The Nairobi sun beat down mercilessly, casting sharp shadows across the bustling streets of Baba Dogo. Through the crowd, two figures moved with practiced ease—one towering above the throng like a sentinel, the other small but radiating a quiet, assured strength. Shopkeepers called out their wares, motorbikes weaved dangerously between pedestrians, and the scent of street food mingled with diesel fumes in the humid afternoon air.
"You really don't have to, Ma," said Dion to his mother, looking down at her from his imposing height. At six-foot-five, he was a giant among men, his broad shoulders and powerful frame causing people to instinctively step aside as he passed. Despite the intimidating physique, there was something gentle in the way he carried the heavy grocery bags, careful not to bump into others in the crowded marketplace.
His mother, Nadia, barely reached his chest. Her face, etched with fine lines that spoke of years of both laughter and sorrow, crinkled into an expression of mock hurt. She had mastered the art of the guilt trip long before Dion had mastered walking.
"You don't want my pilau?" she asked, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper as she forged a sad face, her bottom lip protruding slightly. For a moment, genuine concern flickered across Dion's features before he caught the mischievous glint in her eyes.
"No, that's not—" he began, exasperation coloring his deep voice before he realized she was laughing at him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. "Really?" he asked her, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
Nadia's laughter, light and melodious, floated up between them like a bridge connecting their disparate heights. She adjusted the lighter bag of spices in her grip, nutmeg and cardamom releasing their fragrance into the air around them as she jostled the package.
"It is your birthday, my son," she said, her voice softening. "You turned eighteen. Let me celebrate you while I still have time on this earth." The words were spoken lightly, but carried an undercurrent of truth that made Dion's chest tighten.
He smiled down at her, his eyes—so like her own—crinkling at the corners. "Fine," he conceded, "just don't say it like that."
"Like what?" His mother's face was a study in innocence, though they both knew exactly what he meant.
"Like something bad was soon going to happen to you," Dion replied, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that should have been lost in the cacophony of the street, but Nadia heard him as clearly as if they'd been alone in their small apartment.
She reached up, her small hand resting briefly on his massive forearm. The touch was light but grounding, a ritual of reassurance they'd shared since he was small—before the growth spurts, before he became the giant who now protected her instead of the other way around.
"Hmm, don't worry my child. I'll be here for as long as the Almighty wishes," she said to him, her faith evident in the serene certainty of her tone.
"What Almighty?" thought Dion, the words never passing his lips but churning in his mind with the restlessness of youth. "It's just a scam to take money from you and control you." The thought was familiar, a rebellion he'd nursed privately as he watched his mother donate what little they had to the local church while their own pantry sometimes stood empty.
Nadia watched the shadows pass across her son's face, reading him with the preternatural clarity that only mothers possess. She could navigate the topography of his moods as easily as she navigated the warren-like streets of their neighborhood.
"Are you okay, my child?" she asked, her head tilted to one side, eyes narrowed in concern.
Dion startled from his reverie, his consciousness snapping back to the present moment like a rubber band. "Huh? Oh! Yes!" The words tumbled out clumsily. "I'm just happy I get to eat my mother's pilau once more," he added, his deep, gritty yet youthful voice softening with genuine appreciation.
They continued their journey home, Dion carrying bags heavy with rice, onions, and meat while his mother carried the smaller bundle of spices that would transform the simple ingredients into the birthday feast he'd loved since childhood. The weight was nothing to him; his muscular arms barely registered the burden. What weighed on him more was the stares.
The boy was so tall, his frame so massive that people all around would glance at him then look away, out of fear. He was colossal, and none would want to rub him the wrong way. The whispers followed him like persistent shadows—speculation about his age, his parentage, his temperament. "Must be one of those basketball players," an older man muttered to his companion. "Wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley," replied another.
Sometimes it made Dion uncomfortable, even though he had somewhat gotten used to it. The constant awareness of being watched, evaluated, feared—it settled on his shoulders heavier than any grocery bag ever could. He had learned to control his movements, to speak softly, to make himself smaller in a body that refused to cooperate with that desire.
His mother would notice it; she knew him inside and out. It was almost as if she could read his mind. The boy had a stoic look often, one that added to his scary demeanor, but his mother could see right through him. He was a gentle giant, a large man, intimidating even, with a beautiful soul. Only she truly saw him for what he was; the world saw a brute, but she saw her baby boy.
At the moment when the whispers grew loudest, Nadia would invariably do something to remind him of who he really was—squeeze his hand, tell a silly joke from his childhood, or simply meet his eyes with a look that said, "I see you." Today, she hummed a lullaby she'd sung to him as a child, the familiar melody a balm to his unspoken discomfort.
Mother and son approached a crossroads, with Nadia moving a few feet ahead. The street was busy but not chaotic—a typical Nairobi afternoon. Cars honked, matatus blared music, pedestrians flowed like water around obstacles. It was a scene they had navigated countless times before, a choreography of urban life they knew by heart.
Neither of them noticed the truck until it was too late.
As they walked on right by a junction, some meters from them, a truck made an abrupt turn while approaching. It hit a rock at such high speeds that a tire was ejected into the air. The massive wheel almost did a complete flip, a lethal projectile on a trajectory directly toward Nadia's unprotected back.
It all happened so slow yet so fast. Dion heard screams and yells, a crash, sounds that all stopped almost instantly, and at some point, all he could hear was his own breathing.
It was as if time itself bent around him, slowing to a crawl. He could hear his own heartbeat, yet his attention was completely divorced from it, as if it were merely background noise. His body felt like it clenched on itself hard, and he felt a strange sensation on the palms of his hands and soles of his feet—a tingling, electric awareness that spread through his limbs like wildfire.
His heart rate accelerated, growing faster. His vascularity became vivid, veins standing out in sharp relief against his skin. His muscles bulged, almost throbbing, beating in sync with his racing heart. For a moment, it was as if he grew bigger—no, he did grow bigger, his frame expanding with power he'd never known he possessed.
The truck was slowly flying towards his mother, who raised her arms into the air in a desperate, futile attempt to guard herself from the approaching doom.
Then—whoosh!
In the blink of an eye, Dion dashed, reaching his mother and stopping before her. He moved at high speeds while the rest of the world moved in slow motion, as if he alone existed outside the normal flow of time. He placed himself between the danger and his mother without conscious thought, his body acting on an instinct deeper than reason.
He opened his legs apart and spread his arms up and out, ready for the truck that was, at that point, mere inches from them. It landed on him—on his traps, hands, and upper back. His knees were like spring shock absorbers, the weight forcing him to bounce a bit before he gained full balance and control.
Then, as suddenly as it had slowed, the world returned to its normal frame rate.
For a moment, all was dark. Dion could hear them, the people all around him. He could hear his mother's breathing, the air colliding with her airways. He could hear the men inside the truck fidgeting nervously. He could hear the clicking and flashing of cameras as onlookers documented the impossible scene unfolding before them.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, his vision moderately blurred white as clarity gradually returned. The world came back into focus—first his mother's face, painted with an expression that mingled horror and awe, then the truck suspended above them, then the gathering crowd, their mouths agape.
His mother looked at him, then at the truck, looked at the truck in horror and at him with worry. The impossible tableau held for a heartbeat—a young man bearing the weight of several tons of metal above his head, protecting the small woman who had once carried him.
The man inside the truck jumped out, the shift in center of gravity forcing Dion to tilt a bit. People stood in shock as the screams died down, others running to the scene to witness what could not be happening.
With a grunt that seemed to start in his very core, Dion tossed the truck to the side, causing it to slam to the ground with enough force to break the tarmac where it landed. The sound of metal crunching against asphalt echoed through the suddenly silent street.
He looked around at the faces full of shock all around him, then back to his mother. Their eyes met across a chasm of the inexplicable, and in that moment, something fundamental shifted between them—a reversal, a revelation, a recognition.
"Ma..." he muttered as he stretched his hand toward his mother. Before it reached her, his muscles twitched as they gripped him for a moment, and he felt a surge of electricity flow through his entire body, lighting him up from within like a human lightning rod.
He then fell backward, his massive frame hitting the ground with enough force to send tremors through the pavement.
"Dion!!" screamed his mother as she dashed to him, all fear forgotten in the face of her child's distress. She fell to her knees beside him, gathering his massive head into her lap as she had done when he was a boy with nightmares.
"Dion?! Dion!" She called to him as tears welled in her eyes. People were still wondering what had just happened, while she was more worried about her son's well-being, the miracle secondary to the fear that gripped her heart.
"Someone help!!" she called as she held his head with one arm and searched for her analog phone with the other, fingers trembling as they dug through her purse with desperate urgency.
Finally finding it, she called for medical assistance, her voice breaking as she tried to explain a situation that defied explanation.