• Courting Grandma.



    My maternal grandmother, Wambui is 74. We all call her Cucu. No Otieno, it’s not shosho. Shosho is what Nyeri folk say when they mean social. Cucu Wambui has always been complaint with religious, legal, natural and social will. Thus in compliance with nature, gravity and all that is holy, she has a bent back. It’s her comfortable place. Like a permanent yoga pose or like she used to ‘nyemelea’. She’ll straighten her back so fast when she sees a car pull up at her gate though. You know ladies and pretense.

  • What will keep you in the Game?

    Remember Sarafina? It was a South African movie that introduced me to apartheid in SA and the ‘toyi-toyi’ dance. There, mini-skirts and mini dresses were donned with such charisma and simplicity. They did not attempt to pull them down or hide their yellow thighs when they bucked their knees up as they danced and demonstrated in the streets. Their defiance to intimidation gave such an air of confidence that Kenyan ladies should borrow. This is neither about miniskirts nor Sarafina, it’s about tenacity. But I can’t just jump in without warming you up. We’ll have to start with this one lady, my friend, Sue. To understand some gradations of tenacity you have to know where it started.

  • Where West meets East, Istanbul

    It has taken me 6 months to begin writing this and now more than ever I stop giving a hang to AA Gill’s words, “Never write with a view, face a blank wall, the world is a distraction”. I have had the hankering to speak to you each day these two months. To see Nzisa comment pop up within the first hours of me posting. I appreciate it. Don will whatsapp me relentlessly demanding that I post or our friendship will go to the dogs. Here’s what, threats work. Judy is always on the verge of sending me an inbox. Mercie, Ruby, Kent, Nyela, Evans, Kamau Wanyoike, Tabitha, Mugendi, Shem, Grace, Nadia, Anna and all those other ghost readers, Happy New Year. What I’m trying to say is, I missed you and for that reason, this post is longer than average. Now that we are done with the touchy-feely, let’s move on, ey?

  • If I Was a Man


    I’m in a quandary of sorts. If I had the choice of choosing my sex at creation, what would I be? Would I be a man? I’m ambivalent that the joy I would get for not experiencing monthly reds contrasted to paying for my own meals would be enough. Days of peeing while standing couldn’t dissipate the grief of changing my own tyres or checking the car’s ATF (automatic transmission fluid) and possibly changing it? But I speak with a sharp tongue possibly for the fact that I haven’t labored the birth of a 4kg child who rips me apart, literally joining side A to B. Not forgetting the child makes you take shits publicly (harrowing thought). I might as well choose man.