I love Kenya. But I also despair of it. I spent nearly two years of my childhood in Nairobi, and throughout the long, grey years of my Glaswegian youth the memories never left me. The orange dirt roads of Tsavo. The dazzling white beaches of Mombasa. The broiling sun. The pungent rains.It was just a few years after independence when we went there. The "winds of change" that Macmillan had spoken of in 1960 - 45 years ago this week, as it happens - had blown away British rule. Kenyatta, with his Kikuyu fly-whisk, was in charge. Every morning the...