A Driving Force

You can almost always tell whether someone is a storyteller or not. Storytellers have this atmosphere around them that they carry everywhere they go and when they take a seat, their stories pull up the seat next to them. Such people do not even ask questions or wait for your contribution. They just dive right … Continue reading A Driving Force

Coffee Shops by Mukiri Gitiri

For the first time, last week on Monday, I felt a thrill similar to that of my first kiss. He could argue that it was the second but well, that one was on my eighteenth birthday and it is a story I am told. My first kiss was a sober one. I remember feeling so … Continue reading Coffee Shops by Mukiri Gitiri

Coffee Runs Out

It has now been two weeks since I hang my coat and quit my job to become a full-time writer. I will not lie, some nights I lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering whether I made the right decision. Some mornings, I have had a difficult time affording a smile but I have pushed … Continue reading Coffee Runs Out

One Half the Conversation

A conversation in the car between me and dad is always a welcome idea. The best part about such conversations is that he has to keep his eyes on the road when I break outrageous news like "I quit my job" and "I am getting married". He would wish he was glaring at me and … Continue reading One Half the Conversation

Our Last Name

My parents arrived on a Saturday, a few hours shy of midday. They came bearing maize floor, fresh from the kisiagi, boiled sweet potatoes and millet porridge in a five-litre kibuyu. They said that a little bird had whispered to them back in the village, told them of my transgressions in the city, and they … Continue reading Our Last Name

Bachelor Dens

  You stand there when the storm comes. You smile at her. You make promises of assurance. She calms down. You look at her and see the green in her eyes, and you set your camp on her conscious.   In your solitude, your blankets rise in your bachelor den every morning and you wish … Continue reading Bachelor Dens

Mark and Baby

  For obvious reasons, my cousin and I always met in a bar in town. In fact, I got to know him through a bar, unlike everyone else who is introduced to their relatives in family gatherings. So, yes, this is like the vice versa of that story that you know, the one that ends … Continue reading Mark and Baby

Harriet

I was nineteen when I began writing her as my next of kin when opening bank accounts and creating Chama Accounts. It came naturally and in a way that I cannot even explain. The registration form would ask the relationship between her and me and I would write Fiancée. The bank attendant would look at … Continue reading Harriet

Bananas and Stuff

I remember an easier time, when Thika Superhighway was just Thika Road. Nothing was super about it, not even the traffic. We were regulars at a bar and lounge just before you get to Kahawa Wendani, I cannot recall the name. Next to the bar and lounge was a small timber yard, also memory fails … Continue reading Bananas and Stuff

A Story about Shoes

I remember a time when we always fought in the morning with mother about shoes. This memory is embedded in my brain like Shrapnel. Nyandarua was this cold place that was always raining hail, too cold. When it rained, the heavens burst open defiantly washing away everything on its path. We were accustomed to the … Continue reading A Story about Shoes