There is a train terminal beneath the vast halls and escalator-riddled chambers of the grand hotel. He runs down one last flight of marble steps and hurries onto a train. The car is crowded. The seats are in pairs, facing forward, with a narrow aisle running down the middle.
I know we Africans have our witchy stories, tales to frighten the children or bolster the courage of our elders in hard times, which alas have been many. But I am a modern African. I have a bachelor’s degree from a recognised university and I know that God does not reside at the summit of Mount Kenya. I work on my country’s biggest newspaper and what I am about to tell you is true.