“Cheki huko.” Kyalo tells me, gesturing with his face. It points forwards, towards the side of the road. I follow his face. But apart from a few rocks, a posterior end of a slow bump and a gentleman in a Standard Newspapers jacket hawking airtime, I don’t see anything else of interest. I turn towards him, he is shaking his head slowly and intermittently producing a sound that normally conveys disbelief and disapproval.
Kyalo is my cab guy. He is a really awesome cab guy. He observes time better William Ruto. If you tell him to pick you at seven, he will be at your place at 6.55. After the first few journeys, he stopped setting a price for me, only responding with nipe ile uko nayo to my pesa ngapi. On this particular day, we’re going up Kilimani Road, and we are in no hurry.
He looks at my blank face and asks, “huoni?”. (more…)
Native Essays 