That Time They Captured Us

Very few of us will ever find ourselves on the sharp-elbow of Somalia, spending hot musky days lying on a mat under a sketchy thorn tree waiting for unspoken peril. We might never know the smell of fear on our skin.

Pain And Pen

When I think of Josaya Wasonga I think of a lone and embattled wolf separated from the pack. We worked together for the same publisher in the late 2000s. We were both features writer’s;

Not Yet Uhuru

I only own two suits. A black one and a blue one. Both are nice suits; one is from the designer Nick Ondu – Sartorial  who, although – like most fundis  will take 300 years to finish your suit –

God Is A Gentleman

I perch at the end of the bench at Java, Aero-Club – Wilson Airport. The air is cold and crispy. It’s 9:17am – I’m 43-mins early for my meeting with Lydia Wanjiru Kiriti.

I’ve wolfed down my breakfast and I’m now nursing  a small tree tomato juice.