Kulala Vizuri
I like Mwihidini, whom Adam and I usually refer to simply as Baba. One of our usual taxi drivers, Mwhidini does everything slowly.
His slow driving makes me feel safe, and doesn’t jostle me too much as we bounce down my unpaved road. His slow Swahili makes him easy to understand and converse with.
He drops me outside the gate and I had him my fare.
‘Kulala vizuri,’ he says. Zuri sounds like nzuri, good, but I don’t understand.
‘Samahani, sielewi,’ I apologise.
He twists to face me, presses his palms together, and then places his hands alongside his face, tilting his head down to his right and closing his eyes.
‘Good sleep,’ he says.
‘Nashukuru! Lala salama, Baba.’