sunset saga

  Picture: Kansas City What do you do after you’re locked out of a meeting because you’re late? Or just because you don’t belong there? You go sit in the next space available and rethink about your life, otherwise you can give in to your frustration, go back to your bed and apologize for leaving it frowzy.   You walk to the lift lobby and it’s showery outside – back to the dining area you serve a cup of tea to warm away your blue morning. In one of the most chaotic WhatsApp groups I am in, there is heated discussion concerning women and the damage they can do you. It’s a WhatsApp group with about three hundred members, with a lady being only one – Joyce. How Joyce keeps up with the men there should be studied on a later date. The information that Joyce has about men can be harmful- she participates in all the shenanigans that men talk about. In a group where there are high end professionals you’re sure that time for shenanigans is well distinct from time for serious talks. ...

There were thin and bleak sounds, noises that were either real or imaginary. A sound of a wild bird in distress from a far, an owl maybe or a cardinal, accompanied by what sounded like uneasy movement and groaning noises from within. Those unnerving noises that make you believe hell is real and the damned has flung the gates open. He was in the police cell, the cell had huge shelves and guys were sleeping on the floor like they always do. You might have met this somewhere; you might have heard of it from the walls of your sitting room or the streets. It is a tale of this guy Boniface Kimanyano Ayoti, an epic face of crime, larger than life. A guy whose weakness was crime. Anything criminal triggered something in him. Something that not only made him content but also put him in a zone where nothing else could. Even though it can’t tell it all, Bonnie’s face is a tale of crime. Before you hear a word from him you know he’s not been an average human being. He has a swelling just above...

Nancy looks bright and sharp in her short hair. Blue eye shadows and a blue flowery top says something about her. Nancy looks gorgeous, but that wasn't just enough to save her from the wrath of 'Pontius Pilate'. She was crucified early before the cock crowed. Just lucky not to have died and gotten buried.  Nancy came innocent and peaceful, like a white dove with a flower on its beak. she was seeking opinions from those in their 'advanced age' say 30s about how it would be to move to other countries abroad to start a new life for someone in 30s or 40s. She asked the above mentioned, how their life turned out after choosing to move and maybe settling on a different career path.  Still you see no problem, do you ? You see no reason for crucifixion huh?  Okay ! "Is physiotherapy a potential and giving career, more so in the Scandinavian countries?"  She asked There was silence... The term Scandinavia was something I was only seeing blur at the back of my head....

 Good morning Monday  A Sunday can be so nice until you part with ksh 300 for getting your hair chopped off when your budget was ksh 99. Chopping off my own hair, my own hair at ksh 300 ! With this economy! Haidhuru ! This is not money that can ruin a God - sent Sunday.  Somewhere in Kahawa, I was walking hurriedly but keen to find a barber shop. A good affordable barber shop. Calculating my quick steps not to deep them into the muddy portholes. It was an urgent matter, like the hair on my head was literally going to kill me in the coming hours. On bad days, where bad days equals no or less money in the pocket, I don't come close to barber shops with those fancy glass doors. They will do anything on your head to rip you off an extra coin. Even brushing your teeth if you allow. But Sunday was not a bad day after all, not because of a heavy pocket this time but a joyful heart.  So I got into a barber shop with a slightly fancy glass door. Before then, I had passed with...

For a long time I have felt like taking you guys through some history lessons. Before I settled on being a Manchester United die hard I almost became a History teacher.  What do you know about the Anga tribe of Papua New Guinea? Ulla Lohmann a National Geographic reporter conducted a study on the Anga tribe of the Papua New Guinea back in 2003. The Anga tribe are not accustomed to visitors. They live in seclusion because of the fear of their culture being known by outsiders. The Anga community has an ancient history of mummifying their dead. They smoke the remains of their deceased and put them on a rock ledge facing their villages. After several attempts by the reporter to get close with them and create a relationship, she was slowly welcomed into the community to learn about their culture. Majorly she wanted to know how they did the mummification.  She was given progressively more access over her first few visits so that she could understand the delicate structure of the ...

I was about to have a very long frustrating night once again. Traveling from home today was my choice. No one coerced me, but chasing the bus on a motorbike was not my choice.  I arrived at the Ena coach station at 8.29 pm. The bus was scheduled to leave at 8.30pm. In the history of me travelling with this bus it has never left on time. Let me tell you siku ya kufa nyani miti yote huteleza. Yaani slippery! I just delayed intentionally so I don't have to sit at the booking office for long.  'Leo nayo unaachwa,' Kevo told me. I told him I know the bus I'm traveling on arrogantly. Furthermore, it was a 'highway bus' - coming from Sirare. My mom asked me why I'm delaying. I told her the bus will arrived late. She said calmly, 'that bus usually arrives early.' But who am I ?  the guy who knows his bus.  And let me tell you Maina, the previous day I ate some githeri at shosho's place that some how 'haribikiad' me. I was relactant to book a tick...

The lady at the barber shop kept insisting that she wants to scrab my face. In every barber shop with those services, they always want to scrab your face. Even if your face is as smooth as mine huh! You tell her you have a bus to catch at 10pm but she behaves like she's the driver of that bus but she's still scrubbing faces..  She asks me, 'why are you traveling at night?' 'Because I'm going to Migori,' I tell her  At this time she had already finished washing my head. It had already clocked 9pm. She placed a white towel over my head and started drying my hair.  'How does someone go to Migori?,' she asked  'Some parts of it are in Tanzania,' I told her then stared at my self in the mirror.  In a very long time I found a guy who shaved me well. He was keen and handled my big head with care. I guess it's because I was a new client and he wanted me to come back next time. He was extra careful, I felt like he was going to do it for a whole ho...