The first time I saw her was at the Concours D’elegance– an annual car show held at the Nairobi Ngong Racecourse. The day had been brilliant, despite the heat and unusual brightness. It was, in fact, that brightness which first drew me to her, the sun illuminating her, setting her figure ablaze. The sight of her was like the image of a moth fluttering near a candle flame. I liked what I saw.
My love for cars, both modern and vintage began long time ago but it had been strengthened soon after I started watching Top Gear. Councours was the first car show I had ever been too. All the while I had concentrated on the range of cars being showcased until this angelic lady appeared. Her presence gave me a moment’s pause as I stopped on the sidewalk to soak in the sight of her.
She sat on a plastic chair a few metres from where I was standing. Her lovely legs were tucked under her chair, her back bent slightly forward, her eyes hidden by a pair of dark lens sunglasses, giving her an air of mystery as she scrolled through her Ipad.
She was dressed in a simple way and yet, there was an air of sophistication about her. Her form fitting red pants and narrow waisted white top showed off a trim figure, drawing my eye to the outline of her breasts; tiny, yet neatly shaped.
She wore shiny black open toed heels, showing off slender ankles and divine feet. I thought of approaching her. In my heart, I felt rattled by that special spirit of attraction. I soon began moving towards her but just as I was about to get to her, three other ladies came and joined her. They immediately began a conversation decorated with giggles. I had to retreat because I’m usually not that good when it comes to pulling out a lady from her group of friends. Sadly, the other girls stayed with her for the better part of the day..
The second time I encountered the gorgeous siren, I was at the national Museum. It was on a Saturday and I was with a group of friends. I always have a tendency of pulling my friends to do things that they don’t want to. I knew all of them sulked at the idea of going to the museum but I dragged them along anyway, with the promise of ‘kuwashikia lunch’.
It had been a perfect sunny day and I was dressed casually, mindful of the strong the heat simmering off concrete and brick
Despite the crowd it was a relief to finally be inside the museum where the climate was carefully controlled. As soon as we began strolling, I saw her. I didn’t hesitate. I followed her, at first with my eyes, then with my feet, murmuring a vague excuse to my friends about needing to use the washrooms. She strolled into the Famous Warriors Gallery, pausing to peruse Mekatilili’s picture while I admired her discreetly.
She was just as I remembered, stealing away my breath, despite standing before a masterpiece painstakingly carved from a block of marble two hundred years before she’d been born. Her hairdo cascaded over her shoulder, framing her sculpted face. It was the unique face of a goddess. As before, her eyes were hidden behind shades.
