By The Magunga
I once visited a city that was built out of the water. Got into a canoe that snaked around the city, sailing through histories and buildings with no meat, just bones. Skinny buildings with narrow doorways that cannot fit a slice of cake, but surprisingly large rooms.
And then the bicycles. All kinds. Two legged. Three legged. One legged. Bicycle for shopping groceries. Bicycles for walking pets. Bicycles for exercise. Bicycles for the sake of it. The parking lot for bikes looks like a beehive. I wondered how someone could tell whose is whose – you know, like sandals at the entrance of a mosque.
It is a city with a train station so grand, it begs your pardon. And a red light district where women are displayed in glass rooms like the mannequins on Moi Avenue. I touched one of them, and the texture of her skin had me thinking to myself – this what the heart of a saint must feel like. And in the middle of the red light district is a church, yes a church, active church for worship.
It is a licentious city that doesn’t judge your sins; you can buy weed, other drugs or sex the same way you buy samosas at a restaurant it is that simple
But the night scene is shit. Cabs are expensive and don’t reach everywhere – you still have to walk. The music in the club is that tsss tsss tsss nonsense that has no dance style – people just jump around like they they have been visited by the spirit. And if you want to sit you must buy by the bottle.
At dawn, though, I sat by a window in Utrecht and as the sun yawned awake, we all agreed that earth must be the only gorgeous morning person in the world.