Author: Doreen Saringi

His round face was neatly shaven leaving only a thin line of hair extending from his lower jaw, all around his face, before eventually meeting the hairs of his head. His eyes were wide open and looking right ahead, never blinking, as if staring at a gorgeous girl.  His hands were crossed over his chest. This must have been a recent photograph, I figured; he was wearing a checked voguish shirt, and a not so expensive watch. When I arrived, it was this portrait hung above  Samwel Nyabote’s casket, that first caught my eyes. I kept staring at it from…

I keep hearing gunshots from downstairs. The nine o’clock news bulletin is over and my cousins must be watching a movie. The gunshots, blood and death in action movies excite them. These things make them lean closer to the TV, not sweaty like they do to me.  I am sitting at the edge of my bed with the lights off. On my left hand is a bottle of water, while on my right hand is four tablets. Two are the size of a KSL sweet, while two are smaller, like tic tacs. In my mind I am wishing I had…