Crime and political thrillers that feel uncomfortably real.

Sam Mugumya disappeared after announcing his parliamentary ambitions. Authorities denied holding him even as supporters searched desperately for answers. Images later circulated showing a man who appeared physically broken. His supporters alleged he had suffered starvation, torture, and medical neglect.

Ten years have passed, but the space he left behind has not grown smaller. If anything, it has grown larger. I miss my Dad more now than I did when he first died. I miss his voice. I miss our arguments. I miss making him proud. If I had the chance today, I would gladly take another disagreement with him, knowing it would end with both of us still having each other.

In this part of the world, America doesn’t pick leaders. It picks tools. And once it finds one that works, it holds on tight.

Maybe there is no warning. Maybe the adults think it will be fine. We stay home. Musebeeyi is serving dinner when two armed men burst into the house. Their voices are sharp, fast, in Swahili. As children, we do not understand much. But one word cuts through everything. Pesa. Money. Musebeeyi does not panic. She unties the cloth belt around her waist, the one she uses as a wallet, and drops all the money onto the floor. The men pick it up, but they are not satisfied. The

You left too soon, my friend. Way too soon. I never got to hold your book in my hands, and you never got to read the novel I wanted to place in yours. The thought of that unfinished exchange brings tears to my eyes even now.