The year after my JKUAT studies i turned into a vagabond who didnt want to work and instead spent all my days in the dingiest of Nairobi pubs drinking and doing some other very unsavory acts. As a result my family got angry and cut me off from their very generous offertory. overnight i was reduced to extreme poverty. Left to wander the streets, begging help for various quarters, barely managing to stay alive from one day to the next, and just when Id begun to think I might be able to support myself with my writing, I came down with a serious illness. Thanks to the compassion of others, I was able to rent a small house in Kahawa sandwiched between a big prison and a muddy river, where i spent the entire summer alone, convalescing. Though battling an illness that each and every night left my robe literally drenched with sweat, I had no choice but to press ahead with my work. The cold half pint of milk I drank each morning was the only thing that gave me a certain peculiar sense of the joy in life; my mental anguish and exhaustion were such that the oleanders blooming in one corner of a nearby garden appeared to me merely flicking tongues of flame..
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 08:20:26 +0000
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