JOY ON THE STREETS

We make a stop at a very highly populated area with street foods of all kinds being sold on the busy roadsides. The aroma, oh my goodness! I forgot to mention that bordering Tanzania, this community has been ranked the best in delicacies in the country, and I tell you, the aroma beckons you from miles away. It's irresistible.


As we step out of the car, my attention is immediately drawn to the array of delectable dishes laid out before us. I momentarily forget our initial destination as I find myself ogling the tantalizing spread.

"Hey!" Damian's voice breaks through my reverie, bringing me back to the present moment. I turn to find him standing beside me, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches me devour the dishes with my eyes.

I quickly push aside the exciting prospect of exploring the Bombolulu market for the time being. "Can we have some first, please?" I ask, my stomach rumbling in anticipation.


Damian raises an eyebrow, his expression one of playful skepticism. "Are you sure you can eat that?" he queries, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I get what he means. I have never tasted any street food ever. I even hated them because I heard that they were dirty and gave most of the people a stomach upset. But all that turns cliche right now. These ones do not look like those black shirts sold in some streets in the name of, I don't know what. These ones look clean. The aroma and the color are enough proof. They passed my judgment. Mental note, the first thing I am purchasing from this town is a booklet of their recipes. I might as well learn to be a chef while I am here.


"They look absolutely delicious. I really want to try them. But don't feel pressured to eat if you're not up for it," I assert, my eyes still fixed on the mouthwatering dishes.

"Come on," Damian urges, taking my hand and leading me towards one of the bustling kiosks.

"Karibu sana ndugu na malkia wako. Mwambaje?" The beautiful lady behind the counter greets us warmly in her Swahili accent, a smile gracing her lips as she addresses us. Her words translate to "Welcome, brother, and your queen. How are you?"

I can't help but stifle a chuckle at her unexpected greeting. I exclaim softly, feeling a mixture of amusement and surprise at her playful choice of words. His queen hits differently.

This city is really distinct from all the other cities in Kenya in all aspects. The kind of Swahili they speak is nowhere even an inch close to the nonsense spoken in these other cities. This one is polished and thoroughly refined. I have to leave Damian to converse with the lady because I do not want to bite my tongue, twisting it to their richly heavy wording and pronunciation. Dang!

I love the way he interacts with them, but his accent differs from theirs a little. It's not so different, but it's noticeable. So he isn't from this region? I thought…

"What do you want to order?" My wonderments are cut short by his voice.

"Aah... Anything as long as there is chicken pilau," I answer. This definitely has got to be the first dish I tasted here. It is exceptional. Again, the shit we call pilau is an insult to theirs. I can not really tell if it is the ingredients that we use differently or what.

I should probably consider settling here permanently. Nothing is tying me down back in the capital anyway. And I am not as lonely as I thought I would be here. God sent me a friend. Annoying, but tolerable all the same.

My plate of the most mouthwatering pilau dish finally arrives, and I want nothing more than to dig into this delicacy.

The first bite is pure bliss. I have to close my eyes to fully savor the sweet taste that dances on my taste buds. The food is incredibly soft, almost melting in my mouth, making it effortlessly chewable. As it glides down my throat, the taste is nothing short of heavenly.

I take another bite, and it's just as delicious as the first. The flavors explode on my tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. At that moment, I find myself lost in the sheer delight of the food. It's so good that I could almost imagine myself settling down with a man from this region just to have access to this culinary delight every day. It's that irresistible, that intoxicating. My, oh my!

I throw a glance in Damian's direction, wondering why I am not even feeling him twitch on the seat beside me, but I collide with his gaze on me.

"You know, everyone is looking at you," he states.

I roll the corners of my eyes, and sure enough, according to his words, almost a thousand eyes are on me. Some idiots have even rolled down the windows of their cars on the congested road just to ogle at me.

Well, if they expect me to be sorry or ashamed, they are freaking wrong. I have never tasted such a delicacy, and I don't care if the whole world knows how I am enjoying it. However, an unsettling thought crosses my mind, making me freeze in my seat and pause chewing my food. I might have forgotten that I am on the run. What if someone recognizes me and tips my father?

Oh, hell, no!

I stand on my feet at lightning speed, not minding if people will see me as more weird or insane. "Can we eat inside the car?" I turn to Damian.

"Sure," he says with a confused look, and I pick up my pace and leave him to explain to the lady.

I cross the road with care, holding on to my special plate, without turning back. How in hell could I have been so reckless?

"Are you okay?" Damian asks as we settle inside the car.