BY MIKE MUTHAKA “What are you giving up for Lent?” “Ati?” “Wait. Are you Catholic?” I look up to see how the girl would respond. I’m eavesdropping. I’m seated in a booth by the window, they’re seated at the next table. I fancy they’re on a date; it’s Valentine’s Day
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BY ERNEST TUAPE (Craft It’s new foreign correspondent in Kampala) #1. Maddox Sematimba Fine production. Excellent music arrangement. Top-notch vocals. Reggae sound, which makes you, feel ire. The reggae king of Uganda. A man who
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA I’m distracted. I’m standing next to a glass cabinet, staring in amazement at the contents. The door of the cabinet is locked. It has a golden keyhole and it opens up to rows of
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA My first real kiss came from the girl next door. Tongue and all. She was a year older than I and their fence was a brick wall. Her mom’s plants climbed that wall, clasping on the way –its twigs and tendons like sinewy old arms. Her saliva
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA The request hit Cathy’s Bureau at eleven thirty on a Wednesday morning. The phone in her office rung thrice before she picked up: “Cathy’s Househelps, how may I help you?” Cathy had been running the bureau for three years now, and answering the calls still gave her
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BY ERNEST TUAPE (Craft It’s new foreign correspondent in Kampala) When my boss signed off my leave application in December, giving me a rest for 13 working days plus the weekends and public holidays, making it a total of 22 days, I can bet my vampire teeth he didn’t think
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