I’m seated in the back office of a store at Two Rivers Mall and I’m talking to Wendy Karira about her breasts. This conversation wouldn’t have been odd at all had it not been sabbath.
I’m cynical about stories of men from the slums who meet white, missionary-like NGO types and fall in love. Of course I had heard of Kennedy Odede of Shofco and this narrative fit the bill so I watched it unfurl from afar,
Sometimes when you are at an airport trying to get into AlwaysOn wifi and you look up, you might see them. Actually you see him first because he’s always a stride ahead, the leader of the pack.
Before our “Kenyan winter” set in, I paid a lady to teach my son how to swim. Anybody who teaches children anything deserves to be paid even if they love it and are passionate about it because children can drive you up the wall.
I met two interesting folk this past week. I say interesting because they both showed me their broken parts. (That sounds mad, but stay with me) And I like broken parts. I like to nose in there,
Mc Opondo smoked his first cigarette at 15-years of age, behind a block of toilets at Kakamega School. He wasn’t a brilliant student, Mc Opondo. Neither was he particularly sporty. He didn’t play rugby because he didn’t possess the quintessential big thighs of Kakamega School boys who played rugby.