Alphonce SHIUNDU

I woke up to this video and it just hit a chord with me. I looked at the guy, Aalam Wassef, and he speaks like many Kenyans I know. For the first time in their lives, Kenyans queued for fuel. They raved and ranted, called the minister names, blamed the cartels on radio and TV, wrote commentaries , the crisis even made national headlines. Then they forgot about it, and now, life goes on. But trust Kenya’s government. It knows how Kenyans behave. They talk a lot and do nothing. So, after the rant, Kenyans decided they’ll queue; those who could make money out of the crisis, made their millions and life goes on. A look at North Rift, the country’s bread basket is a little of the same. I said here, someone was perhaps laying ground for the importation of maize later this year or early next year, following the shoddy delivery of seed and fertilizer to farmers. Kenyans have ranted about this; the government listened, tried to mollify them, I think, they forgot, life goes on. Then, t

Kenya is in mourning. Their Olympic champion and indefatigable marathoner, Samuel Wanjiru is dea d. Apparently, the police believe he jumped from the balcony of his Nyahururu mansion to his death. The story is that he was inebriated and apparently came home with another woman. His wife, it is said, was away. But then, she returned "unexpectedly", the police say, and found Wanjiru and the other woman, together in bed. She locked them inside the bedroom and left. In such circumstances, women normally rush to call their mothers-in-law or their relatives , so that they have proof that their marriage is on the rocks. News from Kenya don't have this detail, so this is my speculation. The reports from Kenya say Wanjiru landed on the concrete and started bleeding. He died shortly after. And thus Kenya's dreams of shining in next year's Olympic games, in the marathon, faded, but did not die. Hopefully, another marathoner will arise. Kenya's Prime Minister was

This is the Eulogy I wrote for my mum. It's not exhaustive, but then again... It was written in those sleepless, confused, busy, and emotional days of the funeral. If I managed to pull it off, that is, if it sounds nice and reads well (My cousin Brenda insisted that it does), then well and good. If it is a poor job, well, I was the writer and the editor, so the mistake is entirely mine. But, seriously, why am I being hard on myself. Just read, if you knew her, well and good, if you did not, then too bad. It's almost a week since I left Nairobi and I think this should be the last of the blogs in which I talk about her death. As journalists, I have been told here in Mexico, we need to talk about life and so, well, I will talk about her life --not endlessly and not in an annoying way, but in just the way that I remember her. But meanwhile, here is what I felt then, about my dad, losing the love of his life. It was a blow, at least to me, so I won't speculate how hard a blow i

Well, the last time I blogged, I had a mother. Now, I don’t. But she had nice sisters and they’ve stepped in to cover the gap she left. They’ve done a commendable job, a really brilliant job. But they’ve got their own families and their own worries. Soon, everyone and everything will go back to normal and poof, it will hit us that all we have is just the six siblings and our Dad. It is strange when I think of him as a widower. He handled the funeral pretty well. He put up a brave face for us. Yet, he’d lost the only person who knew him best. They’d been married for 30 years. Now, don’t even mention the anniversary, because, that, will break the old man’s heart. Okay, I was actually paralysed from writing. Everytime I’d sit to try and put this down together, first in Mumias and then at my place in Nairobi, my mind would go blank. It has taken me eight hours of flight and about four hours in a foreign country (and I am just on transit) to get the solitude needed for this reflection.