crEATive

I was headed home one afternoon recently. I had had this mutura craving the whole day and I finally caved, I went by the mutura place to get myself 50 bob worth of an herbivore’s intestines. There is a path I take from the mutura guy to my humble abode. The path itself is a delight. A total gem. On either side stand buildings; some semi complete, some fully complete, others just structures put together with sand and ballast. Most of these buildings are shops, salons, churches, you name it. Any money-making enterprise that can fit a 21-square-foot room. Further along the path, there’s a broken sewer pipe. That part is perennially wet. Come rain or Maji ya Kanjo rationing, this place is where the hydration is happening. If this part of the path were a person’s skin, then trust you me that would be one heck of a hydrated face. Glowing to the high heavens and not even one break out. Right after this small oasis, stands my favorite feature along this path. THE PUB. I don’t

Type… type… erase erase… pause… stalk on Instagram… YouTube… type some more… shut the computer down, go out and buy samosa pale kwa Sanchez, pass by the barbers’ to pick up my USB drive, get back to the house, let Patricia in and leave out Puss in the cold (she has a boyfriend so…), chill with Patricia listening to her chastising me for being mean with milk, I decide to tell you this story instead. I love supermarkets. I do. There’s people who love money, others love their women, another group loves their children, and then there’s me, who loves supermarkets. There’s something about the aisles that has me going. The shelves stocked with things, most of which I buy just to hoard and some of which, like every normal person, I like to imagine myself buying. I like imagining myself buying a leather jacket and two brooms, adding Nan baby formula and eye drops just for the shit of it. I like imagining how the people around me will look at me as I lay these items out on the counter.