As a little girl, Rebecca avidly subscribed to the Puffin Club magazine. She once decided to enter a competition in which children were asked to write a story about a zany family. She didn’t have to think too hard about it; she penned a thinly veiled fictional tale about her own family and won. The following year she read Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh and from that moment on, knew she had to be a writer.

She hung out of trees, hid beneath beds and in dark, musty cupboards spying on family and friends and scribbling notes about them all.

Fast forward twenty years and that burning desire to be an author was but a distant dream. But then something happened which was to change her life: she had a terrible skiing accident, shattering her left heel bone to smithereens. Finding herself in a wheelchair, she was told she may never walk again and in the face of that terrifying prospect, poured all her energies into that long-forgotten dream. She started to write her first novel and found she couldn’t stop. So she didn’t.

Rebecca is out of her wheelchair and is now celebrating the publication of her third novel, The Secret Life of Alfred Nightingale, set in Crete during WW2 and 1967. She lives in Nairobi with her husband and three children where she runs creative writing workshops for kids and young people, reads like a woman possessed, seeks out stunning spots to go camping, struggles in the mornings, plays the ukulele, takes lots of photos, uses an ancient nokia phone and practises yoga. She can’t do any balancing poses on her left foot, but reckons that’s a small price to pay for being reunited with her greatest love of writing.



My yoga mat

Taking photos

Playing my ukelele

Choosing earrings from my baobab tree

Playing Einaudi