Mourning De’Mathew. (GUCAKAYA DE’MATHEW)

Ndamenyire uhoro wa kuhuruka gwaku iyo, Mwanjiririo mathaa ma ruciine. Ni ndumiriri ndamukirire na ngoro nditu. Niwandakaririe muno ni guthii oo uguo ta mundu wa kawaida indi urari njamba kionereria. Ndiambire guitikia na kureka uhoro ucio urikire tondu ti uhoro mwega. Ndakinya kuria turutaga wira nindanjirie wira o ta mutugo, no gikeno giakwa gitigana gukinyanira. […]

10 Types of people you meet at a charity event.

By default, people love giving. The feeling of accomplishment and the blessings that follow keep human beings steady in the track of being human. To add spice to giving, people have made charity groups where they establish a needy community, rally funds and organize an event during weekends or themed public holidays. One of my […]

The Ugly Master.

(Read, All out of love, to flow with the narrative) Mama, I have to go to Mathare now,” Alice called out to her mother. She, Alice, sounded worried. Her mother sensed the anxiety in her daughter’s voice came to the living room. “What is wrong, Al,” Mama asked as she wiped her wet hands on […]

All out of Love

They hugged. The passionate hug by the bus stop. The hug that says we aren’t staying in the friend zone for long. That hug should have been done an hour earlier but when they got to the bus stop, they realized they had time. So they walked up and down the corridors of Garden City […]

A Suit called Journalism

If journalism was a tailored suit, it would have looked perfect on Ndege. The coat especially would fall perfectly on his shoulders and not fade with age. The lining inside would not shrink and make the pockets puffy after several trips to the dry cleaners. The fabric would not cringe during the short drive between […]

Beauty for Ashes.

Hi, I am Ngale. I really do not know how to write this. Have you ever been requested to tell your story and you do not know where to start? It isn’t fiction where you can drop characters from the blues and mold them to tell your story. It is real life, and real life […]

Hopeless Dreams of a Young Man.

“Come here Joseph!” It was more of a command than a request. I could detect the tone in my mother’s voice. See, my mother has never been the one to bark orders. Neither was she the one to pamper the cheeky African boy in me. She is like a juice blended from many fruits. You’ll […]