Mteja 2

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Let's rewind to 1:00 PM when she had texted:   “Souley,  go to this place in Ngara,  ask for a guy called Musyoka.  He has the samples.  Just call me when you get there,  I’ll guide you.” Simple, right?  Now it’s 2:44. I’m here. I’ve found Musyoka. He’s chewing miraa, eyeing me like I’m slowing down his evening high.   “Oyaa,  niko na samples.  Si useme venye madam alisema.  Ni hizi ama zile?” I freeze. I don’t know. I was told to wait for her instructions. I try to call her again. Mteja. I text. Double tick. No blue. I even WhatsApp call her, desperate moves, you know? Musyoka is now shifting his weight like a man about to disappear. I try calling her again, muttering under my breath,  “This woman will be the end of me.” Then the rain starts. Nairobi rain doesn’t fall, it attacks. Boda guys scatter, hawkers scramble to save their goods, and I’m there, hunched under a mabati shade, holding a phone that won't ring, wit...
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