When I saw images of Abdul Hajj, I automatically knew he was not a Kenyan cop. There was something about him that told of affluence, a man who gyms in a proper facility and eats well.
Category Archives: Musings
The man laughs maniacally as he hits the keyboard and stares at the screen. He is killing them and he loves it, or rather, he cant control himself. The urges. They will never catch him, he kills as he wills, and they can do nothing about it. They are born when he says they are born, and they die when his whims desire. Except for that wretched editor. He tricks them into situations where they are sure to die, dangling on a cliff begging for dear life. They are his small ant farm.
If you have 1.3 billion shillings and an interest in the hospitality industry, you can buy prime undeveloped land in the heart of a marine national park, a national reserve listed as a protected site. A Mr. Alessandro Torriani placed an ad offering 53.00 Acres of undeveloped prime land in the Kisite-Mpunguti Marine National Park for Kshs. 1.38 billion ($16, 000, 000).
Once I regained my composure, I realized that there is nothing like the moment you realise something you value is gone.
It is only befitting that the deadline for voter registration should be marred by torrential rains. The argument in recent days, all over the news and prime-time television, on radio, driven by celebrities and all people of note [sic!] has been that all good Kenyans of age, should register to vote.
“Dawa ya Mende! Ya Panya! Ya Mende! Ya Panya! Cockroach Murderer! Cockroach Killer! Ya Mende! Ya Panya! Ua Mende! Ua Panya!” the man standing outside Muthurwa market screams all day. Unlike his colleagues in the business who have acquire a small public address system and then recorded themselves so they can just stand there as the pitch loops all day long, he likes to play it old school. Continue reading…
I have a theory; being an uncle, a good uncle at that, is much harder than being a good father. One can be a good father without much extra effort per se, but the status of the good uncle that the children run to when he walks through the gate is an honor that must be earned. I agree that fatherhood is a task but it has a greater guarantee of success than simply being the happy uncle.
To the creative writer, there is something morbidly inspiring about morgues and barstools. Morgues because dead men tell no tales, as the saying goes, and the man looking for inspiration wants to tell tales. Barstools because, well, just barstools.
So when is it ever the right moment to make a tactical retreat? To the emancipated mind this should be a question of chance and choice, it has everything to do with ones decision-making abilities as well as the willingness to follow through.