sunset saga

  Ever wonder why most staircases in medieval castles were built to be extremely narrow and spiraling in a clockwise direction? Since medieval castles were built mainly as fortifications, staircases were designed to make it extremely difficult for enemy combatants to fight their way up. Since most soldiers were right-handed, they would need to round each curve of the inner wall before attempting to strike, inevitably exposing themselves in the process. The clockwise spiral staircase also allowed the defenders to use the inner wall as a partial shield and easily allow them to swing their weapon without being hindered by the curvature of the outer wall. The stairs were also intentionally poorly lit and built to be uneven, making it even more difficult for the attackers to gain any sort of balance or momentum during their fight up to capture the castle. Now you know

I'm reading that I have the right to donate my organs should I kick the bucket. I would have loved to, because it would be nice to float around as an ancestral spirit while still physically keeping an eye on the goings-on around these parts. Problem, however, is that, like most Kenyans, I have (mis)used my organs in the reckless manner matatus are driven. I can, therefore, picture the doc rummaging through the bucket in which my used "spare parts" would be stored: Kidney? Crap.  Liver? Bullshit. Eyes? Was this idiot even seeing his nose? Knees? Haaa! Dr Kizito! Hebu kuja uone hizi! Heart? Bloody hell!!!  Lungs? Holy shit! Brain?  Basket case. Bile duct? Hmm...maybe. Bwana if you hear a rumour that they want to give you one of my organs, call the Flying Squad because hio watu wanataka kukumalisa! by Ted Malanda - son of Polis

 “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Elizabeth asks her bedroom mirror immediately when she wakes up. “In your circle of friends, among your relatives, and in the office none is as fair as you.” “That’s what I thought,” she says and begins getting ready for work. After she’s done, she takes her handbag and rushes out the door. She rolls down her car window in traffic and yells, “Will you get a move on? Clear the way for the fairest of them all.” A makanga in an adjacent matatu groans with boredom and a woman in a Volkswagen looks at her peculiarly. She shrugs, they don’t know the burden of carrying the weight of the fairest of them all. She gets to the office and immediately goes to the bathroom. She touches her makeup before sitting at her desk. She’s a junior advertising executive at a printing company at Industrial Area but the senior position is what she’s really after. “Just tell me who I need to sleep with?” she had asked Beth who was recently promoted.

 The thing I wanted to do so much once I got my ID, was to go to Coco Savanah and dance inside there like an adult. Many of my older friends told me that that there was where they got their first girlfriends. That sentence is not important because I already had a girlfriend. And another girlfriend had me but I did not have her. Again, that detail is not of any importance to you especially. 18 came and I got an ID. I went to Coco Savanah. It was the F2 of Nakuru. That place was dark. Noisy. Smoky. Seedy. Smelled like an open cask. And people shouted at each other's ears to communicate. I lost track of time because I was dancing to Ali Kiba's songs. That one of Usinisemee. Where Ali eats and eats and eats. I loved the choreography of that song. It was saa tisa asubuhi, majira ya Afrika Masahariki kulingana na kopo la saa la Swaleh Mdoe. Taxi people were charging 500 to get me home. Which was 5 times my expected rate. Moneyed people were just whistling down taxis and entering back

Ariel studies Chemistry, but is also a footballer who retired prematurely because of a bad knee. A knee that chose chemistry over football. He is a farmer during long holidays. He keeps chicken and milk his father’s cow on a good day. On a bad day he goes to a nearby dusty arena to play football, to see if his knee could have possibly changed its idea about chemistry. Ten minutes into the  game he becomes a living testimony that his knees were actually meant to stand long hours in the chemistry lab doing tests and mixing chemicals to see colour changes, precipitates and what have you that don’t excite me. He is a vocabulary expert and a story teller. He is a fitness aficionado. He is a brother and a son. I can’t prove that he is a boyfriend but I can prove beyond any limits that in the past 7 days he has eaten chapatti at least thrice.  He's authored   THE FAMILY MAN ,   WHAT I WANT , GRIP REAPER ,  J'S COCUNUTS just to mention a handful. He is a huge Chelsea fan, a bruised te

By Brian Mbanacho , Praise God, Church !  It’s now 20 years since Joseph was sold to slavery by his jealous brothers. Life hasn’t been easy, especially since he had to go to prison after Potiphar’s wife falsely accused him of rape, spending a few years afraid of bending over to pick up soap. But because he serves a living God, he has overcome all the obstacles and is now a big boy in Egypt, rolling around on the finest donkeys with panoramic sunroofs. He now has servants of his own and he occasionally stops by Pharoh’s palace to interpret dreams for him. Meanwhile, Egypt and the neighbouring countries are experiencing the worst famine, so Israel gathers his boys around and asks them to go over to Egypt and buy some grains. “Buy beans and maize and dengu and everything else, but not kamande,” he says, spitting on the ground. “I would rather we all die than eat that atrocious meal.” “Yes, father,” the sons chorus before setting out for Egypt.  When in Egypt, they are taken to the big boy