But the Creator instinctively knew that would be a waste of time. As time would demonstrate, corporal punishment, or the rod if you may – and counselling – are ineffectual when certain children mysteriously develop a trouble-causing worm in their brains. They will swallow intoxicants, stick syringes into the veins, bum, fight and drop out of school, wander into crime and seek death, sex and its diseases with a vengeance. You will cry, curse, whip them, call the police, take them to the witchdoctor, and it will do you and them no good.

Shifting in the driver’s seat, he studied the new arrival. She was tall; he guessed five feet, maybe nine inches. She bordered between slim and skinny. Even scrawny, if he could be brutally honest. Her long neck stuck out of her tee shirt; a less graceful person would have looked stoopy with that neck.She walked in carrying two clear buckets on each of her slender arms, and a tattered rucksack of indefinite colour strapped on her back. She placed the buckets near her feet. He could clearly see githeri in one, and ugali in the other.

"The Art Deco Buildings of Nairobi" is the latest work by South African writer Barbara Adair. More than a study of architecture, the book documents the memories and histories of Nairobi's African Asian communities, particularly Indian Kenyan families who transformed Art Deco designs into spaces that reflected their own traditions, aspirations and ways of life.

Anthropologists and historians have long distinguished between polygyny—the practice of one man having multiple wives—and infidelity or promiscuity. Across many African societies, polygyny operated within communal structures. Wives generally knew one another. Senior wives held authority. Children belonged not only to parents but to extended families. Marriage itself was understood as a union between lineages rather than merely two individuals.

Cut off from supply lines, the fighters chewed bitter wild roots that left their mouths numb. They drank from cold streams thick with silt. Each night, their stomachs clenched with hunger, their bodies curled against each other for warmth beneath canopies that dripped rain like tears. Yet even in exhaustion, they stared into the darkness and saw freedom shimmering—close enough to feel, yet still beyond reach.

Theatre is like juggling multiple balls at once. You’re in character, but you’re also aware of the audience, your scene partners, and the technical aspects of the show. Occasionally, there’s a moment—maybe fifteen minutes in a two-hour performance—when everything aligns, and you’re fully inside the character. Those moments are magical.