MACHAKOS COUNTRY BUS, Nairobi.
I’m at the Country bus apo kwa gari za kangundo,tala just next to soko ya kamkunji, Board a KMOS Sacco matatu. Sarah is with me, alikuja na mimi Country bus kuniwish farewell. The long matatu (long chase) is yet loading and everyone else is either sat in the Matatu, leaning against it or simply loitering around wakisukumana na hawkers wa sweets,njungu na electronics Kama powerbanks na kadhalika. I’m sat just at the mouth of side entrance of the door, faced outside, drinking Afya and Kangumu talking to Sarah about things that don’t really matter (a gossip or two) .
A girl, a beggar, actually, hops by. No, not your regular ragged slightly deformed beggar. Huyu ni light skin , Taita probably. She has beautiful brown eyes, a soft, really soft curly hair and fluffy cheeks. She’s adorable. Everyone likes her. “Sanai”, they call her. Her left hand clutches a half-filled bottle of yoghurt and her right hand is stretched, asking for anything be it a coin or a note (mbesha). She doesn’t despair, doesn’t frown or hold a sober face. She doesn’t need to. She’s beautiful. So she just asks, authoritative seemingly: “Ndugu Saidia…saidia”. Kitu ingine yakuvutia kwa uyu mwanadada ni ati anaweza ongoea our one and only mayakos Language
So everyone gives her money, Ata zaidi ya yenye wanafaa kutoa. People like her, even strangers. I did too. Cute little thing. I Gave her a note and felt like giving her more. She in fact, starts a conversation with me. She asked if I was stingy, that’s why was I drinking Afya and “my farewell wisher” (Sarah) isn’t. Nikamwambia Sarah amekataa kununuliwa, she wasn’t feeling well. Sarah akani-back up ndio nisionekane stingy. Anyway, a little chat with adorable Sanai and she hops away, begging, and earning. Everyone wants to give her something. Beautiful little thing.
A moment passes. Another, then another.
And another girl comes. Behind her is a much older lady, blind. Mother and child, very likely. The little girl, probably younger or at most, age mates with adorable Sanai, leads the blind woman around, begging. The little girl is Chocolate. Her hair is short and coerce and her shirt is faded. Her face wears a flat expression, not necessarily sobber but reeking of joy, happiness or any positive emotion. So she comes, arm stretched. She doesn’t do the talking, the older blind lady does. They move to our matatu, and beg in vain. No one tells them a thing. No one stretches. I myself, do not find a need to. After all, the little girl whose arm is stretched is not Sanai the adorable. So, they walk away.
I only have the courage to write this, because just as they turned right just the end of our matatu and were vanishing, humanity snapped its fingers at my face. This little girl, who may not be half as charming as Sanai, obviously needs this token as much as Sanai does, or even more. The older lady behind her, who could as well have been her mother, is blind. The little girl cannot be as playful as Sanai. Behind her is a burden that is quite bigger than her. At less than 10 she has to take responsibilities for her mother, who can’t do that because of her obvious deformity.
So, shamefully, I peel away from the bus and dash towards them, mother and child, or blind and guide, and squeeze something into the tiny hands of the little girl, whose face reminds me of my 12 year old sister, and that makes it scarier
