My son’s school usually emails these pre-primary weekly bulletins written in blue font. Sometimes I read them when I’m trying to be a responsible father, often I don’t. The contents of the emails are usually the highlights of their …
He remembers his mother’s lover. Not the unique features of his face but his presence, or rather, his moment of impending absence. At 6-years, he didn’t know what a lover was. All he knew was this man whom he …
Every Friday we’d gather around the counter at Pitcher and Butch and trade war stories. There was Jamo, a mechanic, ex Baraton University, Bachelor of Technology in Automotive. Boisterous, loud, carefree. He worked in a garage in Westlands as …
I got a call. The man on the other end of the line said. “Professor Ngugi wa Thiong’o is coming into town next month. Would you like to sit down with him?”
The chap I was to interview for this week piece emailed that he didn’t think it was “a good idea anymore.” He said that after reading last week’s piece he felt that he didn’t want to “expose himself too …
