Happening now… My matatu ride-
The man seated next to me smells like raw meat hanging in a butcher. I passingly wonder what he tastes like.
It’s okay to wonder. I’m not a cannibal so it’s not dangerous. I’ve just always had such a mind. It goes in directions that I haven’t sent it. I’m still learning the art of taming it.
Not that I like raw meat, it is a beefy smell moreover not pork. I prefer pork to beef if you must know. Anyway, he did smell like beef. May be he worked in a butcher. I cast a glance at him as I write.
May be not. But why would his wife serve him raw meat then? That is, if he’s not from a butcher and he’s from home.
He has a cute face though. My glance lingered a bit and I noticed that he was cute-in-a-grandpa-kind-of-way.
I have to cast another glance now to make a better description. I lean back in my seat and ‘look out the window’.
Long face, white and black hairs (Did I tell you about a Swiss acquaintance of mine who had never seen a “black man with white hair” I knowww… ) Anyway he has a baseball cap on but he looks like what Timothy Bukumunhe should be looking like in a few years.
Did I mention that the car window on my side is closed? It is.
I used to be claustrophobic. Hence my former fear of mosquito nets & other things. I say ‘used’ to and ‘former’ because as I mentioned earlier I’m working on taming my mind.
I have a new theory on my matatu neighbor. I’ve had the chance to look at my his pants and he cannot be working in a butcher. His pants are army green, faded-ish and grimy. I think the white stuff I spy is paint. His right hand is resting on his left thigh and I can see his neatly trimmed, not-so-well scrubbed finger nails. I realise that as I look down (and point my nose down as well) that I do not smell the meat so I raise my head a few inches up and tilt it ever so slightly in his direction. Sniff. Wham! There it is.
I think he had beef for lunch. The chef didn’t do a good job.