A boy called Mike

I used to mentor a young man called Mike. Michael Njuguna Muthaka. Aka Mike. Mike was 21 when I met him in 2016 at our creative writing masterclass with Bikozulu. He was fresh-faced with the cheeks of a goldfish, cheeks you wanted to pinch. He had a mop of healthy hair

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At 24

BY MIKE MUTHAKA Twenty-four feels like a cocktail of exhaustion and excitement. Twenty-four has less moral guilt about sex. It has more numbers in my phone book. Less schoolwork. More bodaboda rides. Less hair. More cocktails. Two years ago, I was sitting in a Communication and Culture class in campo,

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The Fun Place

BY MIKE MUTHAKA  I broke a glass tumbler last week. At a family gathering. Muratina was in plenty. I helped myself to two glasses. And then two more after that. By lunch time I was

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The price tag of love

BY MIKE MUTHAKA  Get this. A 28 year-old Miss Savage has set up an online campaign to raise 90 pounds she lost on a bad Tinder date. 90 pounds is the

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Office folks

BY MIKE MUTHAKA  Most days I’m in the office by 7 a.m. Old Man drops me off then I climb a flight of stairs up to a small desk where a watchman runs a scanner over my tired, bent-out-of-shape body. And then comes a solo elevator trip to

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While I was away

BY MIKE MUTHAKA  I lost my ass. Obviously. In February this year I started walking through a glass door five days a week. Monday to Friday. Nine to five. This glass door has a fingerprint scanner with a voice that goes, “Please try again,” every time it fails to register

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