LIFE'S COINCIDENCES!

 I pulled up to the pickup point outside Sarit, glancing at the name on my Uber app. Alex. No profile photo, no rating below five stars, which meant either he was a saint or he rarely used Uber. I didn’t have time to guess. Rent was due, and my other car was at the mechanic’s getting patched up after some fellow decided roundabouts were mere suggestions.

The door swung open, and in slid Alex, a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a crisp shirt and jeans, the kind of put-together look that suggested he was either coming from a meeting or about to step into one.

"Evening, boss," I greeted, adjusting my seatbelt.

"Evening," he said, glancing around the car. His eyes landed on the stack of books on the passenger seat. "You read all these?"

"Some. Others I tell myself I’ll read when life slows down. But life is Nairobi, and Nairobi doesn’t slow down."

He chuckled, picking up one. "Biko Zulu? Good taste. Didn’t expect to find a library in an Uber."

"This isn’t just an Uber," I said, pulling into traffic. "It’s an extension of my other life."

"Which is?"

"Teaching. Writing. Blogging. Basically, trying to be an intellectual while dodging financial ruin."

He laughed, flipping through the pages. "So, what do you blog about?"

"Life, mostly. The small things we miss. The stories we see but never stop to listen to. The Nairobi middle class trying to survive while acting like they have it all figured out."

"Sounds like something I’d read. Where can I find your blog?"

I hesitated. I wasn’t used to passengers taking an interest beyond "how’s the traffic?" or "Kuna shortcut?" Most just scrolled their phones until we got to their destination. But Alex was different. He was actually interested.

"I just started posting regularly. Building an audience, one reader at a time. I put it up on Blogger for now, but I want to move to my own site soon."

He nodded. "Tough industry. Kenyan readers can be loyal, but you have to hook them. Personal stories work best."

"You sound like you know a thing or two about writing."

"I work in publishing," he said with a grin. "I spend my days convincing Kenyans that books are not just for decoration."

I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "So, I just picked up a potential editor?"

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves," he said. "But I’d love to read your work. Send me a link. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be in your Uber again, but this time, holding your published book."

I smiled as we neared his drop-off. "That’s the goal, boss. That’s the goal."

As he stepped out, he handed me his card. "Keep writing. Nairobi needs more stories."

I slipped the card into my glove box, watching him disappear into the building. Maybe tonight, I’d finally finish that blog post I’d been postponing. Because if even strangers in my Uber believed in the dream, then who was I to doubt it?