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There's only one Prince, and he's gone

Prince

NAIROBI: ‘Lovers like us dear, are born to die. If nobody thrills me or kills me soon, I’ll die in your arms under the cherry moon.’

When I was 17, shortly after listening to those Prince lyrics on tape in my bedroom, a fellow teen called Oscar Ebalu from a neighbouring estate and I went to the Nairobi West shopping centre one mid-August after dusk, where I was promptly shot by carjackers fleeing the scene of a robbery.

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