Category

Life Stories

Category

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 his house and the studio. What I am trying to say is that Ndege is the right build for journalism. However, in spite of the…

Guess who took our hot seat recently! Wamimah it is! She gorgeous, bold and wise. She is also beautiful; from the inside to the outwards. Her story interlinks our former topic on relationships and the current one of African Parenting. Let’s roll. 1. Tell us in-depth who Wamimah is I am the last born in our family which means that I got all the attention. The attention that was so often and freely given shaped my perspective of love. Attention…

I never got to see my parents fight, not because there were no random differences between them, it is expected that once in a while couples should exchange unkind words and blows. My parents, to me, never fought. They solved their differences like two adults in the confines of their bedroom and when they came out, we saw the unbreakable team, Baba na Mami. (The Bs in Baba are pronounced as f, fafa but we have no f in the…

He watched keenly as she spun the dough into thin slices ready to make Chapati. She knew her art, rather she was good at it. She seemed to enjoy doing it. She also had a sweet smile, a Colgate smile as he called the wide smiles that expose pearl white teeth. The smile came as easy as the jokes going round the table. He anticipated the smile that lit her round face. It was however a silent smile on a…

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 does not have a distinct start. One mere event leads to another, then to another and boom you have a consequence. A big outcome should…

“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 never know which is the real taste between mango, pineapple, apple or avocado (I wonder how someone would mix a sweet fruit like mango with…

I wrote this article knowing in mind that writing it would span two crucial months for me; February and March. It feels like eating supper at 1157 hours and getting done at 0013 hours, and you are torn in between calling it late dinner or early breakfast. So February is a month of love. But we of colored skins know well that love is an illusion, so we called it a month of history. Black history. March is all about…

When denied in one area you are uplifted in another. Statements like this one are rendered senseless until one falls victim. The year was two thousand four; the heavens had smiled on planet earth and accorded it a gift. The unique thing about this rare gifting is that it never came in with the deliveries nor was it wrapped in glittering paper. The gift was a boy, born in the harshest of conditions brought up in a brutal environment. Like…

The sun was welcome and missed when it rose in Obalwanda Village, Homa Bay County that June morning as evidenced by the reception it got. Old men sat outside with cups of nyuka in their hands. The wives brought out bowls of sweet potatoes for their men to eat then hung around for small talk before embarking on their other chores. The children, too young to have started school, played in the fields. Occasionally they disturbed the chicken sprawled…