Monday evening finds you slouched at your office seat, profound in thought. It’s 6:30 pm. You’ve had a dreadful day at work – numerous projects, limited time and crazy deadlines to beat. Your boss has been barking orders & piling immense pressure. Your efforts often pass unnoticed and all He does is point at your inadequacies. Life is so unfair, you say to yourself. You feel downcast and promise yourself that one day you’ll give him a piece of your mind and call it a day! You’ve spotted a forlorn face all day. You’re bone tired. All you need is to get home fast and collapse in the sofa. With a great deal of effort, you lumber out of the office & as you take a stroll in the upmarket streets of Nairobi’s CBD, your attention is captured by a boldly lit and tastefully embellished restaurant. The magnificent sight of its carefully chosen interior décor coupled with impeccable lighting takes your breath away. Behind the glass wall are patrons chatting away animatedly in their cushy leather seats enjoying their meals & drinks. Jolly folks. Their genial demeanor is a far cry from yours. Outside is a patio occupied by business executives discussing politics, laying strategies and closing deals. You remain fixated and marvel at the spectacular delicatessen. Its overpowering allure draws you closer & like a moth drawn to a fireplace, you find yourself at the entrance. A bubbly and charming waitress flashes a cordial smile & courteously ushers you to a seat. The tranquil aura and soft music sets you in the mood for the evening. Your problems are forgotten and you feel alive again. Welcome to DreamBean House Restaurant. Continue Reading
The afternoon was dull & overcast. One of those moments you wished time would whiz by in a bat of an eye for you to flee the office headed for your nearest joint. A swanky joint with sumptuous chops, serious music, sassy women and refreshing Tusker to soothe your throat . The mere thought of it takes you to 9:00 pm. You with a loaded wallet at the back pocket of your jeans . Fresh bank notes kissing your ass! You try to think and XS Millionaires comes to your mind. It’s been a long week and the boss has been breathing fire. Time to offload the pressure now. All your thirst will be quenched. It’s a weekend after all. A time to satiate your wildest fantasies.
YOLO. Dark clouds gather and a heavy downpour is imminent. The city had experienced drowning rains the previous week and by the look of it the skies would open up anytime. When it pours in Nairobi, The Devil descends and takes over – roads are flooded, traffic builds up, appointments are cancelled & thousands of hapless souls get stranded in the melee. Total bedlam. Crazy City. Standing outside my office window confirms my worst fears. A slight drizzle begins. The wind howls and leaves flutter ominously. Umbrellas appear from nowhere and commotion unfolds. Lucifer has descended. It’s 2:00 pm and my stomach rumbles. Undeterred, I leave the office and head out for lunch. It’s not a restaurant. It’s the kind of place you’d take your colleague out for lunch. It’s a six by five foot space where food is sold and patrons form a beeline ready to be served their favorite meal. Sumptuous delicacies I tell you. ‘A healthy alternative in town is now a possibility’ is the banner that greets you as you enter. It’s a joint located inside a shopping Mall that sells accessories and Apparel at obscene prices. The kind you’d think twice about taking your woman out for shopping on a January. Screw January! Heck, you could buy a handkerchief for 500/=! Outside, a long file of hungry Nairobians wait impatiently to assuage their hunger pangs. After an eternity, I finally get my fill and just when I’m getting ready to head back for work my cellphone noisily comes to life. The number on the screen nearly gives me a cardiac arrest. My heart races and for a moment I stand rooted to the ground oblivious of any soul around me. It conjured an unforgettable incident. After what seems an eternity, I muster up courage, hold my breath and put the phone to my right ear. Continue Reading