No longer at ease: Why I stopped being a ‘concerned Kenyan’

“The scene from his hotel room screen in Nakuru still fills his mind. Let’s call him M. He’s from Muranga, he still drives the Datsun 120 Y that he bought in 1972 when he was a 22-year -old boy, and he’s got a family in the outskirts of Eldoret where his wife runs the family farm (cows and wheat) that he bought in 1982 from a white man, fleeing the coup d’etat that never happened ...”

Those were the first words I wrote in my story ‘The Road to Eldoret’ almost exactly seven years ago, when Kenya began burning in what we have now acronymed as the ‘PEV’.