Dispatch from Mombasa

A mud walled tin-roof thatched house in Githumu, Gicici area. Efforts need to be made to improve the lives of people  living in such houses.  There is an untold story in central province. The story is lost largely due to statistical figures that claim that living standards are very high.  What with the coffee, tea and food sufficiency stories that say relax, Central Kenya is better than the rest of country. There can be nothing further from the truth than this. I have just returned from a journey I dubbed “Tracing the roots of my fathers” in which I went to Githumu market in Kandara Division of Muranga County. I witnessed firsthand how the first quartile of the population in the area is reeling under the immense weight of poverty. For them, only God knows what next and this will not be said because it is not part of the statistical mean. Like any other poor place in Kenya, a good number of the residents live in mud walled tin-roof covered houses that I am reli...

You can call me a coward if you want but fact is after what I went through at the hands of Njoroge, I have never had the will and strength to fight. After witnessing too many street and bar brawls I am reminded of my experiences with Njoroge and which made me never to bring, lay or point a finger at anyone’s face. Well, Njoroge was the village bully, the kind of a bad guy who has all the negative qualities found in a bad child heaped on him. He had even been remanded in a juvenile prison because of his exploits and after he was convicted of stealing mandazi from Morris' Hotel popularly corrupted to   Mkawa wa Molethi . He was so feared among boys in the village more so because he had a head that seemed bigger than the rest of his body. His eyes were ever bloodshot and his broad nose added to his menacing look. Njoroge was also a known thief and local residents of Sokoro did not have to look for answers far and wide when a shop was broken into and mandazi had made a disap...

I am writing this from my hotel room in Kisumu. Well there is nothing to write home about the Hotel which though a masterpiece of its time, it is now run down and a litany of complaints is what I have heard from my colleagues and those who have been here before us. In fact one of the thoughts that hit me was that it must have a connection to Government and which was confirmed by one of the employee who told me that it’s a ministry of tourism run establishment. What hit me was that the government has been spending millions to promote tourism abroad for the benefit of the private sector but its very own establishments are run down. What a contradiction. However what concerns me is not the discomfort of my room and that I have had to shift rooms because an attendant broke a key to the lock while I was out, but what is happening in Kisumu. In 2008, Kisumu was at the centre of the post election violence. We saw images of wanton looting and burning and to an outsider this was the epit...

Could EPZ factories in Kenya and particularly Mombasa be running gulags or sweatshops? Could employees in these organizations be subjected to more than other employees normally go through? Why are the organizations so guarded about their operations? As a Corporate Communication Proffessional I can smell a skunk in these organizations. The first communication reference point for any organization is at the gate. At the EPZ, the gateman is not just a guard but a menacing bulldog- meant to scare away would be job seekers and other miscreants. He will not just scare you away; he will also ensure that you don’t go past the gate. He gives you a snap shot of the organization’s communication culture and by extension how the organization treats its employees and as far as I am concerned all is not well. EPZ seem to have the same problem, wherever they are located. Last month a building housing garment factories in Dhaka Bangladesh collapsed and press reports indicate that more than 1000...

I had to impress. It was the only way that I could prove I was capable of loving. After all I had been accused of being a dull lover; too conservatively stuck to tradition and incapable of expressing emotional attachment to the one I claimed to love most. I had spent sleepless nights planning for the day. My only intention was to make it a surprise to her. I had already in my wardrobe full red-hot-love attire, a red shirt, a red tie, red suit, handkerchief, socks and shoes. I had even gone to the extent of ordering for fresh carnations which would cap the day. My baby had to love me and for her I would do everything. In any case as my people say kwa mwendwa gutiri karima. So I set off for the office in high spirits. My heart beat and footsteps rhymed. I carried along a smile that refused to die, whistling a love song after another and planning for that evening. What will go wrong definitely will and the first indicator of wrong turns for the day was a missed step at door to t...