I Found Love In A Buibui
It is a hot Friday afternoon, the last free week day for Morris. There is a celebration party for his new position in the weekend.
Morris was expecting the catering team that evening. He passed by the supermarket for spices, drinks among other prerequisites. He then drove to the groceries for more food stuff and fresh vegetables. He double checked the invitation list twice. On the top was his mum. The last time they talked, she literally demanded for a grandchild. She reminded him he was her only ‘bullet in a whole machine gun’. The thought of it left a smile on his lips.
He cherished this market dearly, it always reminded him of his early childhood upcountry. Working on the farm each morning, swimming by the river in the afternoon and the adventures in the forest. He knew it inch by inch and most of the sellers were familiar to him. Today there was something new in the market but he couldn’t just see it. He did his rounds picking this and that there. He felt eyes of a hidden face on his back and a blur shadow following him. He always pick pepper last. He reached for his wallet, plucked the Ksh 100 note. There was something shinning on it, a bright twinkling reflection of the sun rays. He turned to stare at that Hijab.
“Morris?” the pepper dealer called his name.
“Just a moment,” he made few steps towards the lady. The first step of love.
Amina turned to walk away from the orange vendor. She lowered her head from the wide umbrella. Then the oranges came falling after her. Her buibui was long and pulled a string on the sides of the pathetic umbrella which caused a reflex on the pile of oranges. The vendor started shouting and cursing her. She realised someone was staring at her. She bend down to repair her mess but there was a hairy smooth hand holding hers. She looked up and it was him. Morris. The man she and her colleagues were spending a night at his place. She watched him piling the fallen oranges on the floor. He even crawled on four just to get the last one that rolled farthest under the stands. A crowd was forming but it was too late for the show.
“Thank you,” it came out like a whisper. “My name is Amina.”
“Pleasure, Morris.” He gave that fade smile as they exchanged handshakes. She reached for her handkerchief to wipe his knees. Her hands were soft and it reminded him of the massage sessions at Miami Beach during his vacation before promotion at work.
“Does it hurt?” She asked while rubbing her hands on his knees.
“Isn’t it too hot here to dress on like this?” He answered a question with a question. That’s how they got acquainted to each other.
It is now three years of dating, fighting religion, mutual understanding, learning, failing, rising to the top and a clear consistency there. Next week we got the great wedding. Morris insisted on this at the bttom of the wedding card invitation. ‘I Found Love in a Buibui’.
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