She doesn’t have curtains. Not in her living room. So it’s not exactly peeping, is it? Is it really when she knows that when night falls and her lights come on everybody from the opposite flat will see what’s inside? You could call it an exhibition but only if she’s conscious of it. Thankfully, she isn’t and her oblivion makes it a raw – and somewhat pervasive – show.

There is never any show of nudity, or even its allusion. But she always walks around her house bare feet. Well, she doesn’t exactly walk; she sort of glides around; slowly, deliberately, queenly…like flowing mercury. It’s primal.

She isn’t beautiful; let’s get that out of the way. Not in the conventional way, at least. Not like Toni Braxton is beautiful. Her cheekbones are slightly slanted, her lips are too thin, too bluesy and she’s too light-skinned. In fact because she’s very light you might be mistaken that she is beautiful. Her lightness only serves as a cloak that covers her flaws.

But she posses a robust personality. At 5’7’’ she isn’t exactly tall, but since she’s got a small waist and an ass that should be awarded sole sovereignty – complete with its own legal tender – which makes her comes across as desirable. But it’s not a big ass; it’s rounded and it contours her waist well and frames, elegantly, her hips. An airbrushed ass. Again, think Toni.

She wears a room like a cloth. When she’s in a room – her living room ...... Read the entire article

She never thought the day would come. She lived in a false sense of security, an umbrella of deception. But the day came. And it came in the form of a knock at her door.

Standing at the door was a woman, just about her age. She had on a scarf. A blue blouse and a long flowing skirt, like a gipsy skirt. She looked nervous. Behind her the sun shone like it did most Sundays of the month of May. Behind her, children played in the parking lot, screeching and darting around. Behind her cars glistened in the sun. It was a beautiful day, but not so beautiful as to be confronted by your worst nightmare.

She opened the door with a smile because she was a kind a person. The kind of person with a kind heart and a warm smile. She prayed fastidiously. She tithed studiously. She did right before the Lord and before man. But when she slipped she slipped as man is meant to slip and she sought for forgiveness from high above. Not to imply that she was deeply spiritual, hardly, but she believed in the common good.

The woman standing at the door looked fidgety. She carried a small purse in her hand, and this purse shook with her trembling hands. For a moment she thought the woman was there to seek for alms, or a laundry job, because it wasn’t uncommon for them to show up asking for menial jobs. This woman refused to look her in the eye. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor as if she wasn’t worthy to be shadowing her doorstep.

She said she wanted to see Mrs. Amanda.

She ...... Read the entire article

Last weekend. The Lewa Marathon, location? Somewhere in the belly of Isiolo.  I travelled down in a vanful of Safaricom customer service executives. Yes, I believe that’s how one of them introduced themselves; an executive. Oh buddy! If I’m not mistaken the last time I checked an executive was someone who has an administrative or managerial authority in an organization. These folks pick calls. And they do a bad job at it. I mean, how come my calls to customer care never go through? I posed this to the lady who gallantly introduced herself an executive. Well, they are “overloaded”, came the executive answer. So there, next time you call customer care and you don’t get through, don’t get mad because they are overloaded. Take that to the bank.

Anyway, Lewa is almost like Rhino Charge, only in Rhino Charge there are more women in short skirts and hot pants and hanging tits. All drunk or getting there rapidly. Whilst in Rhino Charge folk walk around brandishing bottles of booze in their hands, at Lewa Marathon guys walk around with bottles of water. Also in Rhino Charge people talk in slurry speech because they have been drinking since they left Nairobi. But the one feature in both is the white faces. A sea of them. You know, it would be misleading to call them white people because they were actually red, at least their faces were. Thanks to the sun.

My crib was actually ...... Read the entire article

He lights a cigarette – his twelfth in under an hour – and closes his eyes and takes a deep drag at it. Smoke fills his soul. He doesn’t open his eyes but lets smoke crawl out of his nose and into the cold chilly night in a lazy trail. He sits like this for a while; immobile. Still. The cigarette smolders in a dull ember between his fingers. A soft breeze blows through. He slowly, even achingly opens his eyes and looks down at the streets below. At 2am there are a few cars in the street, mostly drunks, heading home, or moving to another bar for a night of unending binge. It had just rained, so the streets are wet. He watches a couple ambling along up the streets; the man’s hand draped around the woman’s shoulders. From where he is seated they look like miniature human beings. Hell, from where he is seated- on top of the building- everything looks miniature. He looks away.

Thirty eight stories up. That’s where he sits, feet dangling languidly from the edge. He reaches for the bottle of Vodka next to him and chases the smoke down his lungs with a long swig. His throat burns but it makes him alive and he doesn’t miss the irony. Nothing matters anymore, and that’s why he is up the bloody building, at 2am, getting pissed. Tears sting his eyes and he bites his lower lip, daring them not to come because even in this hopeless moment, he still feels a need for self preservation. Even in this hour of darkness he still wants to maintain a level of dignity. So ...... Read the entire article

I called Njogu this morning; remember him the guy I almost killed? Well, yes, we haven’t talked in ages and so I decided to check on him, see if he is still breathing and all. It was pretty early when I placed that call, around 7.49am, round about the time I knocked him down the last time. We had a very interesting conversation. Like most lawyers I know, he is quite the witty one and quite often self deprecating. A swell guy to say the least, you will see why.

The phone rings like four times. Then he picks.

The Killer (that’s me): Chief, it’s Biko, howzit?

Njogu: Hey Biko! How you doin’ man?

Killer: Easy, what’s goin’ on, things OK in ya neck of woods, sued anybody lately?

Njogu: (laughs) No, it’s kinda slow now this month, I wish I could ruin someone’s life, you know, send em to jail for a long long time. Well, I guess there are months like this you know.

Killer: True. But you keeping well?

Njogu: Yeah, nobody has tried to run me down with their car lately, just so you know.

Killer: (laughs) ...... Read the entire article