Mwihidini
Mwihidini’s driving me home again. It’s the night before we leave for Nairobi for Sankalp.
I’m sitting in the front for the first time. Usually I prefer to sit in the back, to be driven and to maintain a semblance of decorum. I’m not sure how things are done here, but I never ride in the front of cabs back home. (I don’t ride in cabs at all if I can help it.)
But I like Mwihidini, his funny kofia sitting square upon the crown of his bald head.
As we drive, we make more small talk than we ever have. My Swahili’s improving daily, and I manage a conversation about how our days were, where I’m from, our respective ages, how many children I have, and how much I like mangos.
Turning down my dirt road, Mwihidini mentions that I’m leaving. Yes, but I’ll be back in two weeks.
He says something that I don’t understand.
Stopping outside my gate, he says in slow, Tarzan-like English syllables, ‘Lulu. Miss you.’