In our younger days, she had brought us spices and gold of the most exotic kind from China, India, Persia and beyond. Sealing them in boats carved out of trees older than us and wrapping them in bows set as sails. All along the coast—from North to South— we had sat at the turret of our windows awaiting the gifts she gingerly teased into her embrace as she carried them from her mouth to her womb.Read More
Like any writer, I spend a lot of time procrastinating the things I need to say because ultimately, writing requires vulnerability. There is also the balance of writing things that can be monetized versus the things you want to talk about. The collection of essays here represents the latter to its truest form. It is my hope that as you read them, you will allow yourself to be as vulnerable as I permit myself.
Do leave me a comment if something particularly strikes you. Happy reading!
You ask how I am and how Nairobi is. As if to inquire what it is doing at any given moment. Or perhaps what its dreams and aspirations are; the books it is reading, who its friends are now, and most importantly who is sleeping in its bed.Read More
On our way home, we drive past the never ending Kibera slums, speeding down the shiny, new Southern Bypass—a gift from our new Chinese friends that had come with some unintended consequences (but such is the price of development). I am forced to look away as the minutes go by and the shanties do not. Later, when I sit down with two former high school friends and they tell me about the Kibera tours handed out to eager tourists, I cringe even further. A city teeming with new housing while housing one of the largest slums in Africa.Read More