People

The Evangelist

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By Eddy Ashioya

It’s me. Again. By now I should just have my own guest bedroom with the SpongeBob bedsheets. I am like that half-remembered ex with main character energy, who, as everyone’s greatest girlfriend—Beyoncé—once said, ‘bado niko

Small Dog

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Folklore has it that when the white man showed up in my village they found my great-grandfather, Okeyo, naked. He was herding cattle on a hill in Kendu Bay, leaning on a staff. He might or might not have

Peggy’s Curse

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You know the moment you meet them that they are eccentric. They sit and look around fiercely. They lean back and tell the waiter, ‘If I have hot water with a slice of lemon, will you charge me?’ And

His Ball and Chain

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He snuck in like the men in movies do; blown in by the rain, from the urgent embrace of darkness, the bill of his cap pulled furtively low over his face. I was seated in a booth at Baraza

Everybody’s Fine

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He’s notably tall. So tall you could bungee jump off him. I look up at him, OK, I don’t but he’s a good head taller than me, so I sort of feel like he can see the tip of