I wanted to tell you about Donna Tartt and this book of hers called The Goldfinch. There’s a boy in there called Boris who reminded me a little of myself in high school. I liked Boris, although his accent got on my nerves sometimes. Yes, Donna is good like that.

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The one with the mask

Otherwise? Si we said this week is for those love stories? Me I think I’ll come back next week.

But next on stage is a girl who prefers anonymity. And who am I to deny her the mask? She tells a story of what could have been should have been and paces it and gives it a nice beat.Read More »


She likes her mornings smooth, Grace. You can cross her any time but in the morning. Just ask all the house-helps we’ve had, they’ll tell you stories.

Anyway, every morning –while my sister Krystine and I were still in primary school- Grace would stand at our bedroom door and wake us. By that time she would have our uniforms laid out and breakfast on the table.Read More »


By Bruce Ndung’u

Again. It had happened again. What was the fucking problem?

The dress hugged her. Cleavage peeking out just enough to prove she’s not a man. Her legs were a paradise upon which no hairs could dwell, and her skin a palace with no room for blemishes, but yet, here she was in that same situation again.Read More »