Turn left from that karoad off the main street and negotiate the three tu chuoms that house the women who sell delas and mtandios. Behind, on an alley almost blocked from sight by the draping apparels on sale, and choked full of footwares on display, there yonder, are strewn various open air cook joints that serve home cooked meals. Most are run by locals, the Giriamas, The Kaumas, The Pokomos, and in the particular case am telling you of, by A Digo lady of late middle ages. It is here that i mostly found my sorry backside, seated on the form, or a mtungi or a sufuria not in use, heartily munching away on some.matumbo, or pilau or chapati madodo many a lunch hour. Such was my fate for i could neither afford Blue Room or the Castle hotels , a stone throw from here.
It is here that i first met Rukia, a niece to the Elderly Digo proprietor . i first saw her doubled up washing the dishes, her head, tilted to the side, repeatedly swarting at her mtandio that was blocking her vission. From what i could see, she wasnt much of a looker, just a plain jane face. Her eye rashes were a jiffy on longer, and her teeth, not exactly symmetrical. I dismissed her and kept looking at my phone.
Once done with the matumbo sima, i called out. “Naomba maji kunawa ,na kuskutua” in the general direction of the old lady. She, turned her head, and belted “Rukia, mpe maji customer.
Rukia, still bent, lifted herself from the pile of soiled utensils, used her mtandio to wipe her face and hands, and came to me with a jug of water and a plastic cup. She washed my hands and poured me a drink. Then, she WALKED BACK to her dishes. She walked back, slowly, and deliberately, swinging her plain jane ass in a way i hadnt thought posible. I watched her walk, not walk, rather, swing ass back to the pile of utensils. And though i had my bill money in hand, i didnt raise to go. I gave Rukia a fresh once over, and determined that i would see what else that ass would do,on a spongy surface, were it to be the last thing i was written to. I asked for tea, hot tea. She poured it, and then walked away , again in a canter.
I sipped my tea slowly, looking at her, and at length, call it telepathy or whatever, she felt my gaze on her and lifted her face long enough to lock eyes for an eternity that had me signal interest and intent. However, by the time i left, besides the eye lock, not a word was exchanged.
The first words were several weeks later, and the sit down, at Blue room restaurant was a week later after the several week s.
Am not here to teach mkatiano, soni will spare u the bit, but as is normal with lineage, she was welcoming and a day was set, for the technical phase.
It approached fast.
On the new Malindi road, after Leisure, there is a stage known as VOK. Right opposite the entrance to Kbc, isna road that goea down. Skipping the turns for privacy, there is a guest house nestled within a block of flats. I sat on the bed, impatiently calling Rukia on the phone every two minutes with directions. A knock on the door confirmed her arrival, and her first words were…” Una mapepe kakangu… Haya mageni" as she rested her bag on the chair and wiped her face with the mtandio…
Ngojeni kidogo