I, a journalist, was privileged to have a one-on-one session with the official national hangman of a country in the southern parts of Africa. The government in question has a long British colonial history and has been appearing in the international press for all the wrong reasons. The interview session was held at the maximum security jail; as expected, the condition of the prison is colonial derelict and, with minimum maintenance over the years, now casts a sad look. Every building in the expansive vicinity is roofed with corrugated iron and in various advanced stages of rusty erosion. The central prison is encircled by a 9-foot-tall wall with various guard towers at intervals. The prison cantonment is set far from town in an undulating tropical rainforest with massive acreage where the inmates spend their hours tilling the land under the watchful guard of armed warders. It is a dead place, and any visitor, like me, could sense the claustrophobic feeling and some noisome c...
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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...
At the heart of the COVID-19 crisis is quarantine and its attendant colleague Lockdown. From my lockdown experience, Quarantine is adding up to be an adversity many multiples more severe and challenging that most adversities that I may have encountered in my sixty plus years earthly sojourn. It is an unprecedented disruption of my life. I am a consultant and my pre lockdown routine has been leaving the house for office daily at seven in the morning and back at about 8 o’clock in the evening, a warm shower follows before I settle down on my favourite armchair for a spot of news on television while taking supper. I normally go to bed at exactly 11 o’clock in the evening. I need to add that I have only one wife- a corporate employee- tottering towards retirement and a father of four two young male adults and two teenagers, boy and girl. Pre- COVID-19, I can’t really recall when we last had a meaningful family conversation with the four products of my loins. What...