A nipple, Boobs and Innocence

A matatu at Migori town bus park

Today in the mat a beautiful woman without a bra sat next to me.

I was traveling from Awendo to Migori when this yellow yellow bra-less woman, with breasts the size of water melons sat next to me.

This is how I knew she was bra-less, apart from seeing her bare huge nipple (it was a breast), surrounded by dark areola.

Yep, that kinda breasts that ain't shy and looong like a sleeve of a sweater.

They were haughty, youthful and proud like a minarate on a mosque. Men will know, the pair of breasts you meet in a crowd and the nipples shout:

"No collision! Lanes mate. Lanes, as you pitch your nether tents."

They were succulent. Sexy. Appetising and nutritious (the last two as source of infant food).

Making young babies moisture their dry, cracked lips with saliva

It (the huge nipple, stay with me) was peeping from a loose blouse's button.

I peeped once. Savoured it. Was it twice? I dunno, but not more than four times (I have manners).

Then I cough, soundlessly and meaninglessly like what you get when a knife slaughters a chicken's throat.

Actually, it was my three years old daughter, Manuella who alerted me. (Now you see, i was innocent) She was seated on my laps, sucking a lollipop.

When the lady tried to be friendly to her she recoiled, hugged me and burrowed her face in my chest.

"Huyu mtoto wako anaogopa watu? Mrembo unaitwa nani baby?" She asked. Manuella buried her face further.

When she tried to touch her, my shy daughter started crying. The kinda warning cry babies make before the wailer.

Then after a minute or two (Manuella noticed the lady was paying her fare) she moved closer to my left ear, cupped her hands around it and whispered:

"Mannu (that is how we call each other in intimate father-daughter talk) nyonyo ya auntie iko nje....." 

Nairobians; their cold induced smugness

Whoever said Nairobi, Kenyan capital is the city in the sun never had in mind the cold June and coldest July. The gloomy grey cloud and mist hanging the city discounts the mantra.

Coming to think of it today morning as I woke with a cold and blocked nose, the author of the saying must have been a Briton. A colonialist. The author fresh from gloom, grey and sleet of Britain with anxiety to entice his fellow countrymen for a piece of Kenya coined the phrase.

City in the sun? That only looks good in a tourist brochure (Tell that to a Mombasani sweating in Hotness)

With barely a month in the capital I find this weather funny. The mornings are not ushered in with the sun streaking the horizons. Golden rays touching golden skies for a poetic muse.

It’s rare in this month.

Instead the cold and groping mist hangs, stifling like a fart in a hot, windless and moist room. Thick grey clouds pregnant with sinister hang the sky like an over coat from an amateur artist.

Irony? As the clouds hung thick no rain falls, the earth is dry and dusty. Being windless, the dust and the mist hang about going nowhere forlornly.

The grayness is compounded by Nairobians. They never greet. In reply to your greeting they sound short, clipped in a groan like a ram kissing a slaughter knife. There must be unwritten code somewhere that greetings make women pregnant and men’s wallet to disappear.

You pass a greeting and a Nairobian freeze waxing cold. Looks and sees through you before replying in that clipped sound facing away.

And the colder it gets as we approach July the worse they will be in public places like under the city clock at my matatu stop, which inspired this post.

As a communication student a Nairobian body language in public shows high level of discomfort; legs pressed together. Hands folded tightly. Hand bags clenched. Their eyes (Like Edvard Munch’s mural The Scream) are stiffy and ferrety when they stand still, unfocusing but still when they move suppressing anguish.

A Nairobian is unattached, lonely and alone in a queue, bus park, lift or other public places. This sucks since even glasses clink in a tray, acknowledging others.

Beating this cold stupidity

I did beat this cold madness as I type this post behind the office computer seeping hot tea.

But the madness will return at 5pm during office close time. As if stung on their butts by a scorpion my erstwhile idle mates will spring citing urgent appointments. With hurried goodbyes they slither off.

Later when is stroll home, as I do every other day, I join them at matatu queue trying hard to look serious (And ignore me)

Worst, I will dread motorist flouting traffic lights and zebra crossing while honking foolishly.  Impatient pedestrians busy pushing, shoving and stepping on my shoes like the two insolent Nairobi girls yesterday.

Hurriedly and without apology they shoved and stepped on my shoes. Ahead at a corner in Ronald Ngala Street I found the pair bending over a hawker haggling a Ksh-20-tin-coated-hearing (yawa!!)

Kisumu mayor and police should act on rogue touts

I urge Kisumu mayor and traffic police commander to close the illegal bus stops around Kisumu Boys' High and Kisumu Girls' High. Touts have abandoned the bus stages designed for them and opt to pick and drop passengers at the Kisumu Boys' and Kisumu Girls' gate.

Tout operate on a commission basis extorting extra money from passengers to increase their cut. They know they are on the wrong but they seem not to care. Furthermore, a lot of time is spent haggling on the commission wasting travelers' time.

Published on Sunday March 14, 2010 by Sunday Nation/Kenya