“Daddy, what’s the colour of our school gate?” Andrei asked unexpectedly, in the middle of a casual chitchat.
“The colour of your school gate is… mhh.” I hesitated because I was thinking of a few colours. But I was mostly wondering why he asked. Recently, he’s been complaining that I don’t take him to school. Last week, I had to convince him over the phone that I had gone to work, and that’s why I couldn’t be there to take him to school. He goes to school after 8am, you see the challenge with that.
“Inaanza na (It starts with) letter P…” he decided to give me a clue.
Continue reading The School Gate
You can read part 1 of this story here
While living the life in Mombasa, Wanjohi got sick. He had measles, but it was first misdiagnosed as malaria at an estate dispensary. He hadn’t been vaccinated against measles as a child and as an adult, it got him proper. He was sick, so sick that he couldn’t move or do anything for himself. Being alone in the house made it worse. He was dying. It’s the neighbors who took him to hospital after noticing unusual quietness in his house and the fact that he hadn’t been out, or brought any girls into the house.
Continue reading The Trials and Tribulations of Wanjohi part II
“What have you come here to do?” asked Wanjohi’s mother, astounded that her son was standing right in front of her.
“I have come to visit my mum,” he answered. “You don’t come to visit us in ushago so I decided to come myself.”
“Who have you come with?”
Continue reading The Trials and Tribulations of Wanjohi part I
About a month before my son was born, my wife and I had gone to hospital for her routine antenatal clinic appointment. At some point, I went downstairs to grab something to bite. I was alone in the lift when it stopped on one of the floors. Then entered a nurse pushing a trolley. On it was a baby. I looked at the baby and then at the nurse and back at the baby.
“How many days?” I asked.
The nurse smiled and answered “Zero, this baby has just been delivered.”
My face lit; I was excited. I leaned to get a closer look at the sleeping beauty in my presence. With a tag on its hand, partly covered, it felt like the baby was just chilling, unassuming and unaware of the public debt it’s been sunken into already. The baby must have heard my thoughts, because Continue reading Memes, Labour Pains and a Helpless Father