Memory is a treasure.  Ask Kishori Lal Sahni. Ask him about what he remembers of 1953, when he joined the Kenya Police at only eighteen, wet behind the ears. When cops wore stiff khaki shorts, and socks up to their knees.

“I once got interviewed by a dog.” The client lived in a quiet Nairobi suburb and had a rather unusual recruitment policy. Before she trusted you with her home, her two dogs had to trust you first. If they didn’t

What does a VIP look like? Who is a VIP anyway? Is it someone with bodyguards or someone who walks with a cane and sunglasses? When Oliver Wanjala was posted to the VIP parking gate of a 5-star hotel in Westlands

The first place my father’s name should have appeared, it didn’t. On my birth certificate. My grandmother was never traditionally married to my grandfather. So, when my father was born, he carried the burden of that decision. In the family, there

He still remembers the Land Cruiser. Black. New. The windows were thick, probably bulletproof. He was twenty-four, working the main gate at a shopping mall in Nairobi, one hand holding the inspection mirror he used to search underneath vehicles, the other

Sometimes the finish line isn’t a ribbon stretched across a road. It’s a small house in the village. And she’s been running towards it for most of her life. She was born into a sprawling polygamous family where scarcity was common.