I’m in a cyber somewhere in dowtown Kampala. It’s a hot dark small room next to a cereals shop. The aircon blows in dust. If you want cereals from Kampala kindly send me an sms. Like beans. Their beans …
Towards the close of last term, my “lito” girl’s school organized a Father’s Forum thingamajig. The school invites you for these school shindigs by placing cards between the pages of The Diary. The Diary is this small book that …
She sees me into a room, a boardroom. A swanky one. A large dark table stretches across the opulent room. The seats are all high back and they receive your weight with a familiar springy stoicism. One of them …
Something about Saturdays that I love. The looseness of it all, the unaffected air that hangs. Saturdays is the day the lord has chosen. If Saturday was a person it would be like Toni Braxton licking an ice-cream. But …
