All Kenyans do is run. If we are not running towards gold medals in European cities, we are running away from our problems and failures. We are running towards the Kenyan Dream, a hastily concocted thing that involves mostly, quails and their little spotted eggs, and once in a while, a Lupita.
Every once in a while when I can get off my lazy ass and finish the tens and tonnes of research snippets I have strewn all over, we sit by the camp fire and exchange stories of yore.
Here’s the thing: being a dictator is hard. Being an African despot is even harder – you have to keep the people wowed and scared of you at the same time. All that responsibility, every minute of every day, even while you sleep.