Where is Kennedy, Beth, Judith, Lucy the masseuse, Achman the jack of all trades? Go call them. Tell them the family is having a small meeting. Is there anybody I have left out? Let’s see: one, two. No. On this side of the Sahara we don’t count our children. It’s been a while since we have done one of these. My old man says that it is very important to have a meeting every once in a while. It lets you know where everyone’s soul is. He tells me that if one person is disgruntled in the family then everyone else is also unsettled. Gather around, let’s align our chi.
I have a bit of good news. A book is coming. Earlier in the year when I said I was working on one I was completely out of my head. I didn’t have a plot nor a story. I hadn’t written a single word, yet here I was hurting my lungs with shouts that it was dropping in June. Sometimes we don’t tell people what they want to hear, sometimes we tell them what we want to hear. I wanted to hear that I was writing the book even though I was loafing around, taking walks, watching profane videos on YouTube and being textual with people I wouldn’t want near my mother.
I got the idea for the book on a late afternoon. The sun was up in the sky and a bird or two were singing. I remember I got outside with the feeling of wanting to hug everyone. I put it down in roughly two weeks. I was excited the whole time. Like an onlooker, I was on edge to know what would unfold in the next chapter and the chapter after that.
It is a continuation to The Engagement. A complete book, a proper novel of at least thirty-five thousand words. I plan to write five books in that series, dropping one a year. I’m in the process of polishing it. After that is done, we will get into the editing phase. The process will take roughly a month or two. We’re publishing this one. I’m looking to drop it in the edge of September or early November just before Santa comes to town. I plan to keep you in the loop from cover designs, to the look and feel of the printing paper, to the loyal readers here who will get signed copies. Get me on Facebook and Instagram for updates and shoe photos, I have also added socks photos into my Instagram stories portfolio so you’re in for a treat.
That’s all from me. It’s cold. The fire is crackling. There is hot tea in the kettle and mandazis, no, no, no, sexy friends don’t eat mandazis. We eat samosas and not the ones with warus or ndengu inside, the ones that are pronounced ‘sambusa,’ no. We have left those to people who don’t have goals in their lives. We eat chicken samosas and we hold them with our hands, not a serviette as though our bare palms are not worthy. There is a kettle of hot tea and a bowl of chicken samosas on the table, does anybody want to add anything? Patrick, Papa Whiskie, Njoroge the farmer. The sexy friends at the back, the floor is yours.
I like to think of myself as a reader who writes, a Pan-African who thinks with the tips of his fingers, but when I'm not molesting the keyboard I'm usually destroying yogurt (not Frusion) or staring into the vastness of space.