BY FLORENCE BETT-KINYATTI Muna has horrible morning breath. OK, I’m being dramatic. It’s not horrible, really, but it no longer has the innocence of a baby’s breath. It used to smell like grapes and pumpkin and milk when she was little, now it has the whiff of black pepper, shoe
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA A man sits behind a desk on the third floor of an old building. The room feels cramped. A stack of files have piled up on the desk – backlogs and small pressing matters. A worn and rugged coat hangs on the back of his seat, it
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BY ERNEST TUAPE (Craft It’s new foreign correspondent in Kampala) #1. Remarkable Rwanda The Land of a Thousand Hills had teardrop banners lining the Sheraton Kampala yard. They were in
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BY FLORENCE BETT-KINYATTI Help me out here, will you? I want to describe how Manje’s store of preserved hides and skins smells like but I can’t quite finds the right words. [After several days of several failed attempts…] OK, here’s a morbid – and
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA By the tap The water tank sat right next to a steaming sufuria. The path was rough and narrow. Three men queued up on the tank – taking turns to wash their hands by the tiny tap. The smell of nyama choma was alive, and the butcher-men
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BY ERNEST TUAPE (Craft It’s new foreign correspondent in Kampala) #1. The name The girl I made a connection with on Tinder tells me she knows a place. It’s a bar on Shumuk House along Colville Street. “Ola,” she says. We meet at a
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