He lights a cigarette – his twelfth in under an hour – and closes his eyes and takes a deep drag at it. Smoke fills his soul. He doesn’t open his eyes but lets smoke crawl out of his nose and into the cold chilly night in a lazy trail.
I was from a memorial with some friends when my brother rang. He never rings me at night, he Whatsapps, so I thought shit, I hope nothing has happened. I looked at the phone then pressed the answer button gently,
I’ve never met anyone whose father went to prison. Actually I don’t know anyone – friend, acquaintance, neighbour – who has been a guest of the Government Of Kenya. Wait, my cousin Farouk went to prison.
She’s got small shoulders. Small because they can’t carry the weight of the world yet. The weight she carries is her own weight. The weight of innocuous things like whether her best friend is loyal to only her or is loyal to the other girls.