Malusi Mwongeli
Jul 20, 2017 · 2 min read

My mother has a tiny, quaint 1-bedroomed apartment smack in the Central Business District of Mombasa. Mombasa is a complex city that doesn’t seem to follow any of the strict urban setup that I, as a self-defined Nairobian, seems to know and used to. Its nuances are different, obviously. I’ve been to Mombasa before but never alone. It’s always in groups of other non-coasterians. Mostly through school trips, church camps, work related events, where I never got to experience the city through my own eyes. My idea of this city has always been influenced by those around me and it was through what the organizers of the trips wanted me to perceive. I knew nothing except what was prescribed to me by the authors of my experience in these trips.

The thrill of being in a new city is always exciting and giddy for me. Mombasa is no different. I thrive in cities. Almost always, it’s easy for me to navigate through a city. The fast pace, the chilly weather, the cacophony of nduthis, matatus and impatient people, the dreary traffic jams and the hype of Nairobi isn’t here. The newness of Twaja instead of tunakam, hamsini for chwani, unapendendelea mkate upi? instead of unataka mkate gani? is secretly thrilling to watch and participate in. The quickness with which I am able to string a Swahili sentence in its correct tenses is slowly improving. Associated stereotypes are reinforced, others falsified.

Unresolved Trauma, Crippling Insufficience, and Procrastination have all made an appearance and I begin by thanking them. It has been a long minute before we were all together, everyone acknowledges.

I’ve been here for 3 weeks now. Taking tuk tuks, eating viazi karai, watching birds and Telemundo, reading Pocketed articles, listening to my neighbour’s antics, journaling and sweating. It is in this tiny, quaint 1-bedroomed apartment smack in the Central Business District of Mombasa that I unpack my sins, gather them round my mother’s couch and we have cheap wine in tea cups while my mother goes back to Nairobi to see her love and her son. Unresolved Trauma, Crippling Insufficiency, and Procrastination have all made an appearance and I begin by thanking them. It has been a long minute before we were all together, everyone acknowledges. We stare at each other because once again, we are all at odds at where to begin unbuttoning whatever this is.

However, as long as my mother is out of town, crows have their unbelievable migration across the city at dusk, I can still afford the stunning view from 6th floor of Uni Plaza and this tiny, quaint 1-bedroomed apartment smack in the Central Business District of Mombasa is still available, maybe, finally, we’ll talk about how we became friends.

Be sure to give it a heart so someone might bump into it.

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Malusi Mwongeli

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I write because that's how I emote.

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