Boda Boda Santa

‘Sikukuu! SIKUKUU!!!” Ambira revved his bike screaming as he rode round the round about in his piped up bike! He always loved Christmas, he didn’t need decorations or gifts. For Ambira Christmas was about giving. And in the skeptical society that he lived in he needed to give of himself, however little, so that he could share the Christmas cheer.

After going round the roundabout, he parked his bike under the city clock on Tom Mboya street, it looked like a Christmas tree on wheels with illuminated wheels and a seat with a huge Santa Clau poster plastered to it. Ambira walked toward a gentleman in a suit who looked rather stressed. “Who wouldn’t be when they have to work on the 24th?” Ambira thought to himself. Ambira walked very cheerfully toward the grumpy man and offered his hand.

“Habari ndugu?!” The man sized Ambira up and then limply offered his hand to him. Ambira took the man’s hand and sandwiched it between his two vast palms. That got the man’s attention. The man stood up straight and looked Ambira straight in the eye in amazement of those huge hands. “Habari Ndugu?” Ambira insisted cheerfully. The man smiled weakly and responded, “Niko tuu” He was sad.

“Unaishi wapi ndugu?” The man got apprehensive and pulled his hands out of Ambira’s grasp. But Ambira quickly reached back for his hand reassuringly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you.”

The man had a skeptical look on his face. “What for?”

“It is Christmas there is traffic everywhere and it is faster on a motorbike.” Ambira pointed toward the direction his bike was parked.

“But I can’t afford to take a bike…”

“No charge.” Ambira cut the man short, “No strings attached.” Ambira nodded at the gentleman and smiled.

The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders in some sort of surrender and followed Ambira to the bike. Ambira gave the man a helmet and a reflector jacket and once again asked the man where he lives.

“Nieke tu De Larue, Thika Road.” The man insisted.

“Mathare is where you are going sindiyo?” The man nodded almost ashamed of where he lived.

“Haina noma! Huko ni home, nitakuweka kwa door!”

The man smiled hopped on to the bike and Ambira smiled. He didn’t live in Mathare but was willing to take the risk for this man who he knew so desperately needed some good old Christmas Cheer. He hit the throttle, turned on his radio, wrapped in a black plastic bag, to the Bonney M carols he was listening to and off they went.


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