I ask Eddy Kimani what it feels like to be a on a billboard. A big-ass billboard at a roundabout on Uhuru Highway. Or Waiyaki Way. For a month. For everybody, virtually everybody (and this includes guys from Nyahururu,
It was dark. The kind of darkness that looks like a black fog. A black opaqueness that refuses to get out of the way. The two stolen cars followed each other through this blackness,
A man at the end of the bar lights a cigarette then shakes the fire off the burning matchstick. We are at Tatiz Bar, restaurant, barber and car wash, seated outside on the curved verandah overlooking Muthangari Drive.
What do men do when darkness beckons? When winter closes in on them? When their unhappiness starts making their fingernails grow slower and their pillows get harder? When their wedding rings become hollow metaphors,
Life thrust marriage at Frank, like you would a bribe in the hands of an unwilling official. He didn’t go looking for it like some men who plan engagements with a ring, bended knees and starry eyes.
The only reason I’m compelled to narrate the story of how he met his first wife is because I found it somewhat enchanting. Also because Jesus was involved. He was a church youth leader back in the days of yore.