She wrote me an interesting email about her marriage, with a mathematical subtext. I said, “How about you send me some 2,000 words on this?” So she sent 5,000 words. I barely needed to touch it. But because I’m …
I have questions. Rather, one question. I come all the way to Mpaka Road, Westlands, to have this question answered. It’s not the proverbial “burning” question. It’s not an awfully important question either, which means it’s not a life …
We had lunch: she had grilled pork and something. I had chapatis and something. She wore a long flowy dress and silver sandals. She had a tale about her marriage. I wrote it the next day at dawn while …
She preferred to write an email with her story because – in her own words – she has an “image” of me and she doesn’t want to “spoil the romance” she has with me in her head. She says …
Her nearest and dearest call her Keke. The sound a creaky door makes. It’s the sound of a brittle, rare baby bird in a thicket, waiting for mommy bird to get back from the cloud and feed it. Keke …
