Walking  along Nairobis Haile selassie Avenue, i almost  collided with a  pregnant woman  whose skin was glowing  with youthful  fragance.

In this country  where  teachers and  nurses  strike at a drop of a hat and a mooing cow could  lose  its innocence at a ‘private clinic’  in a flash, she allowed a tadpile to whiplash across her Atlantic  and zap  one of her prized eggs  into life brave girl.

Her face was bereft  of that unhappy  strain in women who regret  walking down  the aisle, so I guessed  she was newly  and still happily married. The stains and strains come later. Or maybe  she was single  and the father  of her  unborn child  vanished, like the man who  urinates on a lamppost  and walks, without backward glance.

Hopping  over an open drain, I wondered  whether she met him at a wedding. Maybe  church or  Facebook. Maybe they  were workmates. Or perhaps she shoved his thigh crudely  against hers i a matatu and strucj up a conversation, as if that would ignite  a defunct  volcano. It always  starts with the  weather  by the way, even in this digital  age.

“The cold  in this town  can kill someone… ”

She rolled  eyes and smiled scornfully. Deep down, she knew he was thinking of a different kind of heater so she glared at him, shifted  from  annoying  thigh and stared out at the window. But the  ‘fisi’  kept talking.

He asked for her phone number. She ignored him.(this is where all the  problems start). Finally in exasperation, she gave in to shut him up because he kept pleeding  and pestering, oblivious of the disapproving  looks  from akorino couple  in the adjoining  seat. When she alighted, he said  bye, excluding  a fondness  so fake she was tempted  to smack hom across the face.

“He will probably  send me a lewed text message  an hour  from  now and I will  call and rudely  tell him off, “she swore. But a day passed. Then two, a week, two, a month.. He never called.

Evey time her phone buzzed  she hoped it was  that annoying  gum-chewing matatu man so she could  scream,” Never, ever  call this number again! “then hang up and block his  number. She was dying  to tell someone  all the nasty  things  she  wanted  to tell her ex. But, like Pablo, he never called.

Then one boring Friday  in the middle of the month when everyone is broke, thw heat is stifling  and her former  best  friend  had just post 13 pictures in Facebook – holding  pablo, riding  on Pablo’s back, gazing adoringly at pablo, feeding  pablo-her phone  rung.

Clearing  through  nervously  :”Hi.. Its me. ”

Angry hiss:” what do you want? “smooth like a snake :” could we please  like to have  a coffee? Today? Please?

Four hours  and three  bottles of smirnoff later, she realized  how lonely  and vulnerable  she was, how much – any man. “do  you have  it?” she  whispered when they kissed  in  the taxi outside  her flat.

The condom burst that night. And like a man  who oees on a lamppost, spits  and walks away  zipping  jid pants  without  backward  glance, he malted  into the dusty morning  air  and never  returned.

Seven  months on, there  she was, walking  bravely  down the street on a Saturday  afternoon, wondering, like vher folks and friends :Where is  the baby daddy?.

Hahaha pablo….



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