Post Malone
BY BETT KINYATTI Muna started school last January. On the morning of her first day, GB, Nanny Viv and I
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November 6, 2019
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BY BETT KINYATTI Muna started school last January. On the morning of her first day, GB, Nanny Viv and I
14
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 BETT KINYATTI I am at Toi Market hunting for a bedside rug. (Can I still refer to it as a bedside rug if I intend to place it at the foot of the bed? I think not.) Today is Saturday, the day most purveyors here ‘open the bales’ they
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BY BETT KINYATTI My shrink told me I must create time to play. “What do you mean ‘time to play’?” I asked. She exhaled. “We’ve been conditioned to work, work, work. But if someone stops you and asks, ‘what are you working so hard for?’ you won’t know what to
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BY BETT KINYATTI Many harvests ago, I interviewed a craftsman for a magazine column. She back then handmade children’s furniture from her workshop on Ngong Road. She made them from MDF. It was charmingly gorgeous furniture in baby pink and cream white, coral blue and playful red. The colours of
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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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