The London Milkman
Back in the mid 90s, we had some in our rika who had graduated college…
The London Milkman
Back in the mid 90s, we had some in our rika who had graduated college and soon after started employment as Nairobi’s young professionals. As was habit, one evening a group of us sat around in a friend’s living room examining life as the aroma of masala tea wafted from the kitchen. Then one of…
Redeemed
Listening to Kasmwel McOure’s talk on Engage left me raw. I’m so sorry kid. I’m so sorry for the assault and soul mutilation a generation goes through– our generation choosing silence, the present youngest generation choosing revolt. I do not wish to diminish this charismatic young man’s personal trauma by applying it to an entire…
Emerging- /Nairobi to Atlanta
Seeing Mark Smith’s “Emerging” in person was an absolute treat. Inspiring is an understatement. Two things set my mind on fire as I stood there transfixed: 1- the revolution underway in the land of my birth as the sounds and images stream in; 2- the fresh reminder of the shocking scourge of homelessness in cities…
You are Free-
A Juneteenth Memoir It’s not enough to be free. It’s more important to know you are free. Something happens in captivity situations. Could be any place where your wings feel clipped, where your spirit hangs dark and low like a rain cloud that just can’t shed its load. It took me years to see the…
Pearls
In that other parallel life I have mentioned before, I get to talk to men and women whose business is war and peace. Especially about the wars that are fought in the birthing of nations. In the unwind time when we sit and compete over who has the funniest story to tell, war still lingers…
Wanjiru’s Son
A friend’s post took me to this raging debate about Kikuyu men with women’s names for a surname, and how one non-Kikuyu man has created a stink from it. Short story: I went to Primary school with a boy called Peter Wanjiru. Standard 7. I knew nothing. Our teacher used to make fun of poor…
Crime-Free Power
It takes a lot to say some things when the hand that feeds you is the same one that slaps you. You weigh it against your moral true north, you realize you have fewer years ahead of you than behind you, and you no longer have the luxury of accommodating strategic fear. For a crutch,…
Christian Cruelty Against PWDs
I’m here to tell you something, you people who go to crusades of prophets what-not in Kenya. Like the dude with the ungroomed beard who was recently in Nakuru. Here’s the thing: After they are done with their stage performance of “miracles”, they must return the props back to the disabled owners, with payment to…
Price of the Ticket
We sat in that cafe, catching up on new thoughts and theories I might have discovered. My presentation was due the next morning and I was giving it a test run with my boss, a retired Captain with a voracious appetite for philosophy and painting. He said- You know, I’ll tell you about this one…
