sunset saga

You got the promotion in January 2020. ‘Regional Sales Manager.’ With it came a car and you moved your family to the suburbs and your kids to group of schools. People cry about Njaanuary but not you. You were laughing all the way to the bank. Your wife was happy, your kids were happy. The receptionist was even flirting with you. ‘Regional Sales manager.’ It had a nice ring to it. If you could you would flirt with yourself too. January went quickly and February was here. Time flies when you have money. You developed a palate for golf and got a membership in that country club. It was already end-of-February before you could pronounce ‘caddie’ and there was talk of a flu from Wuhan. You shrugged. Flu? You even laughed. Not with your top-of-the-range health insurance. March knocked on the door. The upper echelon of the organization called an emergency meeting and told you, you had to take a pay cut and lay off half of your team. A pay cut was all right. You would just dial down on the coun...

All Saints Cathedral, Nairobi I was at All Saints Cathedral on Friday. I go there to pray during the day. There was a requiem mass. Before you get serious, this is not a very serious post. Shall we continue please, minus the seriousness? Okay. Sasa, I stood outside to wait for the service to end. Now two guys approached me. One with the Eulogy and another one with a small white thing he stuck on my chest and half a litter bottle of water. They both insisted on shaking my hands and saying pole sana. I played along and said, “yote tunawachia Mungu.”  Minutes later the service ended. Now I looked like part of those mourning. I was dressed in all black. And my specs must have looked like sunglasses under the sun.  A guy, a famous guy, I think I have seen him on TV giving opinions about the economy or the Sakaja or the Jubilee Government or this other current government. One of those guys. He approaches me and hugs me and offers his condolences. “Pole sana my son.” Then he proceeds...

Dear Matara, I was buried yesterday at Kamulu. I am six feet under. The freshly dug grave with flowers; lavender, roses, all showing a woman who lived on the first lane. I Starlet Wahu ,writing from afterlife do swear that I didn't take it lying down. I put up a spirited fight. The knives, the sharp edges, the blows and kicks, the clenched fists, I did my all. Glad I died defending myself in the close shave of death. You have killed many and others escaped with wounds but I vowed not to give you a chance to kill me like a rabid dog . Or a rabbit. Or a trapped bird. Look at your thighs. They are red with blood. Look at your chest and red eyes. Your unbuttoned shirt. The disheveled hair. The injuries. A pointer toward your escaping through the narrow route to where I am . In life,I desired the best albeit on a wrong footing but yes, I have no regrets. I lived a life I would call ; no hindrances. And so when you rose on top menacingly with black eyes, ready to sniff my life out,I crie...

Kimironko market - Rwanda  She tried killing herself three times. First by rope; rope snapped. Second by rope, branch snapped. The last time she tied her feet up tightly, so tight it would take two men to untie it, then hurled herself into Lake Kivu. A man cutting grass by the shores dove in and fished her out. "Am I dead?" She asked bewildered, coughing water, wide eyed. Man said, no. She couldn't stop crying. "I felt hopeless to find myself still alive."  She really wanted to die so that she could save her mom who had married six different men by the time she was 14. "She kept getting married because these men would try to rape me so she kept moving to protect me and suffered for it. I wanted to kill myself to protect her. To stop her moving from one bad man to another." So, she ran away from her village in Rutsiro to Rubavu, Western Rwanda & married a man she didn't love. One day her mom came for treatment and was diagnosed with HIV. She was...

 Dear 2024, *** *** *** *** *** Be nice to us ...

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 watchi...