say,’
‘Where are we
going?’ Brian asked her.
‘To the old
town, besti shops there, besti brice. ‘Here,’ waving at a passing
shop, ‘too heckspensive and not good, you will see, Lucy, she know
everythings.’
The tuk-tuk
beetled along the main drag, going up the hill into the old part of
Malindi. A veritable maze of flat roofed, two and three storied old
buildings in narrow streets, built in the old Arab style, some of
them dating back to before Vasco da Gama. The taxi stopped in the
main square, a mini park with trees at its centre and from here
they would have to continue on foot through the labyrinth of
alleyways. Lucy bounced out of the taxi and paid the fair to the
driver. ‘Oh, let me pay,’ Brian protested.
‘No, you pay
already to those bladi, fakin policies, bastardis,’ she said with
feeling, her nostrils flaring prettily.
Brian smiled at
her description. ‘My sentiments exactly,’ he said.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s true,
what you said, I’m agreeing with you.’
‘Ah, never
mind, come, twende. I teach you Kiswahili, hay? Twende says let’s go.’ Lucy shot down one of the narrow
streets, skipping despite her high heels. Brian following
dutifully, captivated by her speed and energy. Her lithe body
turning easily as she alternately walked, skipped, turned around to
look at him all the while chatting away. ‘What shoe you want, like
those?’ Pointing at his trainers as she athletically jinked left
down another alleyway.
‘No, not
these.’ Brian said following her. ‘Something for work, I lost my
shoe in an accident in a tuk-tuk yesterday.’
She stopped
abruptly. Brian almost crashed into her.
‘Here good
shop,’ pointing at a storefront with racks of shoes in it’s display
window. Lucy barged in the door, high heels tipping with the
effort, as her small frame strained against it. Inside the
air-conditioned shop a long glass-topped counter ran down one side
and a tall man, of Somali origin stood behind it. Behind him on the
wall was a display of shoe types, each one on its own mounting.
Brian’s eye flicked over them quickly, reading all the leading
fashion brands, amazed at the huge selection.
Lucy spoke
quickly to the storekeeper in her language. He responded in the
same, a guttural staccato sound, harsh and loud.
He smiled large
teeth at Brian watching him. ‘Welcome, what shoe you likes sir?
Here very smart shoes.’
‘Yes indeed,’
Brian said, gazing at the display. His eye settled on a
conventional dress shoe, pointing at it with his finger. ‘That
one.’
The storekeeper
lifted a long stick from behind the counter and rested it on a
shoe. ‘Thissis one?’ he asked.
‘No, the one
next to it.’ Brian replied.
Deftly, the man
hooked the shoe off its stand, and passed it on the end of the
stick. Brian turned it over, the sole was hardy and supple, on one
corner in tiny lettering he read, “Made in the Republic of China.”
Aha China, these were replicas. He examined the shoe, the stitching
flawless - copy or not he was impressed. ‘Good, do you have it in
size nine, in brown?’
‘Yesis,’ said
the shopkeeper, taking the shoe. He hoisted it back on its display
and then rummaged around under the counter, pulling out box after
box, until he found the right one and handed it over.
Lucy clapped
her hands in glee as Brian opened the box. In there, wrapped in
layers of tissue paper, were the shoes he had asked for. He took
the box and sat down on a nearby chair. Undoing his trainers, he
tried on the new shoes, walking a little in the small shop testing
the fit. Lucy enthusiastically fussed around him. ‘Ahh, good smart
shoes you look good,’ giggling. ‘Nice big feet heh!’
Brian found the
shoes comfortable and was well pleased. ‘Ok, I will take them,’
handing them back. ‘How much?’
‘For yous
friend,’ stowing them back in the box, ‘special brice, only four
thousand five hundred.’
Brian reached
for his wallet. Lucy hissed loudly and put her hand
‘Where are we
going?’ Brian asked her.
‘To the old
town, besti shops there, besti brice. ‘Here,’ waving at a passing
shop, ‘too heckspensive and not good, you will see, Lucy, she know
everythings.’
The tuk-tuk
beetled along the main drag, going up the hill into the old part of
Malindi. A veritable maze of flat roofed, two and three storied old
buildings in narrow streets, built in the old Arab style, some of
them dating back to before Vasco da Gama. The taxi stopped in the
main square, a mini park with trees at its centre and from here
they would have to continue on foot through the labyrinth of
alleyways. Lucy bounced out of the taxi and paid the fair to the
driver. ‘Oh, let me pay,’ Brian protested.
‘No, you pay
already to those bladi, fakin policies, bastardis,’ she said with
feeling, her nostrils flaring prettily.
Brian smiled at
her description. ‘My sentiments exactly,’ he said.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s true,
what you said, I’m agreeing with you.’
‘Ah, never
mind, come, twende. I teach you Kiswahili, hay? Twende says let’s go.’ Lucy shot down one of the narrow
streets, skipping despite her high heels. Brian following
dutifully, captivated by her speed and energy. Her lithe body
turning easily as she alternately walked, skipped, turned around to
look at him all the while chatting away. ‘What shoe you want, like
those?’ Pointing at his trainers as she athletically jinked left
down another alleyway.
‘No, not
these.’ Brian said following her. ‘Something for work, I lost my
shoe in an accident in a tuk-tuk yesterday.’
She stopped
abruptly. Brian almost crashed into her.
‘Here good
shop,’ pointing at a storefront with racks of shoes in it’s display
window. Lucy barged in the door, high heels tipping with the
effort, as her small frame strained against it. Inside the
air-conditioned shop a long glass-topped counter ran down one side
and a tall man, of Somali origin stood behind it. Behind him on the
wall was a display of shoe types, each one on its own mounting.
Brian’s eye flicked over them quickly, reading all the leading
fashion brands, amazed at the huge selection.
Lucy spoke
quickly to the storekeeper in her language. He responded in the
same, a guttural staccato sound, harsh and loud.
He smiled large
teeth at Brian watching him. ‘Welcome, what shoe you likes sir?
Here very smart shoes.’
‘Yes indeed,’
Brian said, gazing at the display. His eye settled on a
conventional dress shoe, pointing at it with his finger. ‘That
one.’
The storekeeper
lifted a long stick from behind the counter and rested it on a
shoe. ‘Thissis one?’ he asked.
‘No, the one
next to it.’ Brian replied.
Deftly, the man
hooked the shoe off its stand, and passed it on the end of the
stick. Brian turned it over, the sole was hardy and supple, on one
corner in tiny lettering he read, “Made in the Republic of China.”
Aha China, these were replicas. He examined the shoe, the stitching
flawless - copy or not he was impressed. ‘Good, do you have it in
size nine, in brown?’
‘Yesis,’ said
the shopkeeper, taking the shoe. He hoisted it back on its display
and then rummaged around under the counter, pulling out box after
box, until he found the right one and handed it over.
Lucy clapped
her hands in glee as Brian opened the box. In there, wrapped in
layers of tissue paper, were the shoes he had asked for. He took
the box and sat down on a nearby chair. Undoing his trainers, he
tried on the new shoes, walking a little in the small shop testing
the fit. Lucy enthusiastically fussed around him. ‘Ahh, good smart
shoes you look good,’ giggling. ‘Nice big feet heh!’
Brian found the
shoes comfortable and was well pleased. ‘Ok, I will take them,’
handing them back. ‘How much?’
‘For yous
friend,’ stowing them back in the box, ‘special brice, only four
thousand five hundred.’
Brian reached
for his wallet. Lucy hissed loudly and put her hand
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