Mark says I’m thirsty about a certain guy because he’s nice. I think I just like nice guys. And not (necessarily) in the flirty sense. This story begins at Java, a coffee house with several outlets in Nairobi, where I have developed the habit of meeting up at with a few friends of mine, on account of the amazing chocolate fudge cake (which I now only allow myself to have thrice every month and even then I share it with someone) and Dawa – the term of endearment I use for the garlic-honey-hot water mix with a secret ingredient (which my taste buds are yet to identify correctly). By the way, dawa is the Swahili word for medicine; a rather appropriate name for this hot beverage since it helps through the worse cases of the flu.
Towards the end of last year, I started spending more time at Java because I enjoy being in good company and it’s an added bonus when there is also a variety of good meals or snacks present. I have resolved to enjoy myself a little more this year and have even joined a travel club so I can make another trip to Europe later this year. There is also a tentative schedule for road trips around Kenya, and I do hope to cross the border a few times, alongside what my girl Lisa calls a “chai fund” – money put aside with the intention of facilitating coffee/chai dates.
So the reason why I picked the above title for this blog is because I identified a wonderful waiter at my favourite Java in town, the one along Kimathi Street with a balcony overlooking Kaldis. Let’s call him Nick. Mark insisted that I may as well ask for his number when I chatted him up some time last week before placing my order. I laughed and let it go. Nick didn’t serve us when we went to Java with Julie on Monday, but I did see him around. You cannot imagine my surprise when we boarded the same bus home and discovered that we are neighbours! He lives right across a gate from me and has also lived there for a year.
Tonight, I’m glad that the world is a village. It makes me feel small and safe.