This piece was originally published on the Medium Blog here. I hadn’t planned to spend my entire afternoon like this. At least not at first. I was in town, with a few hours to kill and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with them. I always know, but I never get round to …
They came out in droves. From every corner of their little sandy town, they all came. Old men with shukas wrapped lazily around their waists. Middle-aged women with hardy hands. Children with mucus loosely hanging from their nostrils.
From a sadistic point of view, a culture’s art comes of age when it is worth stealing. Some pilfer, some plunder, others loot, and yet others pluck artifacts from graves.
A few years ago, I sat in a university auditorium during an inaugural TEDx event. One of the presentations was by Ayeyaa, the comedian who carries a signature briefcase and wears a newsboy’s cap.
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.
The sun at the coast rises too fast and too early, so you have to be up and awake by 5 am to catch it at is most beautiful. Places like Lamu might even need you to wake up earlier.
Lamu Tamu. This whole week, I will be shadowing Migz as he takes photos for Safaricom’s 2014 calendar challenge. Safaricom always finds a way to shine in its branding and for next year’s calendar; five of the best photographers in the country are tasked with capturing Kenyans in their day-to-day hustle.
I’ve only been conned once. By an old man. An old senile man. Not 60s old, older, that guy was really really old. By the time I realized I was the sucker in the transaction, he was probably on his deathbed, dying of natural causes.