BY MIKE MUTHAKA I have a feeling he doesn’t like me too much. In his eyes I’m nothing but trouble. Each time he sees me I’m always in a flux. I say a cheery hello to him but he sees through my bullshit. He once stopped me at the door
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA She goes to Karura Forest on some Saturdays. She likes to walk along the narrow paths, with the sun rising grey and smoky behind her. She likes how the trees smell. She likes the serene silence and the clean air. Once in a while a group of
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA The new addition to my nightstand is a hardback. It’s called The Greatest Generation, by Tom Brokaw. It’s a collection of stories about the American men and women who fought in the war that brought down Hitler. I swear I can hear the American national anthem in
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA She wore black on the day of the funeral. She remembers looking out the window as they were driving down from Kisumu to Busia. It had rained. She remembers talking to Mom as they went along. Life had stopped. The sun had stopped. She still couldn’t believe
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA Her name was Salma. She wore lots of make-up, and she had a round face and big hips and fierce eyes that gave me a chill every time I looked at her. She was never in class on time, but a girlfriend would often book her a
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BY MIKE MUTHAKA Did you know 2,000 bob will get you 25.84 liters of kerosene in Kitengela? I didn’t. But the guy who mans the kerosene pump at Kobil does. He wears a sweater underneath his lab coat even though it’s a few minutes past noon and the air is
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