| Fresh Paint |
 | Fresh Paint
The smell of
fresh paint reminds me of a fresh coffin. I cannot stand it. It hits my nose
and I step back from the door, slapped by the vicious hand of a painful memory.
My face clouds and my eyes water slightly.
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| Death by Dominoes |
Death by Dominoes
When the assassins come they kill everyone. That is what you must
understand. Death is coming. It's at the door. Though uttered weeks
earlier, on a different cellblock, I still recall leaning forward in
concentration, struggling to hear the words, striving to discern the meaning,
if any, conveyed by Wannamaker's frog-like voice.
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| Gifts for Mama |
 | Gifts for Mama
“Who would marry me if he finds out I have children?” she announced. “Sele is the one, mama.”
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| Imbeciles |
 | Imbeciles
"They are all imbeciles”, I screamed inwardly as I looked at the bent over their desks, “all imbeciles! Do they really think there is anything for them out there?”
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| Fried Brains |
 | Fried Brains
I am acutelyaware that I am the only one in the whole of Standard Two West who has ahand-made sweater. I have other things on my body that are hand-made too, butyou cannot easily notice. You see, mother is a clever knitter. But it is hardnot to notice a hand-made sweater-the seams are not as neat as themachine sweater, and the collar sticks so close to your neck the first fewdays, that you would think its sole intent was to choke you for daring tosuggest it was not attractive enough. And w...
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| My Matatu Rant |
 | My Matatu Rant
This morning I was in a matatu (yeah, again). The driver was one of those impatient types who do not care much about the human lives he carries every day.
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| Whispers from the dead |
 | Whispers From The Dead
A lawyer, a pastor and the wife of a deceased man met to read hiswill, which was in the form of a letter...Franz Arodi makes his debuton KenyaImagine. Share your thoughts with him.
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| Letter to my daughter |
 | Letter to my daughter
Unprecedented joy; the day they put you in my arms, my beautiful daughter.
There is not enough air in the room. My heart heaves and my mouth refuses to summon a prayer-it is too dry. My thoughts are too restless, too random. Suddenly, they go back to the
time when I had you, my beautiful daughter, and my thoughts become
suddenly settled.
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| The Handcart Puller (Part II) |
 | The Handcart Puller (Part II)
His family did everything they could to make her feel welcome. She felt
peaceful there, but the desire for better things never left her. Though
she had intense episodes of loathing the Mkokoteni Pusher and the life
she led with him, she tried to discipline herself not to show it.
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| Stillborn: A very Kenyan story |
| Stillborn: a very Kenyan story
In these times, when corruption is every news headline, we forget, its easy to, just how ugly life is all around, or that the political class are not the only heartless ones in our midst.We extend our pointing fingers. Them.
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| Bride Price |
 | Bride Price
"I bought you, woman!" He bellowed as he kicked her. "You are my property! You hear me? Mine!"
"Vumilia. Get used to it. That's marriage," her mother and aunts told her whenever she could sneak off to them in tears.
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| Jasmine |
 | Jasmine
She couldn't keep her eyes open, she felt drowsy. Maybe from the herbal concoction he had made her drink. This one seemed to be much stronger than the ones she had been drinking before.
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| The Plate of Ugali |
 | The Plate of Ugali
My mama used to say a real African man doesn't eat chips or pasta. That's food for a mzungu man who gets his nails manicured, face scrubbed and lips conditioned with lip balm.
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| Spring was coming, spring is coming? |
 | Spring was coming, spring is coming?
Insect bites/mosquito stings on bare skin, butterflies crawling out of their cocoons, birds chirping. Sun shining, blue skies. Clear nights. The scent of mowed lawns, wet earth after a short bout of rain. The scent of manure (eeew); the smell of spring – achoo! Hay fever.
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| My Husband and I |
My Husband and I
My husband is not at home today. He has gone for a very important function.
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| Music Lessons |
 | Music Lessons
Downstairs the air is thick with the smell of a thousand purple petals; beaten into a frowzy mulch by morning dew and afternoon heat; and the twice daily stampede of twice daily travelers. The soft ground is patterned by the busy piercing of shoes- stiletto spikes and platforms; gumboots and brogues wearing the ground as they themselves have custom to be worn.
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| The Etiquette of loving a married man |
The Etiquette of Loving a Married Man
I expect the phone to ring, any minute now…and it does. I can guess the conversation before it begins. It will involve talk of lace panties, your nature rising, strawberries and maybe whipped cream. Then we will talk, at length, about your day. I will enquire,
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| Kenji and I |
 | Kenji and I....
I know I am nervous because my left temple is throbbing. It is still dark as I hurry across town from the Railways matatu terminus where my matatu stops to the Odeon Cinema matatu terminus for all matatus heading to Eastern Province towns. The morning chill bites at my nose and I can feel a hint of a muscle cramp working its way up my hamstring.
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| Deja vu |
Deja vu
I'm not even surprised. I've been here before. The butterfly-tummy-knotted-heart-beating-fast feeling that is a cocktail of fear, excitement, desire, caution, plain stupid, daring and absolutely wonderful
just-about-to-fall-in-love-but-will-definitely-sabotage-it-all state.
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