I took a matatu from the coach station to Valley Arcade shopping
centre, and called Isha’s husband’s aunt’s cellphone from there. The family was
just getting ready to head to Diamond Plaza, a stronghold of Indian culture and
gallery of Indian products in Nairobi. They swung by Valley Arcade to pick me
up. When Isha stepped out of the car, we exchanged a quick hug, and then she
ran off to change Zuzu’s diaper. Zuzu is her younger son, one and a half year’s
old. I met her husband, Zain, who was carrying their older son, Raphi, age 3.
Her aunt, Aunt Nastaran, was the driver.
This time around, there was no room for awkward silences. Isha’s sons
filled the air with their voice boxes, crying, laughing, everything toddlers do
on a day-to-day basis. Amidst all the chaos, I didn’t really get a chance to
catch up with Isha. We went to Diamond Plaza, where Aunt Nastaran got her spa
treatment, and Isha and I went to check out the gold store, looking for a
pendant for her friend. When we finally got back to Aunt Nastaran’s house, I
was utterly exhausted. Aunt Nastaran’s two kids, Arman and Ariana soon came
home from their daily tennis lessons. They were such adorable children, at an
age when I really start to actually like them – Arman is 11, and Ariana 10.
Back home, power was off (even in Kenya, power outages are a common
occurrence), and Zain needed internet for his work. So as soon as the children
had showered, off we went to Valley Arcade again, this time stopping at Java’s
café where we all got drinks and snacks, and Arman and Ariana played with Raphi
and Zuzu in the playground nearby. Zain worked on his laptop the whole time,
only stopping to argue with Arman about random nonsense. They interacted like
siblings, which was no surprise. Aunt Nastaran had stayed with her older
sister, Zain’s mother, up until she got married. She had looked after Zain and
his brothers until they were well into their teenage years and almost onto
adulthood. She was like a second mother to them, so naturally her children
would be like siblings to Zain.
When we got home, Aunt Nastaran had prepared a sumptuous meal for us.
I loved her cooking, and would’ve stayed in her household forever if I could.
Even more than that, I loved her kids. They were so much fun to be around, and
for the first time in a long time, I felt that familiar ache in my soul, the
ache to be part of a large family, so interconnected, so loud and boisterous
and happy and annoyed, all at the same time. I would marry into a large family
like this and have lots of children, I promised myself. Then I laughed at
myself, at this ridiculous notion that I could actually plan for something like
that. With my luck, I’ll end up marrying another only-child, and we would have
an only child, and the three of us would sit at the dining room table, eating
silently, only the sound of utensils clinking against plates breaking the
enormous silence. I shuddered at the thought, and drew myself back into the
present, to the loud arguments, jokes, and just random chatter flying around
the dinner table. I couldn’t have been happier.
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