Skip to main content
In the early times in Kenya there was a feeling of lifting and decompression. We went to live in Langata first. At that time it was in the wild. Dad had bought a small VW beatle and in the Beatle we travelled to our house on stilts. There were two people who looked after us David and Odouda. Odouda was the cook and famous for his creamed spinach.

You drove out of Nairobi and past Wilson airport. If it was during the day, you would see the little propeller planes flying in touching and bouncing along the grass as you clattered past in the Beatle. If it was night there would be red lights flashing. We always usually kept the windows open to catch the breeze, but at night it grew cold fast. Sunsets came in a glorious flash of orange and red. The road to the house was past a little quarry of red earth where we let our dog run riot. An Alsation, intelligent and old and protective, called Whizzy. Very definately our more senior and mature companion. He used to get into fights and win, marking out our territory. The house was on stilts and felt very isolated.

When we woke up many mornings the lawn was covered in dew. Once or twice a think line of dark moving red traced its path across the lawn and Daniel would pour petrol along its length and set fire to it. Sometimes, in the morning, we would see deer nibbling the flowers and at night there was the sound of howling. Daniel would scare us. Hyeanas, he said, who ate little boys. But it was very dark in that house at night and when mom and dad went out we were quite scared.

Once, for some reason, shortly after we arrived, I felt aggreived and walked off on my own into the forest. It was full of blue gum trees. We always associated Nairobi with frangipani, Jacaranda and blue gum. But soon I got scared. Then came home and gave a sugarlump to a neighbours horse which, after its soft lips had pursed and lifted the lump bit into my little finger.

Although the garden was surrounded by flower beds and bushes, there was always a sense of flow between us and the untamed land beyond.

Though we were small we went to see Dad's office and the typewriters and the hear the occasional banter and then see the typesetters work and watch the printing presses role.

and the

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Aerogramme from Lisa and Richard

To: Mr & Mrs J. Hall, Box 49 Eikenhof (TVL) Johannesburg Afrique du Sud. 28.3.76 Dear John and Nola, Today a week ago we were still in New Delhi with Eve and Tony and the boys and the whole thing looks like a dream. We arrived on the 28.2 in New Delhi and were happy to see the whole family fit and in good health. The boys have grown very much, Phil is just about the size of Tony and the twins are above average. We stayed untill the 22nd March, as our visa ran out and we did not want to go through all the ceremony of asking for an extension. It also got hotter and I don't know how I would have supported the heat. The extra week would also have passed, so we decided not to go to all the trouble with the authorities and leave on the 22nd. I cannot tell you how happy we have been to see such a lovely family, so happy and united. It is rare to experience sucha thing and we have both all the reasons to be proud of them (when I say goth I mean you and us ). There is su

Guardian: Kate Harding's reactionary censorious blog on CiF

It should go without saying... ....that we condemn the scummy prat who called Liskula Cohen : "a psychotic, lying, whoring ... skank" But I disagree with Kate Harding , (in my view a pseudo blogger), posting her blog in the Guardian attacking bloggers. It's a case of set a thief to catch a thief. The mainstream media is irritated by bloggers because they steal its thunder and so they comission people like Kate Harding , people with nothing to say for themselves, apparently, other than that they are feminists, to attack bloggers. I'm black. So I can legitimately attack "angry white old men". I'm a feminist, so I have carte blanche to call all anonymous bloggers "prats." Because yes, that is her erudite response to bloggers. No I don't say that the blogging medium can't be used to attack progressives in whatever context. Of course it can. But to applaud the censorship of a blogger by a billion dollar corporate like Google, and moreov

Guardian books blog fringe: Norman Mailer

FLASHING THE GUARDIAN -- A BOOKS BLOGGERS' REBELLION :  The unheroic censor with a death wish Part 1: In which Norman Mailer stars in an experiment in search engine optimisation By ACCIACCATURE 3 February 2009 When Norman Mailer died in 2007, informed opinion – in the blogosphere, people who had read at least two of his books – was split. The army of readers who saw him as one of the most despicable misogynists writing fiction in the 20th century was perfectly matched by warriors on the other side, who raged that the label wasn’t just unwarranted but tantamount to heinous calumny. Before commenters returned to bitching-as-usual, tempers were lost on literary sites all over the net in debating temperatures high enough to bring to mind tiles burning off space shuttles re-entering Earth’s atmosphere. After I'd agreed to a spontaneous suggestion by our good friend Sean Murray -- a pioneer and stalwart of the comments section of The Guardian’s books blog – that we re-