‘You know, death is just.. I dunno.. I prefer if someone gets sick and lets us hope they will either make it or die.  Look at Ayeiya.. guy dies without even a goodbye. It is so very sad.. He should have survived, gone the hospital and maybe succumbed.. that prepares us,’ I say to Linet as I toy with my mug of tea.

We are in a very small hotel taking our lunch hoping time drags itself by before we get back to business.
On our table is our partner and a strange young woman who has a kid. They are talking about babies..

‘Look at how easily women with babies click easily.. ‘ Linet says and I pause to look at them. I shrug and stare at some guy who has tattoos all over his arms..

Well, not a pretty sight.
As we chat, we catch bits of the conversation between the two women.
Time rushes by and when we pay up, our partner offers to pay lunch for the woman.
We sense something and ask if we can back her up. She gladly takes us up on our offer.

As we leave, our partner shakes her head sadly
‘That woman needs fare.. she needs to get home and get good food’

‘Why?’ Linet and I ask simultaneously.

‘Well, life is full of shit. A cheating bastard who beats her up. She covers her head as a Muslim.. there’s a scar beneath that scarf. Her kid hasn’t breastfed in the last 3 days. It’s super weak and has jaundiced eyes.. I doubt if it can cry. She is weak and shaking. That’s why I started talking to her. The damn kid is maximum 3 weeks. She said she just spent her last bit of cash on food so she won’t pass out.
She can go home to her grandmother. No fare..’

‘Is she genuine?’ Linet asks

‘She can’t fake weakness or scar or kid with jaundiced eyes due to starvation’ she counters..

‘Let’s pay her a ticket and get her home’ I say and it’s a plan.

We walk in the streets of Nairobi hoping this woman is real and she will find someone who cares.
Our partner holds her bag, Linet walks on her side and I hold the light but very warm infant in my arms. I can’t help but hope that the kid grows up well. I also enjoy the respect on the roads of the ever busy Matatu drivers letting me pass and the touts wishing ‘my baby’ good health..

I can’t help smile when someone who tries pushing past me is almost beaten up.. in my arms is a life; though very fragile.

We pay her bus ticket and buy her soda for quick energy. She waves up bye with grateful eyes and we rush back to work. We are 45 minutes late.. and stink of sweat with dusty shoes..

We can’t help smiling as we think, in the little pond of kindness in this world.. we just added a droplet..