best efforts. Stylish female Nairobeans, confident in their hair and beauty, talk into mobile phones. The frying smell of chips and chicken and fish in the air. And then there’s that complimentary signature of up-tempo sound, Nigerian often, beating from urban nightclub speakers—the names, Florida, Club Tribeka, Ozone. Hustlers in the corners keep an eye on the human game of this city and note whose wallet bulges out foolishly, who could be robbed with minimum fuss, practiced eyes picking out who does not yet belong. All these—the vitality of a city with a soul. This Nairobi.