CanadiaGo travel agency

08/10/2025

04/07/2025

CHAPTER 8

I reached Molo a few minutes past midnight. The matatu dropped me near the main stage, where a few fundis were tightening the tent ropes. My phone buzzed before I’d even climbed down.

Joy: Did you arrive safe?

I smiled, even though I was half asleep on my feet.

Me: Just landed. Thanks for checking. Goodnight.

Joy: Goodnight. See you tomorrow. 🙂

I pocketed the phone, telling myself I’d have time tomorrow. Just one event, then I’d head straight back to Nakuru.

---

By sunrise, the field was already humming with life. Banners flapped in the wind, the smell of fresh maandazi drifted from the snack tents, and the DJ was warming up the speakers with old-school rhumba.

I was slipping on my branded KIDS FESTIVAL T-shirt when the event organizer—a tall woman named Wambui with a serious face and a clipboard—strode over.

“Danny,” she said, tapping her pen against her palm, “leo nataka energy ya Nairobi, sindio?”

I grinned, rubbing my palms together. “Madam Wambui, leo hakuna kulala. You’ll see.”

---

By eight-thirty, the field was full. Kids clutching balloons, parents trying to keep up.

I took the mic, stepped onto the stage, and shouted over the noise:

“Watu wa Molo! Are you ready to have fun today?”

A roar went up.

“When I say kids, you say power! Kids!”

“POWER!”

“Kids!”

“POWER!”

The DJ gave me a thumbs-up, then cranked up Enjoy by Diamond Platnumz. The bass rolled across the field so hard I felt it in my ribs.

“Hapo sawa!” I yelled. “I want to see everyone dancing—mums, dads, watoto—kila mtu!”

And they did—little ones waving their hands in the air, parents clapping along. For the next hour, I was everywhere—hyping the crowd, leading singalongs, refereeing sack races that ended in tangled giggles.

---

At eleven, Madam Wambui appeared at the side of the stage, waving her clipboard.

“Danny!” she called, her voice cutting through the music. “Ready to introduce our special guest?”
I wiped sweat from my forehead, feeling my heart pick up. “Moh is here?”

She nodded. “Karibu anaingia.”

I turned back to the crowd, took a deep breath, and raised the mic.

“Watu wa Molo!” I shouted. “Leo tuna history hapa! Because today, we have someone very special—someone you see every week on Citizen TV!”

The kids shrieked.

“If you love Becky, if you love Moh—make some noise!”

The cheers exploded so loud I thought the tent would lift off.

“And now…help me welcome…the one and only—Mourine, MOH!”

She stepped onto the stage, smiling in that easy, glowing way that made everyone feel like they knew her. Her hair was in neat braids, and even in simple jeans and a white blouse, she had the grace of a star.

She hugged me lightly—just a friendly greeting—and the kids screamed even louder.

“Mko sawa?” she called, her voice ringing over the crowd.

“Sawa!”

“Mnajua mko smart sana leo?”

A wave of giggles and clapping.

I stepped back, watching her charm the kids with stories about following your dreams and working hard. Even the parents were nodding along.

---

After Moh’s speech, I took the mic again to keep the show moving—more games, more dancing, more laughter.

By four, I’d lost most of my voice and all of my energy.

I finally sank onto a plastic chair behind the stage, chugging water. That’s when I remembered.

Joy.

My stomach flipped.

I pulled out my phone.

4 missed calls.

2 texts.

Joy: Are you okay?

Joy: Danny…did you forget?

I closed my eyes, guilt pressing hard against my ribs.

I started typing with shaking hands.
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04/07/2025

CHAPTER 7

The last matatu of the night to Molo was half-empty, the seats worn and smelling faintly of dust and old newspapers. I took a place by the window and watched the lights of Nakuru fade behind me.

I should have been tired—it was past ten, and I still had another hour on the road—but instead, I felt wired, like something had shifted in my chest and wouldn’t settle back into place.

My phone buzzed.

Joy: Did you get another matatu safely?

I smiled at the screen, thumbs already moving.

Me: Yeah, I’m on my way. It’s not as fancy as North Rift, though. I think the driver is listening to rhumba from 1972.

A moment later:

Joy: As long as you don’t start dancing in your seat, I won’t judge you.

I laughed softly, ignoring the curious look from the conductor up front.

Me: No promises. So…when do I get to see you again?

Three dots blinked.

Joy: Mmmh. So fast? You’re not even pretending to play hard to get?

Me: Never been my style. Besides, I think we already skipped a few steps.

Joy: True. 🙈

I leaned back in my seat, the darkness rolling past the window. For a moment, it didn’t feel like any ordinary night.

Me: What are you doing tomorrow?

Joy: Maybe recovering from this journey. You?

Me: Thinking about you. Planning how to convince you I’m not always this charming.

Joy: You’re not doing a very good job so far. 😂

I grinned.

Me: Coffee? Lunch? I’m serious. Let me take you out properly.

Her reply came a little slower this time.

Joy: Okay. I’d like that.

Me: You pick the place. I’ll find my way back to Nakuru even if I have to bribe the matatu driver.

Joy: 😂 No bribes. I’ll share my location. 1pm?

Me: It’s a date.

Outside, the road dipped into the first of the valleys toward Elburgon, the darkness so thick the headlights looked like two small moons on the tarmac. But I didn’t feel alone.

Her messages kept lighting up the screen—short jokes, questions about what I liked to do, what I was thinking.
Joy: So…tell me something you haven’t told anyone.

I hesitated, thumb hovering.

Me: I think I knew I’d like you the moment you looked at me. Even before we said anything.

A beat of silence. Then:

Joy: Me too.

I stared at her words, feeling something warm unfurl under my ribs.

The driver cleared his throat. “Kijana, huko kwa mlango—unaenda Molo pekee?”

“Ndiyo,” I called back absently, eyes still on the screen.

Me: Get some sleep. I’ll text you when I get there.

Joy: Sawa. Goodnight, Danny.

Me: Goodnight, Joy.

I put the phone down, but I didn’t stop smiling.

Tomorrow, I’d see her again.

And for the first time in a long while, the road ahead felt like it was leading somewhere worth going.

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04/07/2025

CHAPTER 6

After that silence, the driver finally slammed the bonnet shut and climbed back in, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag.

“Sasa, tumepata shida kidogo tu,” he announced, glancing at the passengers. “But we’re okay. Mko sawa?”

A few tired voices mumbled agreement. Someone at the back yawned. The lady beside me—Joy, as I’d learned when she introduced herself—let out a breath she’d been holding.

“I was starting to think we’d sleep here,” she said, her mouth curving into that unforced smile.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled back. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. At least there’s good company.”

Her eyes met mine for a long moment before she looked away, tucking a loose braid behind her ear. I watched the way her hands moved, graceful and unhurried, and wondered what she did when she wasn’t traveling late at night in old matatus.

As the engine rumbled back to life and we pulled onto the road, I finally asked, “So…is Nakuru home for you?”

She shook her head. “No, just visiting my sister. You?”

“Work,” I said. “I travel a lot. But tonight…” I hesitated, feeling almost embarrassed by how honest it sounded. “Tonight feels…different.”

Her laugh was soft. “How so?”

I looked at her, really looked, and felt something warm settle low in my chest. “Like maybe the journey was worth it. Even before I get where I’m going.”

The driver switched the radio back on, and low rhumba music trickled from the speakers. The headlights lit up the endless stretch of road, and beyond that, only darkness. But in the front seat, the night felt almost gentle.

At some point, she pulled out a small packet of peanuts and offered me some. Her perfume mixed with the faint smell of roasted groundnuts, and I thought—this is exactly the kind of memory that stays.

We talked in quiet voices—about work, about family, about the little things you only admit to a stranger when it’s too late to pretend you’re not already curious about them.
She told me she liked to travel at night because it felt like the world slowed down. I told her I liked it because no one expected you to be anything but yourself.
“Do you always talk like this to people you sit next to?” she asked at one point, a playful note in her voice.

“Not really,” I said. “Only when I’m trying to make my forefathers proud.”

She laughed again, covering her mouth, and I knew I’d think about that sound long after tonight.
Somewhere past Salgaa, she rested her head lightly against the seat, her shoulder touching mine. Neither of us moved away.

By the time we started seeing the lights of Nakuru ahead, the matatu had grown quiet. People dozed against the windows. The radio crackled softly. I could feel her warmth beside me, and even though we’d only known each other a few hours, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
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03/07/2025

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CHAPTER 5

The matatu groaned under the weight on the roof, like an old man complaining about too many grandchildren. The driver slammed his palm against the dashboard.

“Hii gari imevumilia sana,” he muttered. “If this thing doesn’t get off, I’m applying for early retirement!”

Joy gave a shaky laugh, her fingers still locked with mine. “Danny… maybe it’s just a stray goat.”

“A goat?” I said, eyebrows raised. “Unless that goat is wearing army boots, siamini.”

Something above us thumped again, this time directly over our heads. The roof dented inward with a metallic boooom.
The conductor, who had been quiet the whole trip, finally spoke up from the back. “Driver, tafadhali, can you negotiate with this… whatever it is? Maybe it just needs fare!”

The driver sucked his teeth. “Fare? My friend, unless it pays double, it can alight immediately!”

For one surreal moment, the tension eased. Everyone chuckled nervously—like laughter could protect us from whatever waited in the dark.

Then the shape on the roof shifted, sliding toward the front windshield. A claw—yes, an actual claw—scraped down the glass. Joy buried her face in my shoulder again.

“Danny,” she whispered, voice muffled, “I think your goat has serious anger issues.”
I told you,” I hissed, “this is not a goat. This is a sponsored demon with bad manners.”

The driver braked hard. The matatu skidded to a stop, tires screaming. For a heartbeat, everything was still. I braced for the windshield to shatter.

But instead, a single black feather drifted down and landed on the dashboard.

The driver gaped. “Eh… now even crows are joining?”
I swallowed. “Bro, that’s not a crow feather. Look how big it is!”
Joy peered out the

CHAPTER 5

The matatu groaned under the weight on the roof, like an old man complaining about too many grandchildren. The driver slammed his palm against the dashboard.

“Hii gari imevumilia sana,” he muttered. “If this thing doesn’t get off, I’m applying for early retirement!”

Joy gave a shaky laugh, her fingers still locked with mine. “Danny… maybe it’s just a stray goat.”

“A goat?” I said, eyebrows raised. “Unless that goat is wearing army boots, siamini.”

Something above us thumped again, this time directly over our heads. The roof dented inward with a metallic boooom.

The conductor, who had been quiet the whole trip, finally spoke up from the back. “Driver, tafadhali, can you negotiate with this… whatever it is? Maybe it just needs fare!”

The driver sucked his teeth. “Fare? My friend, unless it pays double, it can alight immediately!”

For one surreal moment, the tension eased. Everyone chuckled nervously—like laughter could protect us from whatever waited in the dark.

Then the shape on the roof shifted, sliding toward the front windshield. A claw—yes, an actual claw—scraped down the glass. Joy buried her face in my shoulder again.

“Danny,” she whispered, voice muffled, “I think your goat has serious anger issues.”

I told you,” I hissed, “this is not a goat. This is a sponsored demon with bad manners.”

The driver braked hard. The matatu skidded to a stop, tires screaming. For a heartbeat, everything was still. I braced for the windshield to shatter.

But instead, a single black feather drifted down and landed on the dashboard.

The driver gaped. “Eh… now even crows are joining?”

I swallowed. “Bro, that’s not a crow feather. Look how big it is!”

Joy peered out the window, her eyes wide. “Maybe… maybe it’s some kind of… giant bird?”

I almost laughed, even though my heart was still doing marathon training in my chest. “Perfect. Next, we’ll find an ostrich driving a Probox.”

As if it heard us, the thing on the roof let out a low, rasping kraaaak that made my hair stand on end.

The conductor clutched the back of my seat. “Danny… if we survive this, I swear I’m starting a church.”

Joy grabbed my hand tighter. “You’d better join him,” she whispered, her mouth brushing my ear. “And if we don’t survive… at least you made me laugh.”

The driver exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and muttered, “Okay, everyone. Hold tight. If this bird wants war, we give it war.”

He shifted the matatu into gear.

And as we lurched back onto the road, feathers still drifting down the windshield, I thought—only in Kenya could you be attacked by a demon-chicken in the middle of nowhere.

But even with all the fear… I couldn’t help the laugh bubbling in my throat.

I almost laughed, even though my heart was still doing marathon training in my chest. “Perfect. Next, we’ll find an ostrich driving a Probox.”

03/07/2025

CHAPTER 4

The figure paused just outside the window, its outline flickering in the weak glow of embers floating on the breeze. For a heartbeat, I thought it was a child. But as it tilted its head, I saw the glint of something—wet and glistening—where its face should have been.

Joy gasped and buried her face against my shoulder. My arm went around her automatically. Even though my own hands were shaking, I held her close, determined not to show how afraid I was.

“Danny… tafadhali,” she whispered, her voice small. “Tell me it’s just someone playing tricks.”

I wanted to lie, but my mouth was too dry. My voice came out hoarse. “Ni mtu tu… probably.”

The figure lifted one small hand and rested it against the cracked glass. The singing stopped, leaving only the hiss of the wind rushing through the broken seals of the matatu.

For a moment, none of us breathed.

Then the driver stirred. He turned the key again, and the engine gave a strangled cough. Another try—this time, it roared to life, flooding the interior with the familiar vibrations of old diesel.

“Hold tight!” he shouted, voice shaking.

The figure outside slowly slid its hand down the window, leaving a dark smear. My heart nearly exploded as the matatu je**ed forward, tires crunching over the glass and lurching us away from whatever that thing was.

Joy clung to me, her face buried against my neck. I could feel the heat of her tears. I pressed my lips to her temple, breathing in her scent—warm, sweet, a reminder that we were still alive.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, though I didn’t believe it. “Tumetoroka. We’re safe.”

We picked up speed, the matatu rattling as the driver fought to stay on the road. But the darkness outside felt alive—like it was moving with us.

After a few minutes, Joy lifted her head. Her eyes were wet but fierce, searching my face. “Danny… if we make it to Nakuru… promise me something.”

“Anything,” I said without thinking.
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03/07/2025

CHAPTER 3

The matatu groaned under the impact, metal shuddering around us. My heart slammed in my chest. For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. Joy’s hand gripped mine so tight her nails bit into my palm.

“Danny… kuna watu nje?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I don’t know,” I said, straining to see anything through the darkness. The night outside was a black wall, broken only by faint glimmers—like embers drifting in the cold air.

The driver didn’t move or speak. His silhouette was hunched forward, one hand still on the ignition.

“Buda!” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Unaona nini hapo mbele?”

No reply. Only the slow tick of the cooling engine and my own ragged breathing.

Joy leaned her head against my shoulder. Even in the darkness, I felt the softness of her hair brushing my cheek, smelled the sweet warmth of her perfume.

“Danny,” she murmured, “if this is the end… at least I’m not alone.”

I swallowed hard, trying to force a smile she couldn’t see. “Si mwisho, mrembo. Hatujafika mwisho.”

Outside, something scraped along the matatu’s side—metal on metal—slow, deliberate. My stomach twisted.

Joy shifted, her lips finding my jaw. The gentleness of her touch felt surreal, like something out of a dream that didn’t belong in this place. I turned my head just enough to feel her breath against my mouth.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Just… please.”

My heart thudded so loud I thought whoever—or whatever—was out there could hear it. But in that moment, none of it mattered. I kissed her. Soft at first, then deeper, the fear and adrenaline and something I couldn’t name sparking between us like electricity.

When we broke apart, her hand still rested against my chest, feeling the frantic beat of my heart.

Outside, the scraping stopped. Silence returned, heavy and expectant.

Then a faint sound—a child’s voice singing, high and wavering. The melody drifted in through the cracked window, chilling in its sweetness.

03/07/2025

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CHAPTER 2

The silence felt unnatural, almost as if the entire stretch of road had been swallowed by something watching us. The driver slammed the hood shut and climbed back into his seat, breathing hard.

“Battery cable came loose,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound convinced. He twisted the ignition. The engine groaned, then coughed itself awake. Relief washed over me, but the tension lingered in the stale air.

As the matatu rumbled back onto the tarmac, the lady beside me exhaled and smiled, though her eyes stayed fixed on the darkness beyond the windshield.

“Looks like we survived,” she said softly, her lips curling upward.

I chuckled, more out of nerves than humor. “Not the kind of adventure I was hoping for tonight.”

She turned her face fully toward me, and I could see the delicate gold chain resting just above her collarbone. “What kind of adventure were you hoping for?”

The question caught me off guard. Her voice was warm but edged with something daring. For a moment, I imagined my forefathers leaning forward in their graves to hear what I’d say.

“Something less... life-threatening,” I said, my voice low. “Maybe something more... intriguing.”

Her laugh was quiet and a little breathless, like she was trying not to wake a sleeping child. “Intriguing can be dangerous, too.”

Before I could reply, the matatu lurched again. This time, it didn’t stop rolling forward but slowed to a crawl. The driver swore under his breath and flipped on the hazard lights.

“Everyone stay inside,” he ordered. “I think there’s something on the road.”

Through the beam of the headlights, I could make out what looked like an abandoned motorbike tipped onto its side. The road around it was littered with broken glass that sparkled like frost.

The lady shifted closer to me, so close I could feel the warmth of her shoulder against mine. Her perfume mingled with the dusty smell of the matatu, and I had to force myself to focus.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered.

“Neither do I,” I admitted, feeling my pulse thrum at my throat.

A shape moved past the far window—quick, low to the ground. My breath snagged in my chest.

She slid her hand into mine without warning. Her fingers were delicate but steady, and something about the way she held on made me feel absurdly protective.

“I’m Joy,” she said softly, eyes locked to mine.

“I’m Danny.”

The driver cracked the door open and leaned out with his flashlight, sweeping the beam over the road. For an instant, it caught the gleam of an eye watching us from behind the motorbike.

Joy squeezed my hand. My heart kicked so hard I thought it might crack a rib.

Then the engine sputtered again and died completely. The headlights blinked out, plunging us into total darkness.

In that breathless void, she leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear.

“Danny,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Whatever happens… don’t let go.”

And before I could answer, something struck the side of the matatu hard enough to rock us where we sat.

02/07/2025

STORY STORY !!

CHAPTER 01.

It was on this fine certain Friday on my way from Eldoret to Nakuru, work matters so I had to travel in the evening. For me, traveling after sundown feels better and less fatigue.
That day I booked my ticket at North Rift, the front seat next to the driver. Between the driver’s seat and mine, sat a melanin fair lady—I can’t forget her scent. She had put on a sweet, charming perfume, beautiful stick-ons with her unforced smile. Her skin radiated beauty with the smoothness of cocoa oil. The more I got to look at her, the more beautiful she was.
It was a long journey, and I knew between the way, I must make my forefathers proud.

Somewhere past Timboroa, the driver lowered the radio volume and announced we might have to make a quick stop to check the engine. The lady turned to me with curious eyes and asked if I traveled often. Her voice was soft, almost musical. Before I could answer, the matatu je**ed sharply to the side of the road. A loud thud came from under the hood.

The driver jumped out with his flashlight, cursing under his breath. The night outside was pitch black. As I glanced through the window, I thought I saw a silhouette moving near the bushes—then another.

And then… everything went silent.

02/01/2025

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