First, he thumps his old, tattered Bible onto the rostrum, takes out a handkerchief and carefully folds it onto the surface. He then glances behind him to the ushers, who at this time are mandated by the gospel to bring him a bottle of Dasani. He then looks around the church for an instance, holding the gaze of each male and female organism in the precincts of the structure in his steely gaze. And when the water arrives, he thumps onto the microphone once, then twice, then coughs as Africans are taught to ` test` the sound system. If it doesn’t reverberate through the hall, he cast a searing gaze at the youth, who by default are also mandated to take care of the ` instruments`, and chastise their inability to be keepers of the `weapons` for God`s war. If it does he will cough once more, this time to clear his throat, before shouting ” Hallelujah wana wa mungu” or the occasional ” Bwana asifiwe” when his moods are not so good
And when the sun shines, it’s not from the east, whence I had waited upon it. It doesn’t come with a glare and a beat of drums as I used to dream when I was a kid. It’s from her who I despised, the one I dared not look at. And I feel ashamed, as she changes the sheets on my bed for her clean soft ones, ashamed and gratified at the same time.
Look, I intended to write this letter to tell you about the good things of my world. But you probably have your Disney, or the world cup is happening in your country, or you are experiencing a malady called `Brexit` which to most Kenyans, is something arcane and contagious, almost tantamount to Ebola
My conscience calls girls like her the ` girl figures actively seeking father figures.` That is just my conscience, not my words please, but in her defense she will always say how people her age, which is also my age, are petty and controlling, and do not know how to live. Dear ladies and gentleman, you don’t wait for the missiles to hit you when this sort of conversation starts. You`d rather haul your bag, and get a call from your long dead great- grandmother asking you how grass has grown back in your village, or else you`d spend the whole day trying to justify how `romantic` you can be.
here are this people in your life that almost seem like they should be living on the edge of action, where their energies are. She is definitely one. She does everything with a level of gusto and passion that sometimes baffles everyone. I earlier said that she never walks slowly; I don’t even know how she strolls because she is always moving like she has an appointment the next moment
Whenever an African child is asked whether they have issues with their lives, trust you me they would most possibly answer with a curt little ` I am fine`, or […]
Enkare was everyone`s dream. I`d be honest enough to raise the plethora of complains about the working of the review, especially in recent times which has more often than not bordered on abject debauchery. It`s really amazing, that this decrepit display of arrogant by the `admins` ore whatever they are called symbolizes to the young writers in this God-forsaken country. We had much o much progress in this year, and in just one day, when all the work was lost on the altars of a disagreement that reeks of copious amounts of backstabbing and frontstabbing.
She was dark skinned. Had a small nose. I can’t recall whether I saw a bead on it or not. It was ages back. She had a lithe body, slim hands and one of the most gorgeous pair of knockers I’ve seen. I bet you’re wondering how I observed this from the corner of my eye. I eat carrots.
The rangi might be gender sensitive too, or your hair is extremely stubborn and recalcitrant, or your mum`s prayers, deep in the village, are working!
“The Jews of Miedzyrzec did not march “like sheep to the slaughter”. They were driven with an almost unimaginable ferocity and brutality that left a singular impact even on the memories of the increasingly numbed and callous participants from Reserve Battalion 101. This was not a case of “out of sight out of mind””