zackomoroblogs

Prologue The Saint Michael Archangel Catholic Church committee based at Gilgil Barracks had requested me to give an oral historical account of the Church during the official opening and blessing of the barrack's new church. The request was floated to me seeing that I was a catechist’s son from the same church in the mid-seventies and therefore was bound to have a ringside view of the activities of the church and the personalities then. Regrettably, I could not physically make it due to the exigencies of duty being out then on the Somalia front. So instead I drafted this historical commentary consolidating ideas and views from my contemporaries who we grew up with together in the barracks. My story covers the period of late 1972 to Early 1980. St Michael the archangels’ church The big cream-coloured ‘T’ shaped rectangular space with blue iron sheets that fifty years back  occupied by a church dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel is now no longer a hallowed space. It is now a de

  I have been employed in Kitengela for some two weeks now. The sand in Kitengela is stifling sometimes and I have yet to make or bump into old friends and I think it is too soon to open up to my new office colleagues. It is Saturday afternoon, I stroll around Kitengela, it is still suffocating. There is no air in Kite only the sizzling smell of Nyama Choma is in the air. Naturally, my feet lead me to a popular bar at the centre of the town overlooking the Namanga Highway. I spot an empty seat at the counter and perch myself at the Sina taabu seat. Next to me is a well looking elderly man, he is stall, bespectacled, neat haircut and a moustache. I nod at him as I pull a chair; He looks at me and smiles. A beer later he looks up at me and smiles again and speaks: “How is Kite taking you?” He casually asks. “How did you know I am new in the town?” I ask Surprised. He looks at me, winks and murmurs “ Mgeni Kuku Mweupe ”. I love Irish potato; It is called Waru in the local Kik