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The Lounge

At 4 a.m on Sunday morning, I found myself with Mutua Matheka at DXB Airport, connecting to Stockholm, and with two hours to kill. So we wandered about the airport, chasing deep vein thrombosis and passing people slumped on the carpet sleeping with their mouths open.

Case for Sponsors

A Kenyan lady  somewhere in the Europe sent a message to my inbox: “Hello Jackson,  I know that many Kenyans out there are roasting girls over this issue of girls going out with guys old enough to be their fathers.


Have you ever driven against a wave of manual labourers rushing to work? A horde of them, wearing shades of brown, jackets with tired linings, scruffy shoes and flailing hands, trudging like an army marching to a war they have already lost.

Men and Women of Letters

A girl from USIU shows up at our office to interview me. She’s a brown, fragile-looking girl with a thin smile and laughter that can’t fit in her fist. Joy Ruguru. She’s wearing these round-toed flat shoes and somewhat rose-tinted spectacles.

Oh Kenchic, Where at Thou?

One day our kids will be teenagers and they will live in a world without lions. Because there will only be about five left. Five lions, two black rhinos and about 30 million baboons.


I don’t need to reintroduce Nduta, do I? Neither do I need to rehash Dar’. Or how twisted you guys are here. The response, even surprised her. But she feels that the story may have cast her as a one dimensional kind of chick.