Love Brewed in a Matatu

I hate when people see me at the supermarket and they’re like, “hey, what are you doing here?” in my mind am like “oh you know hunting elephatns”

Haha! Hunting elephants in deed.

It’s still Njaanuary and the heat is insane. We still got two more weeks and get to cross over to the most challenging month to any man – where you dig deeper into your coffers and bring forth some expensive demonstration of love to some special damsel that won’t mind walking out on your broke ass if you don’t style up with the season…. (sic)

“blessed is he who is still single…”

Talking about love. With this Njaanuary, the month of dry spells (literally), I kinda got to experience some kind of love (or another version of it). The kinda of love that’s brewed from a nganya (a souped matatu).

She was seated by the window of my favorite nganya, Buju (#FreeBuju), staring out over the yonder, seemingly lost in deep thought – not the kind like she’s bothered by something but as if she was contemplating hard about something. I walk to the back of the nganya and sit beside her. She turns a bit with a fake smile on her face (such a welcoming party) probably to reassure me that the seat wasn’t taken. There are look ladies give to jamaas that tell you to back off, okay but do not disturb, okay but we can converse or hey, have my number (this doesn’t exist, I just made it up).


I gently tap her on the shoulder,

“Hi, am Muto”


I tapped her again, this time she turns trying to smile, and our eyes temporarily met. Damn her eyes! Eyes that can see through the bullshit and right into deeper better self.


“The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name”.

She laughs with a blush in her laughter. (Halleluiah)

“Am Shiro” still blushing.

It was love at first sight!


To be continued…


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