I don't think Kenya is the only country that tries to induce amnesia - it seems to be a global phenomenon. But offenses do not die. They do not disappear.

Dying away from home, away from the soil of your birth - and to do so unseen and unmourned - is a profound horror.

I can edit into infinity. It's such a joy. I'd probably edit until the last word. Until there's only one word left.

Every Kenyan writer has offered me something to hold onto, something to believe in.

Even though we've written epic poems and made incredible films about love, I still don't think anyone can understand what it is, or why it means everything.

In my perfect imagination, with stern discipline I rise with the first bird, salute the dawn, have a healthy breakfast of fruits, wander over to my faux-oak desk, tap the On button on my Macbook Air, acknowledge the muse, and skip into the world where the story flows over the day and into the night.

Even if you're in charge of the grand story there's still memory. The other stories do not go away.