Author: Magunga Williams

I did not believe it. I did not believe the first time I was told that these days, thievery is shifting style and MO from pinching wallets and phones on the streets, to pinching hair. Dreadlocks mostly. That some rasta man in a matatu from Kawangware, could be sitting with earphones plugged in, perhaps listening to the praises of Haile Selassi, oblivious to the guy behind him with scissors harvesting his dreadlocks. Ati these days dreads are in such high demand that Brazilians are getting jealous. This could be true, because 7/10 of the artists I know have dreadlocks, including…

What can possibly be so unexpected in Nairobi? We pondered this question as we drove back for a two day exploration of the city, before leaving again for the wilderness. I have not been to any other capital city other than Nairobi, except through alternative forms of media- books and movies. Mostly movies. I am one of those people labeled ‘a literary hoax’ because I watch more films than I read books. A dubious title that I accept with grace, thank you very much. For an alien, the only thing that you need to know in order to survive in…

Going round this country has been enlightening. Several life lessons have been bagged along the way. I begin writing this in my house in Langata. It feels so good to say that. My house. It is not much, but in the grey darkness of my favorite couch, I am at peace. We are in Nairobi because we have several shoots lined up for Tuesday and Wednesday.  I have no clue how it will work out. If at all it does. Today however, I was taken back to class about the fundamentals of female seduction. My teacher for the day, an…

“It must be the chicken at Mwingi yesterday lunch.” “No, it cannot be that. We all ate it.” “Then it is the dinner here.”  “I think it’s all the hotel food we have been eating. Your stomachs are just missing home cooking.” “But look at Magunga. He is fine.” Two members of the crew are having stomach upsets. You can hear their stomachs rumbling, a sound that comes close to a tractor starting. But it is 5am, and I am generally not a morning person. I slept late banging away the previous blog post, meaning I have slept for a…

The heart of Garissa is actually green. Not with envy, and not around the gills either. Green with flourish. River Tana makes sure of that. Team Osborne is kitu fifteen kilometers deep into Garissa. Osborne is raring for a shot that he has pictured in his head. We are to make it work. We have to make Osborne happy. Omar is our local guy, the connection. He understands Garissa better than cave men understood hieroglyphics. He regales us with tales of how banal bombs are here. Speaks of them as easily as we speak of traffic jam or overpriced coffee.…

First the plan was Oloitoktok, or so I thought. Then it was changed to Garissa. Then logistics guys took too long to get their ducks in line, and we left Nairobi at 4.30pm. So the Garissa plot is put on ice. The locations guy and the driver agree that we drive to Mwingi and sleep over there, then rise early for Garissa before the sun finished wearing her make up for the day. Osborne, Fortune and I said ‘what the hell, just get us out of Nairobi.’ Darkness had other plans for us though. It crept in on us sooner…

We are chilling at the meeting point. Somewhere along Kyuna Crescent. A compound carpeted by a lush greenery and trees of colour. Photgraphers, bloggers, peeps from Squad Digital, Safaricom and Scanad mingle. We are taking part in year’s Capture Kenya project- basically a blogger trails a photographer around different parts of Kenya, and tell stories. The theme is Unexpected Kenya. The idea is to capture the eccentric but progressive cultures, happenings, people etc about the places we are assigned to. Here is the thing; I have only been to 5 places; Kisumu, Nairobi, Mombasa, Bondo and Siaya. So I am pretty…

Guest post by Ken Mutua The last couple of days have been a sort of smoke and mirrors for the rugby fraternity in Kenya . I knew shit had hit the roof when I saw a tweef between the Passionate former sevens Coach Mike Friday and the current tactician Paul Treu . For those who have no idea what l am talking about here are the tweets “@ Mikefriday09:Reading KRU press release &there are 12 players with 2 year contracts with no performance review so why these been cancelled? #Smoke&Mirrors” Three days later Paul Treu replied in a not polite…

She fell, and now her face looks like a broken heart. I did not mean to, but she slipped through my fingers and took a plunge face first. Thankfully she did not die, but she has become a vegetable. She won’t say anything, not even a purr. A blue blink is all that consoles me that she has yet to give up her ghost. Her name is Soni, my S4. Ebony beauty. Slim because big bums have become too mainstream.  That is how she glides into my pockets and takes up half the space. Jealous Soni, so typical. Women! I…

I enjoyed this book. I loved hating on the tragedy at the end. No other ending would be as suitable. It is what The Guardian described as ‘a heartfelt plea for memory’.

Writers are like gifts. They come in different shapes, sizes, forms, and even more diverse styles. We have heard of them, read their names somewhere in the newspaper, magazines, blogs, or at the end of a TV Show, and most importantly, you read them in books. I approached some African writers (mostly Kenyan) , and asked them why they do what they do, and who they do it for. Honestly, I was not doing this for any other reason, other than to satisfy a nagging curiosity. “Why Do You Write and For Whom?” was the question. I asked for no more…

When it begins, it is stupid most of the time. It could be over a bottle of Coke at Wambugus Grove. It could be in a matatu, in class or in Club RnB where broke college kids try to steal your drink, and your squeeze. Or it could be through a cheesy comment on Facebook or a blog. Somewhere between the turmoil of a Joe trying to win over Jasmine, they will meet again. And he will look into her eyes, those big anemic African poetry eyes that look like a condensed shard of August moonlight. Jasmine will be in…