Mwili mpya...

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“We are fucked!”  Tommie stared at the gas cylinder as if it had personally betrayed him. “Gas inaumua iishe sahii? Fuck! Sina job,  pesa ndio hii imeamua kuingia witness protection.” His wife, Mary, was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone with the kind of concentration usually reserved for presidential results. “Babe,  si unawarm ile maharagwe ya juzi?” Tommie turned slowly. “Those beans?” Mary nodded. “The same beans zimekaa kwa fridge tangu juzi?” “Tommie…” “Mary, hizo beans ziko na history.  Juzi ndio zilikuwa beans.  Leo ni story ingine.” Mary sighed. “Ju gas imeisha,  tunatupa hizo beans tulale njaa ama turisk?” Tommie closed the fridge because when he had opened the fridge to take out the beans to warm, a funny smell escaped. “Pasi lazima aniconfirmie kitu.” “What?” “Kwamba binguni tunapewa mwili mpya.” Mary laughed despite herself. “Why?” “Because hii yangu imechoka. Imeishiwa nguvu.  Sasa ju ya njaa, inataka kula beans ...
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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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