Trust me I’m a Journalist At 9 o’clock every morning When the opening bell rings on the NSE I am there, to see the trading begin Bull Run, what’s the demand for the green back, Safaricom, is the share price up? Why? So I can tell you where to put your money I translate the indices, points up or down, when to buy, when to sell Then serve you with the simple arithmetic that tomorrow you can add peanut butter To your daily dry bread and black tea Trust me I am a journalist I may be the last one to leave the club every evening The one whose name everybody knows But I still take the matatu home after clubbing While you sashay into your Range Rover sport After Listening to my witty stories of dining with Raila, holding the chain for Ababu, Coaxing Kimunya, laughing with Kajwang and ducking from Martha After those wonderful nights, you leave, and I wait for daybreak Because taxi…not my style. My number 11 to south B will be here at around 4 am, till then I get the vibe from the waiters, and t...
Chronicles of a former Business Journalist | Believer of the African Dream | Mother | Lover of Life| Poet