owaahh Author

A man, a pen, a keyboard I mean, bananas, and mugs of coffee. This is a labour of love.

5 Hilarious Security Lapses of the Kenyan Presidential Guard

Whenever we elect a man (or woman) to the House on the Hill, we give him the right to avoid all human contact except that which has passed through three metal detectors and dressed appropriately. We give him the best of our security forces, the best cars, the best house (arguable) and the best women …

Listicles • Morbid|

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When one Kenyan Eats Another

Why do people eat each other?

Features|

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Murder of the Innocents: Tracing Filicide in Kenya

A man walks into his home at the end of another long hard day at work.. He doesn’t know why he feels so on edge, or whether there is anything good left in his world. His five boys back at home, waiting to be fed.

Features|

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4 Most Random things Ever Done by Settlers in Kenya

History has a knack for leaving out randomness, frankly because it does not fit into the fabric of the sane society we purport ourselves to be.

Listicles|

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Kenya Needs an Age of Reason, and a Bath

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.

Musings|

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Ritual Sex, Orgies and Lessons from Bizarre Cultural Practices

Every generation in human history has viewed itself as more advanced and civilized than the last. The one constant has always been sex, and rituals around it.

Features|

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No more bridges to burn

An adage long past claims that a man has but one day of birth One day during the seasons when he came into this world When he left his mother in pain and agony Screaming for dear life

Morbid • Poetry|

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Of Cockroaches, and Why They Own You

Knock! Knock! Who’s there? Cock…(continued at the end)

Musings|

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The Cat Likes to be Kicked…

I stood up to go somewhere, but now I do not know where it was, or what I was going to do when I got there. There’s the door I opened and closed, built by my grandfather’s friend and ‘shipped’ on an old donkey cart, repaired many times since, and still holding.

Musings|

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