So you check into a hotel for a short holiday, right? If you are checking into a ritzy hotel like the Serena Zanzibar (incredible place!), a pleasant porter called Yusuf or Hussein, will grab your bags and lead you to your room while asking where you are from,
I grew a beard late in life. We are talking 27 years of age. Hairlessness way after your adolescence, when all your peers already look like colobus monkeys tend to make one develop serious hang-ups.
Some time back after a game of squash, my boy and I went back into the changing rooms of this club to take a shower and ran into an army of stark naked guys.
This piece was first informed by a slight altercation then spurred by bravado. A friend told me that I’m a “middle-class sympathiser” masquerading behind my yellowish rants as a way of “validating and lauding” the middle-class idiosyncrasies and that I should consider my modus operandi and “stop representing” the farce that this dated landscape has become.
Saturday I spent a whole day in Funyula, Western Kenya. World Diabetes Day. Long story. In the evening, I linked up with my cousin Farouk. Remember him, the ex-convict? He got a gig in Bunjumbura where nobody knows he spent a few years in jail.
“High Heels were invented by a woman who was kissed on the forehead.” –Christopher Morley.
She dwarfed everything around her. I mean dwarfed in the sense that she made everything look insignificant and minute,