Friday the 13th- SWEAT

Let me set the mood for today's story, a tiny matatu, probably, 11 seater. Plot twist, we are almost 700 in this space, no joke, literally 700 (we are tiny people so we are packed like tins of jam) okay, seriously, we are around 17 of us including the driver. Do I make up part of this excess? OF COURSE! I wouldn't be left behind while others had the time of their lives rubbing bodies and stuff. So, I am the excess on the very back row of seats. In my face, is a sweaty head. This is my substitute for Oxygen ladies and gentlemen. Body excretion is what I am filling my lungs with. Not like my lungs are in tip top shape though. Far from it, I've been blowing chalk dust rings since I was 7, I am the original 'Bad boy kutoka standard 2' #NyashinskiReference
Sidebar: can I just say how much I loved that song, kwanza the hook, "Usimpe roho yako waza kwanza wapi tofauti yake nao? Sina noma naye wououo!!!!!" Many are the matatu rides when I would fantasize being in possession of a flip phone like the ones they had in the video. Good times fam, good times.
Anyway, I digress. So, my lungs are full of the smell of a sweaty head. A constant smell that seeps into my nostrils slowly almost as if it were mocking my predicament.
"This is what you get for being an extra passenger," the smell said.
Its voice, rough, it reminded me of a heavy drinker. A throat severely inflamed by products of fermentation such that speech was, to put it lightly, not why the caged bird sings. I've been reading Maya Angelou, can you tell?
The smell reminded me of a hot afternoon in Nyeri, in the coffee farm with Guka aka Babu or as the Textbooks taught us, 'Grandpa'. I have honestly never brought myself to call that venerable Old Mzee Grandpa. It just feels fake, really.
I loved coffee harvesting time. The berries all nice and red, I picked one, peeled off its skin and threw it into my mouth. The sweetness was a bizarre sweetness I must say. Not much like the sweetness of sugar. Sugar which I snuck into the kitchen to lick, being sure not to leave any evidence of my little dance with the devil. I was a professional sugar thief, it was quite to my habit's advantage that I had one of those faces: round, fleshy, innocent, a face you wanted to pinch and invite to Bible study. So, you can see, my amazing evidence-deleting skills coupled with my face = pure innocence. That was until we got Sherlock Holmes as our house help when I was seven, but that is a story for another day.
The sweetness of a raw coffee berry fresh from the stalk, my feet still sunk in the cool red earth -Volcanic Soils is what the books called it- was a different sweetness. My mouth was warm and my saliva sticky. We didn't really talk as we worked, we just listened to the radio, KBC English Service, listening to the good old rhumba tunes as Guka whistled out the tune in perfect time with the sounds coming out of the small black Sanyo Radio.
"That radio is older than you are kijana."
Words of my mother's father reminding me for the umpteenth time that afternoon, that my birth was part of several others that justified his bald head and high blood pressure. The very same chain of births that justified his constant monologue of how we was aging backwards, jolly good eyesight, no fallen teeth and no walking aid, just the trusted pair he had used from the moment he learnt how to walk.
The sweetness of the coffee berry sat on my tongue, spreading its fingers to just around my throat, near that piece of human anatomy that hangs at the back of the mouth, I think it looks like a tampon if you ask me. I didn’t get hyper active suddenly, you know, clearing the land and writing a sonnet while at it. I didn’t even close my eyes like people do when they are ‘savoring’ a taste. I quoted savoring because I find the whole eyes closed thing a tad pretentious. I just went on being quiet, feeling sweat on my young back, making its way down, down, down wait- ugh too late, sweat bead leaves upper torso.

The sweaty head in the matatu took me back to that afternoon, the sharp smell of sweat, hardwork sweat, not fear sweat or basking in the sun sweat. Sweat that has that characteristic hardwork smell. We got caught up in traffic. The windows were stuck, as was I, with the sweaty hardworking head.

Today’s recipe is a really simple one, Vegetable Spaghetti with Sweet Potato Broth.

Ingredients
½ Sweet Potato (boiled)
2 carrots
2 onion
1 tablespoon of tomato paste
Spaghetti
½ cup of stir-fry vegetables
¼ cup milk
1 teaspoon Dhana Jeera spice
2 hard-boiled eggs
Fruit to dress

Method
Bring the spaghetti to boil for 5-7 minutes. Boil the eggs for 10-15 minutes. Chop up one onion and dice the two carrots and the half sweet potato. Bring this to a boil then add the dhana jeera spice. Boil these together then add the milk. Stir continuously to ensure maximum blending. Season with salt and other desired spices. Fry the other onion until golden brown then add the tomato paste. Let the paste cook in the onions for 3-5 minutes being sure to stir to avoid burning. Throw in the spaghetti and boiled stir-fry vegetables. Stir them together until the spaghetti gets a red hue.
Serving Suggestion

TIP: break your spaghetti stalks into half for ease while cooking. Once the spaghetti is done, drain it and run it under cold water to remove the slime.
Thank you for reading through, kindly look through my previous posts. Remember to share widely. Happy holidays.

What Holidays? I have no clue, let’s all just pretend we are in agreement.
Asante Sana and Kwaheri.