Look at that mane. That metaphor of youth. Of invincibility. Of bottomless faith in his capacity to thrive in this moment – even this unstable moment curtailed by a flu. You may not know it but this hair carries …
His landlord was a wizened 6’5” bushy-maned white guy with three dogs the size (and faces) of hippos. He rented his small wooden house built at the corner of his big compound in that strange area that isn’t Langata …
You met a girl outside Kenya Cinema. She wore baggy stonewash jeans. She – left handed – scribbled her telephone number on a scrap of paper you borrowed from a shop inside. “Is this a four or a nine?” …
You may call it love. Or you may not. Your call. But the first time she saw him it was after the afternoon prayers at the mosque and it damn felt like love.
You see a man in a beautiful well-cut suit, looking like he was baptized in it, one hand thrust in his pocket, standing casually at ease, waiting for the elevator to come down. That man’s hiding something. A woman …
This is the mosque in her …
