As a young girl growing up in Nairobi, I resented having to read Ngugi wa Thiong'o in school. I did not mind reading the books; I minded having to read the books: a distinction all readers will understand. Nationalism and principle are all very well, I thought, but it is a tad wearisome to have to keep contemplating the evil capitalist
wabenzi and the endearingly outmatched but heroic Kenyan peasant, constantly, page after dutiful page. These were characters who collectively formed a throng in wa Thiong'o's books ? he wrote them by their multitudes. Crowds of them, beautifully presented in one guise or another, spouting suitably impenetrable (because it was literature) yet clearly understandable (because it was propaganda) parables at each other, littering the pages with their sly but worthy demonstrations of the evils of class inequality and
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Another sleepless night since December 30th, 2007. The horrifying denouement of Kenya?s national elections. Woken by blurred figures howling in colourful dreams of unrest. The rain and thunder of remembered speeches pounds my thumping heart.
It is three a.m. A ginger tomcat jumps on my bed, strutting with feral grace. He sits on my chest and purrs. He oozes calm. I hold him tight; I imagine the rhythmic sound of his breathing will bring peace. Animals sense fear; some, like these, try to appease it.
Soon I can breathe. Read...
As I sit down to write this piece, it is just over a month since the GSU threw journalists, observers, and anyone else getting in the way, out of Kenyatta International Conference Centre (KICC) in the first step to quickly reinstate Kibaki as president.
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When the Nakumatts close, you know there is trouble. Yesterday, I was sitting in a Java, sipping some curiously-named drink and doing a melanin-graded assessment of everybody else in the Java.
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