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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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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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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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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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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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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**We ship internationally via EMS Posta**
