Your morning hanging

I've been up in Naivasha for the last few weeks working on a documentary with a director named Henry Singer. It's been lots of fun.

Except for Friday morning at 7:30. I was speeding along the South Lake Road on the back of a motorcycle taxi on the way to do a few interviews, and noticed a bunch of people standing around staring at something. "What's going on over there?" I shouted to James, my driver, as we whizzed past.

"Didn't you see the guy hanging from the tree?"

"Turn around."

Back we went, and James was right. There was a guy who had been hanged. According to James, who had stopped and done a little snooping on the way to pick me up, the guy was a matatu tout who had run afoul of someone else, so they hanged him. Fortunately I am no longer a wire service reporter, so I was not duty-bound to snap a picture or get to the bottom of it, and I left, feeling sickened by the whole thing.