THE city had barely rubbed the sleep from its eyes when the hum began to
grow — that peculiar hum of Nairobi on the brink of something extraordinary.
August mornings in the capital carry their own music: the chatter of matatu
conductors slicing through the dawn, the metallic clang of stalls opening in
River Road’s embrace, and somewhere beyond, the heartbeat of anticipation
pounding in the chests of those who dared to dream.
On this morning, dreams had gathered under the roof of
a grand stage, and the air was so thick with hope that you could almost taste
it.
