It is a huge table under a gazebo behind a tall building. A silent, calm and serene atmosphere. We are having lunch and everything is so peaceful apart from occasional bursts from Kamotho about discipline. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. I like responses just like you do because we are … Continue reading Who is your Family?
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
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
People who have not been close to death should not speak about it. Death is an academic Degree; you are only an expert when you have survived it and won the hat. Personally, I know death. I have seen death. I have dressed the scent of death on my body and ground my teeth in … Continue reading Rejected
Living in Nairobi is not an easy task. Surviving is not difficult, but then, surviving is not the same as living. The other day I was just minding my own business, reporting to work, my first job, for the first day, then all over sudden, I found myself in a police cell. Mind you, it … Continue reading Cuffs of Stupidity.
I was born a boy, or at least I thought I was until I had my first period at age sixteen. I was used to boy cardigans, shorts, boxers, vests, shirts and the like. My background was a humble one, where the only thing that mattered was that we had food at the end of … Continue reading Upside Down
Just about the time you get to the junction at Bahati that separates those willing to go to Solai and those about to move to Bahati and beyond, the pressure changes and the scent of something very familiar fill your nostrils. Nostalgia kicks in and all you want to do is tell everyone in that … Continue reading A Day in Nakuru
I have always found it improper for men to do dishes. It is like using a whole transit lorry, those that are fond of that Gilgil route, very large, very old and very slow, carrying containers written MAERSK, a word I cannot even pronounce, is it an initial? Anyway, unless you have been on that … Continue reading Men who do dishes