No White Light?

As she straddled across the room,

No Country for Skinny People, and Stories of Stolen Phones

Once I regained my composure, I realized that there is nothing like the moment you realise something you value is gone. You have to make a life decision-do you scream, react, slap someone, ask for a hug, run after the thug or just sit there trying to soak it all in, like I did? When …

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.

Going Bananas: Making a Case for a National Fruit

“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 Barmaid and the Boy who Kissed an Inexperienced Bed

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.

Hell’s Academy: A Review

A group of people find themselves in hell and they need to know why they got there. So the play is made as a series flashbacks for the main characters. For a play lasting about three hours and about 25 people in the cast, it was quite a show.

The Msema Kweli, and the Mad Woman who Wanted A fight

On a whiff of randomness the other day, I opened a facebook group for my primary school.

Of Cockroaches, and Why They Own You

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

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.