It is a rainy evening in Nairobi,Long lines at the bus stop,Muddy, exhausted and hurrying feet,She is almost there.
Feet in sodden socks and sharp toed boots,Are rushing to a rendezvous,Looking for an umbrella with a company logo on it,He crosses the puddled road.
Lips parted in hallo say, “At Last”,A welcome embrace lingers much too long,While muddy exhausted feet seek out,Sodden socks in sharp toed boots.
The hours in traffic are more than long,In the limited space of the noisy bus,The heat from the engine is eclipsed,By feet in sodden socks placed perilously close to muddy and exhausted feet.
In the warmth of a cramped flat in Eastlands,A door is hastily locked,While crowds below try to clean off their feet,Sodden socks are trapped between muddy exhausted feet.
As the Nairobi rain clears in the night sky,Sodden and muddy clothes are thrown in the basket,A storm the likes of which Nairobi...