiling lovingly. Cate steps out of the car and slams the door shut. She gracefully walks past him like he is a scarecrow.

Furious, K’s cheeks bulge as though he has just over-swallowed salty water. The skinny rungu-wielding gateman struts towards K. Cate sees the charging gatemen and K through the slightly transparent curtain in the living room and comes out. She motions the gateman to go back to his duty post.

“K, are you deaf?” Cate barks, inserting her forefingers in her ears and shaking her head vigorously.

“Why are you ignoring me, darling?”

“In six months, I will be a mother, not a wife!

Cate storms into the house as K stands outside like a scarecrow – foolish, sober, unmoving.



Written by Peter Ngila (0)

Peter Ngila is a literary fanatic and a book lover who writes sometimes. He is a faithful of Amka Space forum, where his short fiction has appeared. ( He was a mentee in the 2014 Writivism program. He has also attended Kwani? Litfest. Peter is part of Hisia Zangu, a Pan African writers initiative. He blogs at When Peter grows up, he plans to become a full time writer.

What do you think?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

A woman’s plight, Aka…this man stole something from me.

Picking Myself Up After Great Loss