This ramble was inspired recently as I waited for the matatu to fill up one afternoon.
I love the guy that passes by, wearily dragging his cart but with a look of determination;
I love the teenagers leaving against the wall, two boys full of swagger probably waiting for their friend;
I love the woman who passes by, she looks like she could do with some fashion tips;
I love the young lady that struts after her, heels clacking on the pavement and white underwear showing;
I love the conductor with his self confidence and sexual appeal as he tries to persuade the pretty girls to board his matatu;
I love the man in official clothes who looks like he’s headed for a lunch meeting;
I love the Indian Kenyan guy who settles in beside me, his sleeves folded to reveal hairy arms and his eyes glued to his phone;
I love the couple in front of me, they’re whispering into each other’s ears and look like they need a room;
I love the girl that has just come into the matatu, weave on her head swinging from side to side;
I love the driver with his toothpick, he has just switched on the engine.
I love Kenyans, that’s all I meant to say.