Life cycle of a bookworm

I am 7 years old and at night I pull my net down and around my bed. My parents are very strict about this, malaria is real. I do not do it well but I am not worried because my father will be by later to fix it. I get under the covers with a heavy collection of children’s Bible …

Playing pool

I had never been there before. The one time I ventured to go to the recreational center in school it was with a friend. I had just seen Instagram photos of people who worked out and my goodness they looked good. So I thought, we have a gym here in school, why not check it out? Nyiri wanted to be …

When the words don’t come

I have a bad habit of starting new projects every time I get high on feelings and decide that I need a creative outlet. I never finish them. In fact sometimes, I only get the first bit done. The first article, the first rant, the first poem, the first story. I don’t know what keeps me from going on, developing …

Being Kenyan

Last Sunday, in church, we sang the national anthem at the end of the sermon. The pastor had just delivered this beautiful message about how Kenya belongs to God; how no matter what valleys we have gone through, God is the one who has lifted us up out of them. It was a message of love, peace and unity and …

Girls need girls

I remember being 13 years old, in Class Seven and in boarding school for the first time. I remember retiring at night to my metal bed in Mississippi Dorm and laughing with my cube mates till House Mother stalked in, annoyed and yelling, with a kitambaa tied around her head. I remember Emma, the lovely, lively girl I shared the …

We are all going to die someday

We are all going to die someday. It is 8 pm and I stare at nothing in particular. I am on my bed, going over the events of the day, and my train of thought has its last stop here: we are all going to die someday. I was to meet Chirie at about 10 am. I hadn’t seen her …

Mortality

I couldn’t help but stare at him. My phone was in my right hand, the screen displaying my chat list on Whatsapp. I mindlessly scrolled up and down, trying to look occupied. It was a lousy attempt at being covert about my staring- tact has never been my most admirable quality- and it wouldn’t take long for anybody who might …

Maybe we don’t need new names

For the earlier parts of my life I had two identities, two names. The first was ‘Mish’, which is what my family called me. It was…familiar. My parents called me this. My siblings called me this. A large number of our numerous relatives called me this. Every house help that we had called me this. Mish was a girl. An …