"She is a hunter and he is a gatherer. She loves building enterprises; he has a penchant for making money. But they have to be married because they both want one thing. POWER. "
HUNTER AND GATHERER
The Story
Hunter and Gatherer is an African family drama novel that fictionalises Kenyan politics. With its many deficient tragedies and comedies, Kenyan political reality has often seemed tailor-made for fictionalising. One sees a rich welter of issues and personalities that hover around our present-day national politics. Amid the drumbeats of a tumultuous election, the tale is emotionally filled with a neat mix of poignant family heartaches... two unshakable brothers competing for power with an enchanting and scheming woman in the mix. Recipes include dark demons that come back to haunt, and a dose of vendetta in a dramatic, vivid urban settings of a corrupted metropolis. Nairobi.
This novel will sweep you away until the last page.
Kassela Obange is an intelligent and ambitious marketing professional covertly orchestrating her destiny to success in advertising in the bustling business community of Upperhill, Nairobi. The millionaire tenderpreneur Rapudo Oremo wants to marry her. Her unwarrantable attraction to him presents her with the prospect for power and freedom her heart truly yearns for and she is thrown into the arena of absurdity. Rapudo has only one goal: to use politics for gain. He wants to expand his business and amass more millions even if he has to plot to unseat his older brother, the MP for Busa North Constituency, and take over the seat. He is vicious and overtly ambitious. He’s shrewd. He’s ruthless. He’s unscrupulous. He’s flamboyant. He surrounds himself with shady deal makers, power brokers, ruthless lawyers and goons from Katwikira in Kibira. Every political force in his path is turned into a surrogate for the motifs on the contemporary political scene. But this not any politics. This is Kenyan politics. It comes with furious vengeance and it is manned by greedy and corrupt players with cold-blooded underhand dealings. The game is played in a nefarious world. In a shrouded metropolis. In Nairobi City. The world of men.
Kassela finds herself in a spot. She must be Rapudo’s wife. He must marry her on her terms. Her evolution from an ordinary professional into a cold blooded political animal is not by chance but by circumstance. She is from Dandora in Nairobi’s Eastlands. She was born to struggle and use every opportunity that comes in her path. She finds herself ensnared in the dirty world of greed, power and politics as the maiden between two fighting brothers. But for her, it’s a massage. It’s chicken coming home to roost.
REVIEWS
This is one of the new African family drama novels. The plot is cunning and intricate, the atmosphere sustained and terrifying, the characterisation never falters. Obvioulsy one of the top African novels of all time.
—GABRIEL DINDA, WRITERS GUILD-KENYA
If you're looking for the best African novels to read, look no further. Okang'a Ooko is Kenya's answer to Jeffrey archer.
—MOSES KAJWANG, HOMA BAY SENATOR
In the end, there are two strands running through Rapudo's life that are utterly incompatible. On the one hand is Evalyne, a rare woman of Nairobi, a political animal with Nairobian integrity and intelligence, and his own undistinguished business acumen and political ambition, a combination to bring him power, success and obscurity; on the other his fame, wealth and reputation, a one-off political game that cannot be lost, and only Rapudo knows why. Then there's Kassela. She is ideal. She is the hunter.
—LAKE VICTORIA READERS GROUP, KENYA
Kassela Aluoch Obange
She is mysterious, tantalising, alluring, wanton. Deep within this desirable but strange woman burns the violent fires that can destroy a man. Her unwarrantable attraction to Rapudo presents her with the prospect for power and freedom her heart truly yearns for and she is thrown into the arena of absurdity. Rapudo must marry her on her terms.
Robert "Rapudo" Oremo
He is vicious and overtly ambitious. He’s shrewd. He’s ruthless. He’s unscrupulous. He’s flamboyant. He surrounds himself with shady deal makers, power brokers, ruthless lawyers and thugs from Katwikira in Kibira. Every political force in his path is turned into a surrogate for the motifs on the contemporary political scene.
CHAPTER EXCERPT
The predator
She lowered her fingers over the shard of sunlight on the keys of the shiny laptop on her desk and slowly exhaled. An ad was running on Windows Media Player, the slick come-on for the cancer campaign. The insincere and oily voice-over could be heard distinctly, but like all well-crafted propaganda, the message was carried in the visuals as well. The pitch began with a dramatic surge of captivating visuals, clever graphics, and a plethora of emotionally charged icons. The screen was filled with a dense amalgamation of medical images that intensified the impact of the message, all of which coalesced into the client’s name and logo. When it ended, she pursed her lips, sat back, and sighed with dejection. It’s not effective at all. Creative, but does not promulgate messages of hope and renewal. Marketing? Zero. To inspire herself, she clicked on Chrome, went to YouTube, and funneled the energy of a live ohangla violin into a spirited sail through the office.
Upperhill seemed quiet. Perhaps a little too quiet. It was a strange day in the wet month in Nairobi City, one of those odd days when sunshine and warmth suddenly sprang up in the middle of the rainy days. The height of February was coming on strong in the early year’s majesties and mildly nonplussed the pace of Upperhill, a pleasant part of the city on the edge of the hill where Kenya began—indeed an almost well-preserved part of Old Nairobi. The upscale business district appeared as a fevered dream, consuming the benefits of unfettered capitalism. It was ever-changing, this landscape of tower blocks—growing, and expanding. A secluded and tidy world with an invigorating ambiance, its skyrocketing complexes, modernist behemoths, and imposing towers were the sanctuaries where business dreams and rituals were enacted in Eastern Africa.
Beams of sunlight of mock-serious morning promises steamed like hot Brookbond tea, and paints on the buildings glistened like a smear of yellow Blue Band margarine. The sun was bright from the tip of the busy Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to the depths of Kileleshwa suburbs, providing a raging temperature variation. It was a blustery day, for sure. The heat wasn’t punishing—just enough to nip at those who stayed outdoors too long. A vast majority of the people working within this leafy business community raised their eyebrows and complained about the sudden change in the weather.
Inside the offices, air conditioners hummed. The blinds fluttered; the sun glared now and then, admitting a whole treasury of golden rays to brighten the interior of the office with their cheerful glow. Yet the sun’s touch was failing to pluck at her manly heartstrings and her hunter’s instincts. It was a battle within herself always—to look for another job or be submissive; accept the fact that she was stuck in this lousy job and deal with the downward parabola precipitously accelerated by the frustrations of an underutilized executive. Or quit. Quit? And be jobless? As a professional, she knew she shouldn’t be so accepting of her fate—especially since there were other qualified marketers with that same fate all over Nairobi. It wasn’t natural and far from normal. Temboland Advertising was a haven for some shenanigans the consumers of their ads were not aware of. Now the shenanigans heralded a new level of low for her—and she was worried.
She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and savored the sweetness of the grinding ohangla music; the crystalline tenor keystrokes, haunting in its rhythm, soothing and fluid. Then—finish the proposal. She pulled up her laptop with a fragile sense of resolve and started typing. Her serious face scanned a complicated series of charts and graphs. When it was ten minutes to the hour of eleven, she got up and stretched. She called the coffee shop downstairs and ordered the much-needed beverage. Her attention renewed, she repositioned herself on her chair and attacked her laptop. The ohangla music faded away and was replaced by the raspy sounds of a woman hyped with adrenaline, intently juggling at a computer keyboard. Then she punched one key, sat back, and heaved a heavy sigh. Her manicured fingers rested on gleaming keys, not typing. Her eyes were on the computer screen, searching, impatient, revealing nothing of herself except the weariness of stress and workload on the chiseled face of a middle-aged Luo woman. Take a break. After a hard day farming the corporate commons, it is time for a little hoedown.
The words came to her. Targets of Opportunity—don’t miss! It was a copy bandied about on a Marketing Society Facebook post, and it wouldn’t leave her mind today. This was one hell of a day. The heat of mid-morning was stirring thoughts uncommon to her. Philosophical musings that pursued her came now and seemed overwhelmingly compelling. She switched her thoughts and was soon floating up in her dream again. In less than a month, she mused warmly, the cancer campaign would take off, amplified by print and electronic media. The city would join the militaristic cancer campaign sweeping the country. But instead of smiling, she frowned as nuances in her body language painted a puzzling picture.
The feeling came again; the hot flush of expectation on her face. There was a sense that today she would be lucky—she wasn’t the kind of person to take good fortune for granted. No one could ever call her a believer in fate. Whatever it was that had defined her identity over the years was her sense of focus. She knew that Nairobi meant business, and she worked hard to be part of the city agency to which she was indebted, and she expected some kind of recompense for her loyalty and exertion. But something told her this was the day in which a series of events would ultimately cause her life to change dramatically, and she would be thrown onto the open market to the mercy of the highest bidder.
Her instincts were right. The telephone went off. Ngrrrriiiing! At first, she glared at it with a frown and let it ring three times. Then she picked up the black cordless Panasonic handset and leaned back in her seat.
“Kassi Obange, hello.” She said her initial “hello” in a restrained way, as if greeting a minor royalty from the Marketing Society.
She heard a pleasant male voice. “Hello? Is that Kassela Obange?” Her first instinct was that the caller didn’t know her well. Her friends and colleagues called her Kassi. That was how she introduced herself, even on her business cards. “I think only my mother calls me that these days; I’m Kassi.”
She heard him take a deep breath or a sigh, which showed a sign of nervousness. Then, “Miss Obange, I was wondering whether I could meet you?”
She was sure she didn’t know this man. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, “I don’t think you know me. I’d better introduce myself; I’m Oyamo. Fred Oyamo.”
The name rang no bells apart from the fact that he was Luo like herself. “Mr. Oyamo, what can I do for you, sir?”
“Actually, Miss Obange, I have a proposition for you, and I was wondering whether you would spare me a few minutes of your time. I would like to meet you. This is a bit urgent.”
Kassela was awed. In essence, she didn’t want to sound rude, but she was getting irritated. She hated questions with no answers. Wondering whether was a vague statement, to begin with.
“Urgent? Ati? What would you like to see me about?”
“It’s not something that we can discuss over the phone.”
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Bio
I'm Okang’a Ooko—a novelist and senior book designer with deep roots in publishing, storytelling, and design. I specialize in helping publishers and agents deliver polished, compelling books that resonate with their markets. Whether you’re producing high-volume titles or championing a first-time author, my design solutions ensure your books look as powerful as the stories they tell, captivating readers, and reflecting professional quality from cover to final page. As an author, my novels explore history, politics, culture, music, love, and identity—told through emotionally rich, character-driven narratives that captures nostalgia, societal conflict, and the personal struggles of those facing change and disconnection. Read more »
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