You can see it all there, staring at you like a child craving attention. It’s always the same, always has been. A restless pit of darkness. Of the unknown yet clear, beckoning amidst the fog. You see the suits, clean and sharp, tailored from wise hands dedicated to their craft. Silver watches on left wrists telling of monies and where to place them. Dimly light hallways filled with invite-only guests ready to purge their wealth in the name of philanthropy. …
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My parents always have an input in everything I do. It comes with the job. Ever since I was young they had a say in the food I ate (mashed pumpkins mixed with terere leaves – yuck). They picked the clothes I wore which happened to be similar to my brother’s. I think as dad was courting mum he might have whispered lovey-dovey things like how sweet their kids would be if they all wore the same outfits; colors to …
Is it me or does time hold a grudge? I think it’s come to collect its dues for all the years wasted postponing things — tomorrow is another day after all. Tebu! Listen, I’m awake by 5 in the am. Paying patronage to Africanism, 5 means 8 because catching worms is so birdy, so old school. I’m like a newborn baby, I sleep late. The difference is that I wake up waaaay late. Now don’t go snitching on me to …
He’s not on social media. No Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Whatsapp. Who the hell doesn’t have WhatsApp? If there was a comet about to hit Nairobi, it would probably find him knee-deep in whatever mysteries he does in that house of his. He’s probably a spy or into dark things like cults with red capes that make sacrifices on every full moon. Musee, I hope the rare times we meet, I’m not a prospectus sacrificial lamb. Doubt that can’t happen since …
They slay their fury tails left then right nipping at grass (if any) and the scarce leaves on young trees they come across. This is foreign, a land they aren’t used to. Busy cars with busier people, life in the suburbs. Driving through Thika road, it’s not hard to spot them. Assuming these sides, sheep are hard to come by. By sheep, I mean the actual four-footed animals, then again classifying drunkards crawling back home in wee hours in the …
I’ve been scrapping off some tea stain on this damn coffee table before an unwelcomed visitor passes by and unwittingly judges. I think the stain has a grudge, it refuses to nudge. It reminds me of high school days where I used to peel stamps for reuse. Remember? The vicious fights with stamps back when girls loved getting letters. They still do, at least my editor says she does, then again, a girl from Riara never had the time of …