(image taken from trcwest.com)
Art Caffe, Westgate Mall, Westlands, Nairobi. Listening to Secret Garden, it dawned on me: -
I could be anywhere right now.
Anywhere around the world.
This would’ve easily been Kuala Lumpur. Twirls of pasta on oversized clean white plates, the lingering smell of fresh pastries from the oven, the ubiquitous timber flooring and yellow lights accentuating the rather lazy atmosphere. As the crowd grows, the music drowns.
Yesterday afternoon, Rizwan and I took a walk in the small, quaint garden in the Lenana compound, a carpet of bougainvilleas cushioning our tired soles, sunlight taking a peep through the treetops.
“You’d never imagine Nairobi to be like this.” I said.
As I turned around, what I had was the memory of old colonial houses on the cliffs of Tanjong Lobang in Miri, where we used to live, when Dad was serving in the government.
Always when you set foot on foreign soil, it’s what’s deemed as foreign that you seek. But a lot of times, you find a strong association with things you already know all along. The comfort of familiarity.
Because more often than not, they are the same.
More often than not, We are the same.
You've gone a million miles
How far'd you get
To that place where you can't remember
And you can't forget
- Bruce Springsteen