Dust accumulates “many routes through desire,” many routes through life, pain, and survival. It is a story of each woman fighting to reclaim as her own and reconstitute for herself a life with which she “once apportioned hope for people and places.” It is a vast, complex, poetic story, a particulate text of Brownian motions, splashed with blood, aflame with feeling, torn by time.Each scene, each character, is a particle of dust, unformed, partial, slipping from grasp. This is the nature of secrets, a glut of which comprise Kenya’s still barely articulated, tragic herstory.
What Dust offers then is perhaps a movement through language—a connected movement of women’s bodies in language—in resistance to this slippage of memory into the “nothing left” of silence and erasure—“amnesia and amnesty”. This resistance of women who don’t belong, and have never belonged, women who scream or stutter, who dance and run, whose voices men never truly hear or understand, is a new possibility of what it might mean to become Kenyan and for Kenya itself to become a nation in the still-bleeding and restive shadow of post-independence and post-election violence. The idea of Kenya