Jean Pierre and the tiny penises

White t-shirt on scraggy chest, Jean Pierre pulls on levers that turn bank notes into lager. The frothy piss flows into slim glasses that are quickly lined up before the small crowd of revellers hanging around the counter. His dark hair is licked silver at the temples. His eyes, two dark strobes that shine out…

There And Back Again

Nairobi, Early-ish November, 2010 I was sitting across from my friend, Jemedari, in a restaurant cum pub waiting for the monthly poetry session, Bar Stool, to begin when an insanely curly-haired white girl walked in. Later, more friends would turn up for the gig—most notably Kevin “ManNjoro”— and the three of us ended up reciting…