“My dreams are valid” I said. My voice barely a whisper. Talking under my breath.
I solemnly swore to myself on the graves of mosquitoes killed in the fight for supremacy between sleepy heads and the urge to feed… That their constant annoying buzz wasn’t
extinguished for nothing. As long as my blood ran red, and my heart beat was rhythmic – two beats and a thud. I the Rackster would never let an opportunity slip through my fingers.
It all started one Friday morning. Stepping out of the crib fresher than the prince of Bel-air wearing cucumber green pants. The sun smiling down on me coyly with a spring in my step that looked like the end of autumn – self confidence so high it had red eyes. Yes I was the man. Not just the man but thee man. Can I get an audacious Amen??!
Her smile was mesmerizing, her flirtatious little giggle enchanting and her dancing eyes hypnotic – biggie biggie biggie can’t you see her eyes just hypnotize me.
Brought back to reality by the characteristic vrrrrrrrrrr-pshhhhh noise of our chauffeured mode of transport (read the bus) I decided to hang back a few seconds.
” Boss unakacha?” An inquisitive conductor asked.
His voice was hoarse, his eyes were blood shot, a toothpick precariously hanging at the corner of his mouth, eight gold rings on his fingers like sha shabba ranks, and a cap that was pulled lower than a socialites self esteem.
I quickly got in as our chauffeur sped off. My eyes still adjusting to the dark interior I quickly browsed my surrounding until I caught a glimpse of the pink dress; my sweet day crush had adorned – lucky dress it reminds me of a nameless song.
I spotted her and made my way rather calmly and sat next to her. Fumbling in my pockets I reached for my phone and started aimlessly twiddling with it. Of course I didn’t have a message, and no it hadn’t rung, I just wanted to give myself enough time to garner the courage to say hi.
Being this close to her I was engulfed by her scent. I don’t know exactly what she had on but it had this fruity lingering sensation with a tinge of brute femininity. She smelled like a flower and at the same time as tough as a bull dog. I am not making sense am I?
Her skin was flawless, still radiant from the sun, her smooth chocolatey complexion seemed to glow.
“What are you waiting for?”
The voices in my head relentlessly nagging.
Taking a deep breathe I turned towards her and mumbled a weak hi.
She did not budge. Assuming I wasn’t loud enough I cleared my throat and tapped her ever so lightly on the shoulder afraid the roughness of my skin would bruise hers.
She turned her head, looking at me with those dancing eyes my voice decided to pull a Ruto maize scandal. I could barely let out a squeak, I felt like Raj in an episode of the big bang theory.
Smiling sheepishly I stretched out my hand in a manner signalling her to open the window. This did not seem to bother her as she willingly obliged.
“Ona sasa anafikiria ananuka”
“smooth … Real smooth”
The voice in my head was both sarcastic and curt.
From the corner of my eyes I could see that she was looking at me. Probably wondering who this akward guy was. By now my palms were a sweaty mess I was getting hot under the collar.
“Damn it! You’re blowing it!” I told myself.
“It’s now or never”
With a resolved attitude, I rubbed my hands on my pants put the phone back into my pocket and tapped her again.
She looked at me and in a soft voice genuinely asked
Followed by a chuckle.
She was toying with me. Apparently my intent to strike up a conversation was so palpable she picked up on it and decided to mould it.
Now I’ve never really been an artiste but God knows I was drawing up conclusions faster than a university lass would pose nude at the mention of terrific Tuesday pizza.
No I am not a misogynist, I just loathe the fact that lasses believe there is fame behind a 5 mega pixel and they flock behind them in droves like energumen.
Back to my story…
If this wasn’t heaven sent I don’t know what is. She was talking to me, and she even cracked a joke – never mind that it was at my expense. I like funny, funny is good.
“Actually fungua Kabisa niruke nje” I smartly retorted quickly followed by a smile
Now if you’ve been in Nairobi long enough you’ve become accustomed to a certain clique of girls that wear yoga pants coupled with dress tops, colorful old school rubbers and a head band on top of some atrocious mbalas looking like Katy Perry lost a battle with the lion during the shoot of the video roar. Trying to front an Osteria fine dining lifestyle behind a kuku porno, kenchic going, ratchet-chips eating lifestyle.
They then have this heavy ‘golden’ chain they wear under the collar – I don’t know what it signifies but I think it’s code for ‘I’m a slave to stupidity’. (Some actually look good, are smart and classy if this defined you, well… hats off)
Wait… Before you mercilessly attack me for being stereotypical riddle me this… Ah f**k it I don’t have the energy.
*commence your petty tantrums*
So anyway as is usual with such Nairobians – with their ‘fancy’ swanglish lingo they have dumbed down feigning ignorance you’d think the only.boom they ever read had pictures of an apple and a bold ‘A’ sitting pretty next to it. Dj snake should do a re-endition specifically for them “dumb down for what!”
You constantly get replies laced with ‘az in’ and ‘una mean’ because they apparently think they’re too cool (Or is it hot?) to think.
But not her. She noted the sarcasm laced humor, laughed and lightly slapped me on the shoulder – actually it was more of a gentle shove like we were old time buddies.
Why hadn’t I talked to her sooner.
Minutes of mindless banter turned into animated conversation Gado would be jealous, contacts were exchanged and she even gave a stern warning of having to wait too long.
So here was the girl of my dreams and as we parted ways only one thing echoed in my mind
“No matter where you’re from your dreams are valid”
Not to soon is it?