MERU DAILY

A Picture of a Popular Entertainment Group. Photo/MC Barack. My dear gossip-loving readers, today’s tea is not just hot — it’s volcanic. What happened yesterday in Meru would make even telenovela writers take notes. So, here’s the scene: popular entertainer MC Jessy called artists from across the entire Meru region — from Thuci to Ntonyiri — for a “big meeting” at a well-known hotel around Makutano. The meeting, according to the whispers of the land, was about the upcoming Meru Festival , which we can now officially call a flop because the event has been cancelled before even taking off. Artists showed up in impressive numbers — 89 in total , according to my trusted, slightly dramatic sources. They arrived early, excited and hopeful, ready for a day of planning, progress, and professionalism. Instead, what they got was: one cup of tea and a few mandazis. That’s it. A whole day. Tea. Mandazi crumbs. Heartbreak. Sources say the artists waited from morning till evening, stranded at the h...

Mann Insurance CEO, Mr.Kirimi (right) Awards the Tournament winner Mathew Kirimi (Left) As Aquadel’s CEO Mr.  Patrick Rungu AKA Bloko watches on. Photo/Felix Kinyua. My dearest readers, on Saturday I once again made my pilgrimage to the now almost officially Home Murugi’s Base . And if you missed it, kindly step aside and allow those who attended to breathe — because this wasn’t just a pool tournament. This was a cultural earthquake. Let me take you back to where the magic started. Two weeks ago, Tush AKA Farouk — a man whose phone calls rarely announce small things — reached out about a pool tournament he was coordinating with Mann Insurance . Now, when Tush says something is brewing, it’s already simmering. And true to his touch, before he could even align the match schedule, sponsors were joining like the event was giving out shares: DJ Alekkings , ready to shake the air. Aquadel Drinking Water , ready to hydrate the chaos. Ms. Felicity Mbiriri , our 2027 Women Rep hopeful, add...

  A Player takes a shot at a previous pool showdown. Photo/Felix Kinyua Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves — because this Saturday, November 15th, 2025 , starting at 3PM all tarmacked, murram, and dusty roads lead to one sacred destination: Murugi’s Base, just a few metres from the former DCI boss’s residence. Don’t worry, no investigations here — only good vibes, cold drinks, and plenty of action on the pool tables. The Battle of the Cue Sticks This isn’t your usual ka-base pool tournament. This is the Meru Pool Premier League, the showdown of all showdowns. On one side, eight cue-wielding warriors from Mikocheni Makutano are sharpening their shots. On the other, eight homegrown legends from Murugi’s Base are ready to defend their territory with precision, pride, and a touch of mischief. And what’s at stake? A smooth Ksh 5,000 for the winner, Ksh 4,000 for the first runner-up, and Ksh 3,000 for third place. Honestly, if you’ve ever dreamed of making fast money without join...

The Rainbird is mythically associated with summoning rain. Photo/Facebook.  Ladies and gentlemen, I, yours in truth and gossip, have come to a final conclusion: I am a rain caller. Yes, you heard me right. The universe, in its mysterious humour, has confirmed this not once, not twice, but on several occasions — I am one of those rare African souls chosen to sense the rain before the season even begins. And no, hii si story ya jaba. This one comes straight from the ancestors and a few visits to the pharmacy. You see, in Kenya, we all know the drill — two rainy seasons: short and long. We studied that in geography. But what they never told us in class is that there are people walking among us who can actually feel the rain coming. Not smell — feel.  I happen to be one of those blessed (or cursed?) few. For years I thought it was coincidence, but the signs were always there. Every time the rains are about to start, I fall sick — a proper flu that knocks me down like a bag of wet ...

  Patrons Enjoying themselves at a Bar. Photo/TripAdvisor.  Fridays mean freedom for most people — that sacred day when laptops shut early, ties loosen, and everyone suddenly remembers they have social lives. But for me, Fridays are a little different. As a digital economy worker juggling multiple gigs with my inner journalist, I usually spend Friday nights hunched over my laptop, fingers dancing on the keyboard, eyes glued to screens, surviving on caffeine and ambition. By the time others are clinking glasses, I’m usually in a Zoom meeting trying to sound enthusiastic about “synergizing deliverables” while my soul quietly begs for rest. Last Friday, however, something unusual happened. I made an exception — and how I wish I hadn’t. It was a few minutes past 11 p.m., and I had just logged out of a webinar with my boss. My mind was fried, my back stiff, and my motivation long gone. Just as I was about to surrender to the sweet embrace of sleep, my phone buzzed. It was my friend...

  The New Aquadel Auto Spa Carwash at Gakurine, Meru. Photo/Aquadel. Last weekend was one of those long, emotional ones. The nation stood still to mourn our beloved Baaba — a true statesman, a man whose voice could silence a room and whose wisdom will echo through generations. Everyone needed space to grieve, so I decided to give you all just that. But come Saturday night, somewhere between 11 p.m. and midnight, my restless feet led me to the New Aquadel Auto Spa Carwash in Gakurine. I’d been invited by my good friend, the ever-gracious CEO, Mr. Bloko — and what I thought would be a short stop turned into one unforgettable night. --- First Impressions: Not Your Ordinary Carwash The moment I rode in, I knew this wasn’t your regular “soap and rinse” joint. Bright lights danced off spotless windshields, engines purred softly, and the entire place buzzed with energy. Cars were neatly lined up, shining under the glow like models at a beauty pageant. Before I could even gather my thought...

A Selfie of me when i first met Raila in Person at Kaaga Primary school in Meru.  Photo/Felix Kinyua. There are deaths that stop a nation — and then there is the death of Raila Amolo Odinga. For many of us Millennials and Gen Zs, this is not just another obituary; it feels like Kenya has lost its political north star. Raila wasn’t just a politician — he was a constant, a storm, a myth, and somehow, a comfort. I first met Raila in school — not in person, but in print. He appeared in our history books right between “The 1982 Coup Attempt” and “The Birth of Multi-party Democracy.” I read his name before I could spell “opposition.” Then I grew up and realized that Raila wasn’t just a name in a textbook — he was the chapter, the recurring one that every government tried (and failed) to close. And today, like many Kenyans, I find myself in disbelief. Because somewhere deep down, I thought Raila was immortal. That man survived political arrests, betrayals, coups, election rigging, and sti...