Sit in a park

Is there a queue anywhere? Like at a soft drinks booth? Good! Join the queue. You don’t really have to buy anything. When you reach the end of the queue, just plonk to it’s tail and help elongate it. Sometimes just watching the world burn is what you need after all. I have a penchant for queuing and apologizing, especially when fueled by coffee from a hawker. I’m sorry. … More Sit in a park

Organ donation … and broken hearts

I’ve just eavesdropped a dialogue from the kitchen between Kelly and a visitor who’s left green crocs at the doormat. I’m not making this up. Fashion sense. Why green, though? Because green is the color of money, grass, oak leaves, and alien bombs. How the hell would I know why it was green? Anyway, she’s sobbing uncontrollably. She’s told Kelly, amid her spasms, that she’d given her heart to someone. The whole of it. And as if I haven’t heard enough, this dude broke it.

What? Heart. So people do that? Yes. Organ donation. … More Organ donation … and broken hearts

On being 25 …

Just two weeks ago, on Thursday, my clock ticked a quarter century old. I remember looking at the mirror expecting 25 to stare back; or traces of man-wrinkles beneath my eyelids and other fragile pieces of me. So it’s no fairy tale after all? Being 25? We all feel this way in our early twenties; … More On being 25 …

Barberic tales …

Lying helplessly a few yards from my estate’s gate in the path of car exhaust fumes and every other stuff that the crisp Nairobi air nurses is Tanu’s den. His base, as he commonly calls it, is simply a complicated relationship between iron-sheets, nails and wood. The three-some affair though houses many a tale to … More Barberic tales …