sunset saga

To the men who became fathers... Art credit: pixelsmerch This Father’s Day I am thinking quite a bit about my father, and the lessons I have gleaned from him. And especially now that I too am thinking about becoming a father. It is time, someone’s daughter told me. I think she fears I may end up finishing all the engineers, climate activists and doctors and just be left with brokers, forex traders, and DJs. Does the world really need more DJs?  We don’t talk much with my father. Not out of spite. It’s just who we are, shy men. I pretend not to be seen. He pretends not to see me. My father is getting old now. He has white hair. When I call him I think that just the other day, he was a young man at the apogee of his youth. Now his hospital visits have become frequent, his runway much shorter, his eyesight failing, which is not such a bad thing when I eventually bring a baddie home he won’t approve. “You don’t see her like I do,” will be my line. I've been considering and worrying abo

One day, I walked into a roadside Thika hotel and ordered beef-ugali with greens for 180 bob. The plate they served me was a bit strange. It had a tiny piece of ugali and a plate full of beef.  The beef was much larger than the 300 bob worth of beef I usually bought from my local butcher. I started to wonder how the hotel could possibly make a profit , or if they had mistakenly given me someone else's order. Despite my confusion, I was too hungry to care. I leaned closer to the table, pinched a handful of ugali, squeezed it with my palms, picked three pieces of beef, and started eating. I ate to a full stomach.  I then ordered a glass of juice. I was feeling too full to even walk. As I sipped on my juice, resting and giving my stomach pets time to also have a treat of the food in my stomach,  I started scrolling through Facebook.  To my horror, I stumbled upon a news piece about three men who had been arrested in Embu for possessing monkey meat destined for Thika Town. I hate coinc

  I went to give a small talk about storytelling at Baraza Media Lab on Riverside Drive. Small group of three incubatees. The intrepid @Paushinski (Too Early For Benga) crashed the party and sat at the back, munching on a hotdog. (Who eats hot dogs in 2022?) So I made him earn his chair by having one of the incubates, Marcus Olang, role play an interview with him about losing his father just as he was turning 18. Turned out Marcus also only buried his father three months ago. It was pretty revealing listening to these very big men bleed on the floor.  Later, after the do, as we sat in the common area having beers (I wasn't, but sounds grown up to say that) waiting to see where the winds of Friday evening would blow. Marcus came out dragging his wrecking ball of grief behind him. He looked defeated and spent. Pau instinctively stood up and like he knew just what Marcus needed, hugged him. Like a proper arms-around-each-other hug. And they stood like that, holding each other, and it