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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Ma thigh😁

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On Christmas day of 2021, I was in downtown Nairobi to pick something, don't ask what. Somewhere close to a river, and bridge, and one old tree. Old as time itself. Off the main drag of this hubbub is Nairobi. The road there was wet, potholed, muddy, and puddled. The bars are small, with net curtains fastened to small full water bottles on one end. The bars there are noisy. Plus the noise there is vulgar. And the vulgar-ness is eternal. 

It keeps going. It keeps germinating. It keeps growing. It keeps shooting at you with, 

“How can they say that in public?”



That place had also another resident fame. 

Thighs! 

Let me tell you, beloved reader, there is a place in this city where thighs are big and expansive, well-oiled, and willing to see the outside. Standing thighs, seated thighs. One thigh on top of another thigh thighs. You will see thighs emerge from doors behind unholy darkness. 
Daytime darkness. Thighs that look like they have grown under a greenhouse-controlled atmosphere. Thighs that looked like they could grow healthy Hass avocado seedlings to fruition.  I don't think I have seen such a huge congregation of thighs in one place before—not that I have been actively looking. And I don't think I will ever—again.
That day, someone called me. I didn't pick. Later on, they called me to ask me why I didn't pick up their call. I couldn't say, I was at a place where thighs were endless. I profess openly not to be a thigh guy 99.9% of the time. 
I am a hot chocolate guy. Thighs can't affect me the same way hot chocolate would. I just remembered this because I recently saw a video on YouTube of a guy that filmed that part in Nairobi, and what he filmed, oh boy! came back with a true testimony of those thighs.


Written by Ndugu Abisai.

Edited by Letstoriesunfold ™

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Is a pleasure to keep you as my reader entertained. Peace✌️

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