I used to love the show ‘Fresh Prince of Bel Air’. Will Smith was sort of the big brother I never had. He was this funny charismatic guy who somehow always got his way with the ladies. In that respect I guess you can say Will Smith is the anti- Johnny Bravo.
Will and Geoffrey–the butler– always had this ongoing banter, making fun of everyone in the house. Uncle Phil had his girth, Hillary her ignorance and Carlton for being Carlton.Read More »
The death sentence in Arkansas is very much like the one we have in Kenya. It doesn’t work. Instead, you sit in jail doing nothing as you wait for your human system to cave in from all the weevil infested meals. I hear in Kenya the death sentence means you get exempted from doing any community work and so I assume the criminals who are meant to go under the rope must be really bored in there, and that they’re the ones who keep sending fake jackpot text messages to the rest of us free birds.
It rained in Kajiado last night, and it was still raining when I opened my eyes this morning. I didn’t feel like waking up to a new semester. And I suspect the lecturer who was meant to take my first class didn’t either because she hasn’t showed up.Read More »
You know how you walk past someone in the street and then a little ways further down you stop and think, “Hold on for a cotton-picking minute. I think I know that guy.”? That’s how it was when I first saw Simon King. He had a round innocent face and a grey T shirt and dark jeans, with a bag slung over his shoulders. That day, I was running late to God knows where and I really couldn’t afford to turn back and run after him and say, “Say, si you’re Simon?” At the time, he had just moved from WordPress and onto a self hosted site: thegaps.co.ke
So what I did was, I shot him a DM on Instagram to congratulate him because well, that’s the dream isn’t it? And then the other day I was caught between a deadline and hard place so I asked if he could come on as a guest. He did, and this is what he had to say…Read More »
My lovely sister Krystine says she doesn’t like it when I’m reviewing books. She says those posts are usually boring and they come off as if I’m bragging over how much I read.
“Your posts have become a snooze fest,” she said.
Now, you’d expect that a painful ball would jump to my throat when she said that. You’d expect that I’d stand atop the dining table and raise my fist in protest and say she was being mighty unfair. Read More »
It was during break time when I first saw him. We were all in a file, heading to the dining hall for a hot cuppa and a slice of bread. The crowd moved slowly. There wasn’t much hurry to get there because we knew what we were getting at the other end, some brownish tea that tasted distinctly like firewood.
You could say that he just lacked the psyche to tell stories. You could say that he became an alcoholic and the bottle drank him away from his craft. You could say that he saw a woman, fell in love with her and decided to do her instead. You could go on to say that it finally dawned on him, that they don’t pay enough for this shit and that he chose to look for a career someplace else, somewhere greener. Or you could even say that his catholic dad had a problem with him writing about masturbating women.