We grew up in that sort of trusting farm village where you could leave just anything around without anyone nicking them. And for this loyalty, we were feasted with an old friesian cow every Christmas. That being the way the…
It was like no other Saturday morning in Jacaranda Farm and nearly everyone was in a superbly well-wishing mood, having put aside their slights and rivalries. The whole village trickled down to Tigithi River at the crack of dawn for...

Who Is My Neighbour?

Written by Tiema Haji Muindi
You had a serpent In your homestead And ran away to exile Those who remained Were tortured or killed And those who survived Lived in fear And resistance...
A while back, I was woken up from my deep depression sleep caused by the raging financial struggles that are a trademark of this our Nairobi by a sweet text message that claimed I had won Ksh.100,000 from a competition…

This Was Colonial Hangover, No Less

Written by Stephenson Wahomeh
Every first day of the year Fasto's wife, Nyakiondo (so named because of the basket of palm fronds she carried everywhere), had Jacaranda farm's foreman assemble all the children at 8.00a.m outside the farm dairy before she...
To escape from the tedium of joblessness Paul Ndung'u Chege, 53, accidentally stumbled onto sculpturing where he uses tree stumps and discarded pieces of wood, something that has become to him a whole new experience...

A Song For The Rain

Written by Stephenson Wahomeh
The sun rises, Glorious and glamorous, Announcing the birth of a new day. The monkeys gibber, Calling each other to an early breakfast. With the rains, new life has sprung everywhere, Wild berries are...

A True Taste Of Our Village Dance

Written by Stephenson Wahomeh
Every time I watch secular music on telly, I'm obsessed by the captivating love songs that I see. And this is not because of the tom tom they create in my heart but because of their impressive stage presentation and…

The Joy Of Meeting A Fake Professor

Written by Stephenson Wahomeh
We hosted "Professor" Gol-gosi at least twice every year when i was at Primary School. With high shoulders and hairs sprouting out of his nose, his shot-putt head which had a thin fringe of white hair that ran along his…

An Eye For An Eye

Written by Stephenson Wahomeh
My soul gets all clammy and shivery at the thought of running into some indecent unpleasantries. I was walking home from Timau when suddenly two deft bulky hands covered my eyes. Someone had crept up from behind, trying to...
©2020 PML®

‹  Pakawa ♠ Media  ›

 All Rights Reserved