When I get to City Market I don’t know where stall number one is. I linger at the entrance facing Muindi Mbingu street like a pickpocket. It smells of fresh roses and Maasai carvings, bibelot and curious, touristic paraphernalia. …
Some folk think it’s gotten too dark in here. They say that lately I write only stories of death and suffering and gnashing of teeth. (Okay, that I added. It has been awhile since I used it). They say …
Kyle Mitch was born in the indecision of youth. The father – barely 30 years old – was still only grappling with the concept of his own responsibility let alone someone else’s. They – he and his girlfriend – …
We now have bluetooth and microwaves we can control using our phones yet we continue to crane our necks looking back at the past. The allure of the past seems to seduce us, keeping us enticed. We listen to …
Picture The Boy – no older than 20- rolling a blunt on a wooden coffee table. He’s in a bedsit in Roysambu; small windows, cheap curtains, wooden door. He’s in a t-shirt and jeans, the official body armour for …
