Lunga Lunga Road
The workshop is in South B, Nairobi's industrial zone, behind a blue gate with the letters NAYNA MOTORS painted by hand. Inside: a long workbench, tools hung on wooden panels, a compressor, a ficus in one corner, and a cat sleeping on the rags. Three doors down, mama Amina's chai stall. Fifty meters away, Njoroge's truck workshop, where he sometimes brings over ugali wrapped in newspaper.
What you don't see in the portrait is the workbench. But it's there, behind everything. Because Nayna didn't dress up for the photo: the black biker jacket is the one she wears every day since she bought it at Gikomba with the money from her second rebuilt motorcycle. The red polka-dot bandana belonged to her grandmother Wanjiku, who sold chai in Syokimau until she died on a Tuesday in August. And the crown of red flowers is something she does every morning: she goes down to Wakulima market before six, buys whatever's there — red if she can, 150 shillings, sometimes 200 — and carries them in her left hand pressed against the handlebar of her Honda CB125 while she weaves between empty matatus on Haile Selassie Avenue. The first thing she does when she gets to the workshop is put them in an empty oil can on the workbench. The second thing: chai.
The oil can with flowers. The oil ran out long ago. The flowers are replaced every two or three days. And in between, the petals fall onto the bench and land among the wrenches and bolts: red on metal. Nayna doesn't see it as decoration. She sees it as her workshop.







