On weekends, before the acid rains of dictators Jomo Kenyatta and Daniel Arap Moi began to beat our family, we would get up early in the morning and invade my father Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s bedroom.
We gathered around the bed, cajoling him to tell us a story. He would still be sleepy, having worked in his home study till the wee hours of the night. Even when he arrived late from work, he would go into his study and work till late in the night.
