David Maillu was born in colonial Kenya on 19 October 1939. He went to school at age 12, at a Salvation Army School. After four years, he sat for a national colonial education examination, called Common Entrance Examination after which he joined Intermediate School whereby we sat for the Kenya African Primary Education (KAPE). There would be another examination after two years, called Kenya Junior Secondary Education, then finally the East Africa Cambridge School Certificate examination (The O-Level).
He went to a technical school to Painting and Decorating, which took 3 years. He also enrolled for the British Tutorial College, to study for the High School education. Right from his Intermediate and Technical Schools, he developed passion in African Art, Literature and Sociology.
He is married to a German, Hannelore, from Berlin.
This is one of those creative works which tend to be undermined, but are nonetheless powerful books. Here, author Maillu shows psychological nous in understanding his main characters, with doses of humour. There is a remarkable "bedroom scene" (sans sex) which however must rank as one of the most impressive seduction scenes in African writing.
When some of us were quite young, we hardly believed that our fellow Africans could write books, never mind creative works. We knew academic, school books could be done by them, often in collaboration with others, mainly whites. Or maybe they copied white writers elsewhere! we thought, in childish bad faith. But I remember that as a young boy - already reading a lot - I read a piece on Kwame Nkrumah where at the end, mention was made to many of his books! I was shocked to see that the great man had written so many books. So we blacks could be so prolific?!
Hence the healthy respect I would have for the likes of David Maillu a bit later on when I learnt that he had written and published so many books. His versatility was also very impressive, as he seemed to have written about virtually every subject matter. That he was also a very popular writer in his eastern Africa made me sit up and read everything I could absorb about him.
Inevitably, I read his book, For Nbatha and Rabeka, and some others he wrote. The old man (as I thought of the author in my mind) wrote very well, and his imagination seemed endless. Even now, I have great great respect for him...