







I am scared. I am sensing a pattern. It is two years since 25th June 2024 . What started as a peaceful protest by Gen Z turned into little massacres.
Once, on the intersection of Kimathi Street and Mama Ngina Street, there lived a statue who was made entirely out of bronze. He had bronze arms and bronze legs and
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Nairobi is a layer-cake of a city. Embassies, NGOs and the UN all congregate in these hills. These hills host State House, Parliament, McMillian Memorial Library, businesses small and large.
The sequence of events of 25th June 2024 fails me. I saw a lot. Those following the events of the day from TV sets at home say a lot more
The pain I feel for those my generation lost is strange and untamable, deranged and unpredictable. It defies description and exists outside any dialect.
I had been home for months, an idle, unemployed graduate. And so I killed the time on my phone, scrolling on X, reading threads, and arguing in the comments sections
I am terrified of the police. If I lose my life, naturally or otherwise, I hope the void is really an empty space where I will never have to interact
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Running. The sting of teargas making my eyes water. Running. Losing my friends in the crowd. Panicking. More running. Finding my friends. Holding their hands like my safety depends on