sunset saga

  February 2022. She laid on bed eyes glued to the ceiling, with her two arms across the back of her head. Her left leg dangling over the right one. The light was dim and the house chilled. Just a low volume afro pop from the radio at the farthest end of her small house. She hears it straight in the middle of her head, its soothing.  Thoughts are waltzing in her head. Like many other young people, she wants to make life better in this trying world. She tries, she want to do her stuff and make them count. She doesn’t want to just pop out filthy rich one Friday morning, with high end vehicles and a throng of apartments somewhere in kileleshwa.   They say the streets do not favour genuine people but that too has a limit. There is a notification pop up on her phone; she doesn’t bother because she’s thinking of how she will make her deliveries tomorrow. How she wants to reach all her clients before noon. There is another notification and it causes her vexation. She reaches...

I flicked through the pages of the little white booklet I held on my hands. The first page bears a portrait. A photo most likely taken with a selfie camera. I can't help but wonder how she felt when taking the photo. The organic smile that plastered her countenance as she pressed the shutter button. She has a smooth brown complexion. Light skin if you may. Her jaws hold a parade of pristine white teeth with a prominent gap between the upper front teeth; hallmark of beauty. The gap is wide enough to make me wonder if she can say the word 'samosa' three times in quick succession but not too wide to make one fret. Beneath the exceptional portrait are the words sunrise and sunset written in flowery font, perhaps to mitigate their effect. The procession from the morgue had about five cars and a hearse. John, the husband of the deceased, sat in the front seat of the hearse. His elbow rested on the window and his palm supported his head that seemed to be weighed down by grief. At ...

  One of them had a bad face. The bad face was a shy but happy face, warming hearts. She had the best heart. She blushed alot. The other was an alcohol addict. She was also a happy face. They matched in, dressed in yellow t-shirts and jeans trousers. They sang with passion when called upon to. Some of them recited in Spanish fluently. Others had no business besides just being happy. Some bad spirits should never descend upon you on a beautiful day. They should never come in between you a day like this! It is miserable to feel a certain way in certain days. I almost missed the event.  I stayed indoors to decide whether I should go or just call it off. It was one of those strange moments when you have nothing to do, but also you got to do something to pass time. My laptop that has been in a coma for about a month now was there staring at me and it was my perfect destination. Thanks to YouTube for the good tutorial, even though I did not do anything constructive after opening eve...

  The first time I saw this image, it didn’t look as interesting. I was wandering around when it showed up on my path. Nothing really, just a random picture or rather one of those paintings you see every day. The second time I came across it, I was back in the village. I went for a detox - the city can show you bad things.   I never read it again because I was going to see my granny. I forgot about it until recently. I was with my little brother Nobel. People say in our family we have funny names, yes Nobel is one of them. He’s a little different from the rest of us. He grew up a modern life. There are games he didn’t play that we did. He’s mostly watching nickelodeon and playing games but his level of creativity and scepticism is somewhat above his age. He wants to know everything. He writes me sweet love letters, he writes his dad letters when he wants things and his words of mouth don’t play effective. He writes everyone in the family letters. He draws so fine, the othe...

  When I step into that gate - the golden gates of heaven, I'll ask Moses or Abraham whoever I'll see first, to take me to the Lord. I'll humble myself when I finally see His Highness. I'll bow my head down in submission. I won't shake his hand because maybe He's just light or a cloud as I've always believed. Fear would be smeared all over my face but I would gather courage and ask God why he gave me two left feet, just lightly. I know He won’t smack me on the face. When growing up someone taught you that God is not to be questioned. That you don’t confront God because everything he does is perfect. Well, for me I do. For many reasons I do. The long tension of the election process finally ceased. The dust slowly settling from a far and the frontrunners are having a lifetime moment. The blue litmus paper steadily turning yellow. We are here nonchalantly calm, at a corner licking our wounds under the strewn broken tables and chairs. For a fifth time, well that...

I have always wanted to visit Turkana. To explore the beautiful land from kalokol to Lomelo and the likes of Lokichogio. I want to take a break from names like Onyango and kinuthia. I want to meet Ewoi, Ekai, Deng and Tukei. When I buy my Suzuki swift, as I take it home for my parents anointing I will pass by Turkana. I will use their sandy roads and leave the tread prints of my car sketched on their soil. Later in the day, I will drive to Chorogascar. It’s a small town in Turkana that boarders northern Uganda. I will wait until it’s late and take a nice picture of the setting sun and the herd of cattle heading back home. Ng’ikadelio Marie tells a story, a story about her motherland chorogascar. She says they neighbour the Karamojong community. They almost speak the same language, just a little variation in the tones and pronunciation. Most of the folks there are Catholics. When the missionaries came to Turkana from Uganda, they first settled in Chorogascar, an answer to why most of ...

Some people are wacky or let’s say crazy. Ama let’s assume they are just being Kenyans. Certain queer characters you only meet in the streets of Nairobi. On that Saturday, I was in town running some errands. Something was trending in the bird App about Alex. I first heard of Alex in Trevor Noah's book 'Born a crime' - not long ago. Last year probably. Quite a juicy name of a place. A place that was the exact reverse of what you would envision Alex to be. A poky, poor, black township in Johannesburg. It is surrounded by wealthier white areas, which is actually the major reason it cannot expand, unlike other towns like Soweto. About the trend, there were some killings in Alex. I wanted to peruse through the tweets to see what happened.  Such happenings are not new in Alex. It's a breeding place of chaos as is known in South Africa. One killing another to survive, quite normal in poverty-stricken hoods.  After scrolling a few tweets, I wanted to read more about Alex. Th...