sunset saga

I find rowdiness grossly intriguing. The rising of voices from a soft hubbub to a crescendo of roars and squeals. Human emotions wrapped up in grotesque gestures and body movements, marionettes and huge placards depicting caricatures and beautiful insults. The rabid smell of violence from angry rioters are a reminder that there is a limit to ever man's tolerance. It is the unity however, that perplexes me. That people can unite better in grief than in bliss. At times, like most of you, I feel like grabbing my phone and taking a few snaps of people united in pursuit of a common course. Perhaps one of my snaps could feature on a daily paper, or in a meme. Especially a meme. Like me, my guy J had a taste for violence. The tingling in his fingers to grab his phone and take a few snaps was more than he could handle. J had a sack of coconuts and mangoes he had bought to suprise village dwellers. After being away for a year, a grand entry tugging a sack of goodies would suffice. The journ

 Caroline Kamaitha, 42. CEO at 30. Top 40 under 40. Mom at 42. How did we get here?  My father was an army man, extremely private, instilling in us a sense of discipline with a shot of paranoia. As a result, I set a yardstick—no one would outwork me. By age 30, I was the CEO of a hotshot blue-chip company. In Zambia. I was working, chasing paper, chasing deadlines, chasing the wind.  10 months ago, I had Gigi, my child. A bewildered and bleary-eyed 42-year-old mom. I thought this was like any other job. Easy peasy. It’s funny isn’t it? You think you are teaching your kids but you end up being the student.  If I’m being honest, perhaps I may be a tad bit addicted to work. I get some kind of satisfaction from getting stuff done. Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to work till the last day? But Gigi is teaching me patience. She has humbled me. I always was the Big Kahuna, but now, she’s the boss. I thought I was to raise her, but she’s raising me. I love watching The Simpsons—now

By Kisauti He's got stories that talk to you.. When I got pregnant at fifteen Mama cursed and threw her wig on the floor. “I did not raise a harlot,” she screamed. “Who is the boy?” she barked after two hot slaps sent me to the floor. “Is it Ken, the mannerless one? Or Patrick, the makanga you call Pato?” She picked me up and another slap sent me to the floor, once more. After my child was born Mama forgot all about it. There were rumors that my child resembled parts of her but she dismissed them. “Enemies of progress won’t keep me from enjoying my granddaughter,” she said more than once. When I got pregnant again at seventeen, Mama didn’t curse, throw her wig on the floor, or slap me. She wore her Women’s Guild garb and disappeared. After she left, parts of her came into my room. I had stopped screaming and fighting their advances. Retaliation only worsened the ordeal. Parts of Mama knew not to hurt my face. It was my back that was whipped, my ribs that were bruised. All places my

Photo: iStock By Kisauti It’s hard to find an idle African on a poolside bench. Africans I have realized don’t know the first thing about kicking back and relaxing. It’s always Europeans on these benches with their sunscreens and books. Whenever we visit nice places we always have a sense of urgency. We want to enjoy everything all at once as if it will all fade away the next minute. You will see us playing with the sand, then collecting shells, and a moment later we will be swimming. Meanwhile, the European will be unmoved with his book and sunscreen. It’s the same thing at the buffet. We are always in a hurry to eat everything on the menu. You will see us at breakfast with a plate full of bacon, eggs, beans, and bread. Meanwhile our European will be enjoying his bowl of cereal with a glass of juice and his book. Lunch is no different. Our plates are full to breaking with chicken, beef, and fish (They are all proteins by the way) while Mr. European is in a corner with his vegetables a

What if Christianity is a lie? It really all starts with Paul, whose conversion on the road to Damascus predates the composition of all of the canonical gospels and exerted more influence than anyone else in the development of early Christianity. The way I see it is that there are three possibilities: 1. Jesus appeared to him in spirit and everything Paul claimed is accurate. This seems like the least likely to me. 2. Paul made it up to create a new religion and gain money and power, a la L. Ron Hubbard and Scientology. It’s even remotely possible (though exceedingly unlikely) that Paul made up the character of Jesus, as it’s true that there is no contemporary evidence or account of Jesus that predates Paul’s evangelism. While possible, Saul came from a fairly wealthy family and was on the path to becoming a leader and power broker among the Pharisees. 3. Paul suffered a very convincing hallucination. This to me is most likely. It’s not hard to imagine that Paul suffered heat stroke or