Sons and Daughters

The most tiresome bunch of people you can ever hang with is new parents. Take my word for it, we are a stifling bore. New parents are suspended in bubbles made up of isolated excitement, constant apprehension and baffling wonder about the newness of their life. In their life. Our

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Roll the dice

My daughter turned four months last Saturday. (Muna, by the way. Her name is Muna.) Four months ago is just about the time I shared my last post. Four months is also how long I’ve been away on maternity leave. Four months may seem like a bleep in your life.

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Retire already

My folks are settled in shagz. Finally. Can you hear the vuvuzela and the song and dance that festoon that word ‘finally’? Here’s the thing, my folks were stuck to the urbanity of the city. It’s like they were waiting to apply for jobos and start their careers anew after

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Lighted laugh

It wasn’t like she was never dramatic, Mama Kananu. She wasn’t the type of woman who understood what subtlety or courtly behaviour meant. She took all news with an unnecessary and innocuous thrilling disbelief. As if it was extraordinary and unusual. As if were the first time she was ever

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Care to shut it?

The folly with running a column as intimate as ‘My Mother and I’ is that you start to let out the family secrets. Obliviously, good naturedly and passively so. Their dirt hangs on the sinews of these words, it reeks from the title right to between the cracks of your

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Mad Men

Market days at Kawangware were on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was the closest market to our digs. My Mum made the trip there for grocery shopping and the posho mill (I’ve just paused to remember how she’d get out with flour lining her eyelashes and eyebrows. Hehhe. Such a retro

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