Sele didn’t watch the news. He was sweeping the steps of the police post when a shadow fell over him.
The rain over Kibera fell like a judgment. It hammered the corrugated iron sheets, turning the sloping paths into rivers of black mud. Inside a dim, single-roomed shack, Abdi tightened the strap of his worn-out rucksack. Across from him, leaning against a doorframe that was older than both of them, stood Afande Sele. nitarudi na roho yangu afande sele
He took off the kiongo and tossed it to Sele, who caught it with a grunt. Sele didn’t watch the news
“No,” he whispered to the empty street. “You said ‘with.’ But you left it here. So you have to come back.” nitarudi na roho yangu afande sele