Football finished and I sat beside the pitch pretending to discuss our missed chances when really my thighs were refusing to get up, aki I had chased one ball like Arsenal scouts were hiding behind the fence. At the lodge tiredness stays in the feet, this one was everywhere and I could feel my heartbeat slowing while the others argued. Somebody passed water and it tasted better than anything from that fancy dining room. Walking home I was loose and heavy at the same time, carrying the boots by their laces because I wanted air between my toes. Reached my room and discovered sitting on the mattress was easy, standing again was a whole second match, no substitutes available.

I tried making my grandmother's beans and realised I remember her instructions by the sounds, not the amounts, let it stop making that noise then stir, wait until the smell changes. Write that in a catering exam and they will escort you outside. But standing over my own pot I could tell when it was close, then I tasted and something was still missing. Salt wasn't it, added small and made that fact very clear. I phoned my sister and she said Cucu sometimes added what was left from the previous meal, so there isn't one exact taste for me to find. Three years hunting a recipe that might have been yesterday's leftovers, manze. Still finished the whole plate.

The girl at the M-Pesa kiosk remembered I was going to call Cucu and asked how she is, not even during a transaction, she saw me passing and called out. Wueh I was happy! I answered as if people ask me this every day, very normal mature man, then walked away smiling so hard a boda guy asked what I had won. Maybe she is simply kind, my sister has already provided that analysis without being requested, but being remembered like that is nice bana. I wanted to go back with another detail about Cucu and decided that would be too much, even for me. Now I have told the whole story here instead, with nobody interrupting to say calm down.