Dotted lines

BY BETT Folk get into romantic relationships not knowing how to read their partners.  This wouldn’t be a pain if we all had the cajones to use our words to express how we feel. But relationships, human relationships, are simply not measured and cut along such dotted lines. We are

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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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The Hunt

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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What the monks say

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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Breaking bad

BY BETT KINYATTI Imagine you’re 25. You live in South B with your aunt because your folks retired to Naks and someone in the family had to stay behind to tend your raggedy millennial ass. Your siblings – two big sisters and a bro – are out of the country

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BY BETT KINYATTI I wouldn’t be writing this story if I hadn’t been so gullible to the facades of social media. Scrolling through my Instagram timeline, seeing interior decor hacks I fancied and blindly imitating them. I’m desperate to separate myself from my sins, but I’m reminded of them at

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Should I?
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