Rude Empath

B illowing winds ferrying the fabulous fragrance of freshly dry laundry comes at a price. That once a week, one hour stint hunched over an assortment of buckets and basins to clear out the piling mountain of soiled clothes -between the two of us, it is to avoid accumulation over another week. A groan as I uncoil from the hunched position that had been imparted during an instrumental science class about machines: making work easier. Surely, any sensible human wants to lighten their load, within the bounds of the law, and washing machines plug seamlessly into my quandary. Obviously, washing on the verandah outclasses doing so by a river that could conceivably be crocodile-infested, but is it not the purpose of development to constantly improve upon the status quo?  Photo by Andrienne Anderson Here are three reasons I believe housing units should be fitted with a washing machine area or have a laundromat such as mimi fua ,  osha na coin in the locale but my favourite is...

“Hi there and karibu. Is this your first time dining with us?” The waiter gracefully hands you a menu and goes on to share the chef's special. An introduction into what will be a gastronomic journey to leave you all smiles. On the contrary, just the thought of visiting a public service office in my motherland sets off an inconsolable migraine. Take my imaginary hand, let us take a stroll  through one.  Offices are meant to open at 0800hrs, shockingly (if you live up to Chronos’ ideal) this is not the case. When it eventually does, so-so cleaning eats up another 10-15 minutes: time in which the civil servant would be efficiently utilizing to have breakfast but instead are recapping yesterday's episode of Maria.  Finally, the door swings out. Eyes widen with hope. We flock. She points back to the rickety, chipping, blue bench. The ‘nice’ lady is now yelping into the hallway, “I'll call you when I'm open” where we are sitting despondent, after one brave young...