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Letter To My 20-Year Old Self

Hi, Biko.

 

It’s fine if you don’t know. It’s fine if you don’t have a plan. It’s fine if you are the only one who doesn’t seem to know where your life is headed.

Guy

There is a bottle of 14-year old Oban waiting for me at Babalus Bar when I pitch up at the Crowne Plaza hotel, courtesy of the GM – Anthony. It’s a bonhomous Wednesday evening.

Tim

The sun sits on Tim Odero’s scalp. Tim is balding. But then again he’s 42-years old, a husband and a father of two. Make that three. His first born was with a lady who relocated to the United States with his son,

Open Your Fist

Last year I sat next to my dad’s cousin, Ross, at a funeral in shags. Genius of a man and a recovering alcoholic. He’s been clean almost eight years now. We were seated on the stoop of a house,

The Knife

It’s the motorbike you heard first; a Yamaha Super Tenere, 750 CC. Its thunderous roar filled every room of the unremarkable building we occupied at Wilson Airport. No matter how busy you were at your desk you wouldn’t pretend to ignore the fact that he had arrived.

Caroline

I choose Sarova Stanley’s Exchange Bar because it’s a Sunday and I want to drive into town and feel the absence of humanity, the open-armed parking slots and the absence of incessant blaring car-horns .