A couple of weeks ago, I visited a church. My bike rider kept going further down a dusty path with nothing more than white chalk to direct us along. The noise of the poorly fueled motorcycle kept me focused on an important topic: death. I believed we were lost and surfaced from my trance. "I think I'm going to that church." "Which one?" "That one," An attempt to have a conversation since there was nothing else for miles around except banana trees and maize fields. "The one with the large cross at the top." I entertained my new friend, my inner eyes-rolling. "Woah, that cross is big, bro," I nodded in agreement. We had become fast friends, him sharing his life in intimate detail in the thirty minutes it took to get there. The cross grew more prominent as we got closer. What structure lay below it? Could it support all that? I had arrived at a funeral. Expensive four-wheel-drive cars clogged the large parki
We all had those days, weeks, and months when something snapped, and we went a bit crazy. This is one such story I kept in the recess of my mind. I was barely ten years old. "The phone is really nice and shiny," I said, reaching up. It was placed on a high cupboard, in a corner right outside my parent's room. It was kept there so we could also receive calls since our parents were always away working. Unlike the one before, a quaint rotary system, this one was white and had buttons. It looked so light caged and padlocked in a metal contraption that held it down, hiding the buttons. Big Sis was standing on a chair beside me engrossed. Her focus was on the manacles holding the phone buttons out of access. With no social media back then, and with little interest in television, Big Sis was looking at her only source of entertainment. The brightest girl in Laikipia District, based on her last award, was stumped. My eyes moved from her to the phone and wondered wha