I take three matatus to work every day. One of them runs between Yaya and Westlands. There’s always a queue, and it lasts anything from 5 minutes to 1-and-a-half hours. I generally use my time on the queue to play Candy Crush and listen to rock music. But because I’m on that route every day, I’ve started to recognise some faces.

The location of the queue means I see a lot of Ethiopians, Caucasians and … well … Asians. And because everybody knows I’m hair person, they tend to catch my attention. One boy in particular has struck my fancy. He looks really young – maybe 16 or 17, though he’s probably older. He’s tall, acne-ey, and has flaming red sheeran-esque-ey hair. He works (or studies) somewhere in Westlands, and probably does photography, because I’ve seen him with a tripod.

I’ve never talked to this boy, because contrary to public opinion, I’m not a very social person. But I see him on the queue every day, and I often wonder what his story is. A few weeks ago, I finally heard his voice. Some other girl on the queue had done what I had never dared to try – she had started a conversation with him. And I did what I usually do – I eavesdropped and turned him into a blog post.

As I listened to their conversation, I learned quite a bit about him. For example, in addition to his sheeran-esque-ey hair, he also has a sheeran-esque-ey accent. And it’s a well-known fact that no woman can resist the a British accent. Unless of course the woman is British. I imagine the short vowels and enunciated consonants do nothing for them.

Fast-forward to this morning. I was on the queue for maybe 10 minutes, fighting with level 50 when I got onto the bus. I barely looked up when someone sat next to me, and it wasn’t until 10 minutes later that I noticed who my seat-mate was. Yep, it was Tollenred. I don’t know if I smiled, blushed, or visibly reacted in any way.

I glanced up, paid my fare and went back to Candy Crush, because Level 50 is a bitch! As I continued linking blue, green and orange virtual sweets, I idly wondered if I should say something. I knew enough about him to prompt a restraining order, and I wasn’t all that curious to know more. I did want to hear his voice though. Because I could listen to that accent for hours.

But is it really fair to talk to the boy just so I can hear his voice? I’d be talking to inflections, not a person. Isn’t that the same as only talking to him because he’s white? Or … some guy talking to me just for my breasts? I already know I’m an oreo, so wouldn’t this just be bougie objectification?

Well, long story short, I didn’t talk to him, or even look at him really. Not until I got to my stage. See, there was a traffic snarl up near the junction, so I was looking at the makanga wondering if I could ‘shuka na jam’. I’m guessing my seat-mate has been around long enough to understand how that works, so we had this weird eye-versation where I debated whether I should get off or not and he suggested that I should.

I had earphones on, and so did he, so I guess we both assumed the other couldn’t hear. That’s probably why we didn’t use actual words. Probably. I can’t even remember whether smiles were involved, or what colour his eyes were. In the end he got up and stood to the side to let me pass, and I think I said, ‘thank you.’

Of course now I wish I had talked to him, objectification or not. Because he really does have a tantalizing accent, hata kama ni Under 18. The kind that says things like, ‘My ah-ntie isn’t re-ally comf-tabl with me using public trahnsporgh but I quite enjooy thi advenchah’. *Fans self* So … if I find myself sitting next to Tollenred again, I’ll ask what’s in his earphones.

♫ The A-Team ♫ Ed Sheeran ♫