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Sir, please wait for the Chinese to serve….

This post is going to be totally diarrheic and blonde. I don’t have anything groundbreaking to write about, okay, at least I’m not in that frame of mind. So yes, this is going to be very random.

A post card from my village…

Posted on 23 17

My village is not on the map. It’s small and unassuming. We don’t grow cash crops. We don’t have notable heroes. We don’t have a tarmacked road- all we have is a ragged dusty winding path that climbs hills and slithers down plains like a jaded vein.


Posted on 20 27

I might not be a people’s person, but I talk to people. I have to. It’s my corn. It’s my bread. If I didn’t talk to people my little girl would starve and start eating her nails,

I hit a man (Part 2)

Posted on 45 22

He is called Njogu. The man I hit. Njogu happens to be my favourite Kuyu name. That and Wacera and Wambui. My desk mate in class 4 was called Paul Njogu.

I hit a man…

Posted on 18 18

I intended to blog twice a week. But just when I was about to bang out something late last week I hit a man. Yes, I hit a man. Run him down. Mowed him over.