BY MIKE MUTHAKA I’ve been toying with the idea of learning Spanish. I don’t say it out loud though, I don’t want my ancestors getting hot under the collar over such drivel. “The boy has lost his head,” they’ll say, “twarũĩire wĩathi nĩguo waragie Spanish?”
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA I can’t imagine sharing a roof with my cock. I wouldn’t be able to stand the racket my cock makes, especially in the morning. Two cocks can’t stay in the same house. My cock is black. Its neck is so thin sometimes I worry it’ll snap any
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA You know what really bugged me about being a kid? Not being able to reach the grab rail in a matatu. Everyone else seemed tall enough to reach. They didn’t have to support themselves by the seats. They didn’t look all short and silly. Sometimes in a
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA She never told me her last name, she just told me she was Kate. Kate was my first. It happened on Christmas Eve. I was 18, she was 23. We were neighbors but the idea that I could sleep with her had never occurred to me. Around
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA Turn, by the Wombats. I can’t get this song out of my head. I first heard it on X FM, and I thought, Heavens! I must have this song. I simply must. I couldn’t trust the presenter to say the title afterwards. The song might end then
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA I usually watch the World Cup matches with my Old Man. Sometimes he leaves office early so he can catch the 5 p.m. matches. For the night games we brew coffee and we cheer every goal, and we cringe at every miss, and we breathe a sigh
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