I just want to let everyone know that I rode to work today in a movie.
At least that's what it felt like.
Crammed in the far back left corner of a matatu, with my load of junk that I lug to work everyday cutting off the blood circulation to my feet, I left my book that I was trying to read and succumbed to my recently-developed ADD.
In my defense, the radio was ramped up to forbidden decibels, and I gave up shoving Kleenex into my ear canals a while ago.
You must know that the music in Kenya is a trip all on its own.
On any one matatu ride, you might get Peabo Bryson with Roberta Flack, Boyz II Men, Beyonce and an acidic mix from the up-and-coming Swahili rap scene.
It doesn't really matter if you're pop-culturally illiterate like me when you live in Kenya--the playlists don't make sense anyway.
Today it was a mashup of a hit that took me back 10+ years (No diggity, no doubt, yeah.) and some crooner singing about "Murder She Wrote."
It was strange.
I reminisced for a moment while Aaron commented that no really good music came from the 90's. I had to agree.
Then it kind of morphed into some Caribbean-reggae/Creole-rap number as we began to cross the bridge to Mombasa.
I actually kinda liked it. It was...er...catchy.
As I began to imperceptibly (or so I think) bob my head to the beat, my eyes wandered out the window to follow the many, many people on their way to work.
And to my complete and thorough entertainment, everyone was moving to the lilting beat!
Every step, every hand swing, the struts, the bike pedaling, the pushing of ridiculously-laden handcarts...it was all in rhythm.
Ha! I thought, I feel like I'm in a movie!
Aaron was amused...slightly. And I couldn't get over it. I'm sure people thought I was a little creepy staring them down on their way to work.
But hey, it's not everyday that real life turns into a musical.
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