Central Business District

full volume. i always wear my earbuds on full volume. on the bus, on the street, in the house, full volume. i like music, a lot. at least that’s what i tell others; that it’s easy for me to get lost in the instruments, the voices, the synths. not to run away from my thoughts. no, never to run away from my thoughts.

“umekasirika?” the conductor starkly asks.

“huh?” i reply. i didn’t hear him. i never hear anyone, at least that’s what my friend says. he repeats himself a couple of times, slowly angered by each “huh” i mutter back at him. eventually, after what feels like eons, i say “apana , sijajam.” we both share a laugh before the vehicle begins moving again.

the trip never ends, the journeys never stop. it’s always from one point to the next. objectively that may not be true, however no matter how conscious i am of the dissonance in my mind, it doesn’t stop feeling that way. ever.

sooner rather than later, we’re at the stage. or what’s left of it rather. hundreds of buses through my tiny lens. i hardly ever wear my spectacles. they make me look rather professional, and that’s not really my preference. times like these though, i’m glad i have them in my pocket. i need to look serious here, i have to. i’d much prefer being called “madam” than “msupa” at this hour of the night. granted, it’s still early, but better safe than sorry no?

luckily enough for me, i’m dressed like a pre-pubescent boy. then again, when aren’t i? i digress. the walk is relatively long, but doesn’t feel like it. as you can tell by now, i focus on my feelings a lot. it’s all i have. all i know. i’m human after all, i think it’s well within my rights to feel. despite how much i focus on my feelings, you’d probably assume that they’re mostly positive: excitement, bliss, eagerness, joy, happiness. but i have close to none of that. in the past week or so, i could count the 4 emotions i’ve felt through out each day… anxiety, fear, tiredness, and the fourth one i like to call my “default” - a big fat cup of nothingness combined with “what the fuck am i doing here?”

anywho, back to my trek. i weave through the millions of people walking in the opposite direction from me. sometimes i think to myself, “where on earth are all these people going?” More importantly, “why am i not going there?” it feels like they’re all going to a central location, a secret one, one they are forbidden from telling me. some days i want to follow them. to ignore all sense of direction, and just go with them. forget about home, about where i need to be, who i need to be, why i need to be and just be with them. maybe it would make me feel like i am part of something. is that all i want? to feel like a part of something? maybe. i don’t know. i never know.

these people, they’re like ants. billions and billions of legs, short legs, long legs, skinny legs, fat legs. don’t even get me started on their torsos. most are disproportionate to the rest of their bodies, but that’s a conversation for another day. some of them have bags on their backs, others clutch their purses firmly in their hands. then there’s the rest, walking with only whatever they have in their pockets. i fall into that category, not because i don’t own bags (i actually don’t) but because i don’t like the hassle of having to carry anything else on me, dragging this body around is more than enough for my feeble legs to bear.

“bak bandika, bak bandua” my swahili teacher would say. i never thought i’d ever actually see people walk that way, with so much haste, as though the ground is a bed of nails, up until i started coming to the central business district of this very Nairobi i call home.

hawkers to my left, hawkers to my right. i never know where the people end and the road begins whenever i’m in the CBD. even with my earbuds at full volume, the hoots of buses, shouting of other random civilians and commotion all around me is uncomfortably audible. some of the hawkers try to touch you in a futile attempt to get you to stop and purchase something, anything from them. could be a pair of socks, a pair of nail clippers or even a knife. all they want is just a second of your time, just a glance, an inquiry on the price, for them to tell you “bei ni ya mwananchi, bei ni ya kuongea”. surprisingly enough, that is my favorite aspect of the CBD. not the germs and bacteria riddled in their fingernails, but the humanity of it all. i felt wanted, albeit, as a pawn in their endeavor to escape poverty, but beggars cannot be choosers… i’ll take the win. i don’t have much of those, so i’ll hold on to it. the one place i feel desired, be it me, or the money in my phone, the coins in my wallet, the perception of wealth they get from my aura.