Get into the matatu, find my seat, backbencher ndani ya nganya when this lass in sweatpants joins me.
“You have a pretty smile,” I’d told her, as vanilla a way as any to break the ice, but which still managed to be effective.
The tell was there. I had just left the kinyozi, my face massaged and pulled up, down, sideways, my moustache trimmed to Ezekiel Mutua’s pastoral standards. Having thus edited God, it would not have been a shock if I appeared in a Sauti Sol (shirtless) video, to the extent that the barber lady told me I have a nice smile. She had a big bust, and I know I say women should not be in the barbershop, but we can make an exception for her, for she has a good heart somewhere behind that Saturnalian D Cup. Whether she took my number is irrelevant, but I was feeling myself, and it was a pity there are clinically blind men around, for they could not witness what a nice taper fade could do to a man. And believe me, a good haircut can make anybody believe in God. It is also true that I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty...but I am too busy thinking about myself.
To ensure as many people as possible see me, I walked from Luthuli Avenue, also known as the wrong side of the wrong side of town, crossed Tom Mboya Street into Moi Avenue, and floated to Koinange Street to pay homage, if you know what I mean. These are the small pilgrimages that give a man his sense of self-worth. Satisfied that Nairobians have been blessed with optical nutrition, I made my way back to Ambassador, to board Kawangware 46 buses, because deep down where only my girl knows, I am still a local boy in the process of making it, where I can jump the fence to Lavington, also known as the South Sudan capital outside South Sudan. Soon, by the way. Kuna deal inaivana. For now, Kawangware is paradise.
