Remember those old men of Lamu? Them with the long white beards and faces carved by the sea’s tough hands? The ones who used to huddle by the seafront at night, sipping kahawa chungu from steaming tiny tin mugs and staring out into the sea with faded nostalgic grins?
End of the road…not for us.
This is going to be a quickie. After one week we part ways with these two gentlemen. Now, I won’t say they have been like family,
Turtle Bay Resort’s kitchen staff meandered, dancing their way around tables last night, carrying this chair adorned with leaves and twigs, like an imperial chair reserved for royalty. They struck at pots and pans and drums,
It’s 6pm. Kevin is doing his last shoot of the day at the Buntwani jetty in Malindi. His cast is a group of Giriama dancers dancing (more like gyrating) at the beach. The sun is curtseying out stage left.
We normally pray before we leave. Since Kevin started it, he normally leads the prayers. I know what you are thinking; that we hold hands in a circle and someone sings a short dull Catholic hymn before Kevin launches into serious prayer,
I think when you wake up in the morning your destiny has already been decided. [Oh, sorry, this will get slightly introspective.] You can’t even begin averting your fate. You were born a pawn.