About Mwende Nguti

Writer, dreamer and life enthusiast.

People can’t help but stare when he walks down the street. It would be an understatement to say that he is easy on the eyes. But his magnetism goes beyond just a pretty face.

Within 5 minutes of meeting any woman, he charms his way into her heart.
Is it his smile? His bicuspids are white perfection.
His eyes? Chocolate heaven.
His silver tongue? He does have a way with words.
I can’t say its one thing in particular. It’s just. Him.

Ladies adore him and it is not just the young’ns. I’ve seen him make women twice his age giggle like school girls. They love him. Everyone loves him. Not just women, men too. Not love, love but… you know what I mean.
He’s a man’s man, shoulder-bumping, back slapping, I-don’t-wash-my-banana (the fruit, just so we’re clear ) kinda guy. The real deal.

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She’d gone into battle unarmed, unshielded. She was unprotected against his assault upon her. She banked his scent in her mind, a permanent reminder of what happiness smelled of. She spent hours staring into the depths of his eyes, memorising the crook of his smile, hanging onto every word that he said.

He became familiar. The feel of him, his very presence… she was so attuned to it, like the lyrics of a familiar song; she know every single word. He was … home.

She held nothing back. At the back of her mind, she wondered what would happen if somehow they didn’t work out.. but she brushed the thought aside as quickly as it came. There was no way that was going to happen. Only, there was.
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She felt the first ominous drop on her nose. She should have noticed the darkening sky but she had been distracted, thinking about him. She rushed across the road and joined other agitated Nairobians, their faces falling as the scattered drops quickly turned into sheets of rain, as the notorious Nairobi rain was in the habit of doing.

The morning had been sunny. Too sunny. That should have been the first clue. But no, she was too busy picking out an outfit that said ‘I like you but whatever’. Why didn’t her red trench coat say ‘I like you but whatever?’ she thought, rubbing her bare arms against the chill. A simple black dress with nude heels; she didn’t blame anyone that looked at her like she was crazy because in that moment, she felt crazy.

It had taken him three months to ask her out. Three months!!! She shouldn’t have said yes so quickly. She should have let him sweat it out for a day or two. Maybe even a week, but did she? No! She smiled and said ‘Sure, that would be great.7 o’clock?’ Continue reading

That morning was no different than any other morning. They said that there was no need for a watch in the village when there was the old man. Even now as the women were fetching water, they looked up to see him take slow, sure steps past them.

‘Just like clockwork,’ one of them said.

‘Mama, where does he go?’

‘That one is a crazy one. He goes to the very edge of the village and sits there the whole day.’

‘The whole day? Doesn’t he eat?’

‘This is not time for stories! Fetch water and I will tell you everything when you are done.’ Continue reading

His brush moved across the canvas, his strokes, passionate yet deliberate. His senses were dulled to everything except her; the woman who haunted his dreams and filled his thoughts. Who was she? Where did he see her? Had she passed him on the street? Did she sit next to him in the matatu? Was she a friend of a friend? Or a friend of a friend of a friend?

When he closed his eyes, he saw her face perfectly. It had been a month since he began to see her and now, the face that had barely piqued his interest had become his obsession. His friends were worried. She was all he talked about, wondering where, if he had seen her at all. It was his gift and curse, his memory. It was what made him such a good artist but it was also turning him into a mad man.

He took a step back from the canvas and looked into the eyes that were the source of his insanity. Big beautiful eyes. But sad. His heart ached. Why was she so sad? Why couldn’t he find her? Continue reading

She pulled on the cigarette slowly and let her eyes wander lazily across the smoky bar. It was a busy night, as would be expected of every Friday night. The live band played one of those songs they always play on the radio in the background. Two girls stumbled on the dance floor in a way that they drunkenly considered to be sexy but was actually quite a sorry sight. Some guys down the bar counter watched the sad debacle before they went to join the girls. She watched them dance for a few minutes before they made their way out of the bar. She smiled sardonically, imagining the shock the girls would be in after seeing the person they wake up to without beer goggles. ‘Big mistake,’ she thought.

She took a sip from the champagne flute she had been nursing for the last thirty minutes. That was the first rule of the game; control. There’s no point to the hunt if your senses are dulled, and she was on the hunt. The little black dress she wore clung to her every curve, ending mid-thigh. ‘Just enough leg and just enough cleavage to get the boys’ attention,’ she thought. Red pumps and blood-red lips were the perfect last touch. Rule number 2: dress to kill. She smiled at the irony of the phrase. Continue reading

If you were to be asked to say a word you find synonymous to the museum, words like ‘boredom’, ‘school trip’ and ‘boredom’ are likely to turn up repeatedly. Most people have never gone to the national museum, apart from that one time they went as a class and there wasn’t really much of an option back then. I recently went to the Nairobi National Museum and no, no one was holding a gun to my head. And again, no, I did not want to kill myself after. In fact, it was a pretty great experience.

The Nairobi National Museum is located at the Museum Hill and is about a fifteen minute walk from the CBD. The entry fee for citizens is only Kshs. 100/- but for foreigners, it’s about Kshs. 1200/-. Don’t you appreciate being Kenyan already? Continue reading

The conversation has stalled. They don’t know each other too well and they had already talked about the weather. Exhaustively.

‘So, do you watch Suits?’, he asks, knowing if she would say no, the conversation, which could have been classified as dead an hour ago, would be mummified and its fine dusty bits would be carried away by the wind.

She smiled sheepishly before replying, “Season two, episode 5.”

‘It’s alive!’ he thinks, before breathing the conversation to life.

Growing up, I remember that they used to screen movies in a field near home. They’d charge about 20/- and screen kung-fu movies with terrible Kiswahili voice-overs. I was never allowed to go so we used to pull stunts like climbing on the roof to catch a peek. Continue reading

“Does music reflect society, or does society reflect music?” Anonymous

Well, folks, if there was ever a time that Kenyan music could be said to be at its peak, this would probably be it. The amount of local music that’s being produced is quite a lot and no only that, there are a number of platforms that exist now for an artist to gain exposure. Television and radio stations still hold the lion’s share of the public’s attention but with YouTube, music sharing sites like Sound Cloud and social media sites (for marketing), there’s a whole new level of exposure to the music industry.

Musician Ayub Ogada

With technology, it is said that the world is becoming a global village and if there was ever a great way to illustrate this perfectly, it would be by looking at the music industry. There no longer seems to be any barrier where one would say, ‘That’s Nigerian music, I don’t need to listen to that.’ The internet has revolutionized the world such that all music from different cultures are brought together in one place, leading to the rise of a new class of international music, where two different styles of music are married into one. Continue reading

I confess; I love them. They are the very thing I look forward to every time I switch the telly on. I like the jingles and even take the extra step to know them, so that the next time I hear it, I can sing along. I love the humor in the good ones and criticize the bad, thinking of ways it could have been better. What am I talking about? Advertising of course.

I know that there are those people who absolutely abhor advertisements, seeing them as time wasted when they could have been watching ‘proper’ television.

So here’s the thing, I’m not the type of person who, upon seeing a Coca Cola advertisement will run out to the nearest duka for a bottle. I don’t watch advertisements because I have nothing to do, nor because it’s a version of home shopping. I simply appreciate the creativity behind them.

Here are some of the best advertisements on television in my opinion:-

1.      Faiba

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