Meza kwa mtu mmoja

Mia anaingia katika mkahawa mdogo saa tatu usiku. Chumba kiko tupu karibu. Mhudumu mchovu mwenye apron nyeupe anaonyesha meza kona.

Mia goes into a small restaurant at nine. The room is almost empty. A tired waiter in a white apron points to a table in the corner.

"Mmoja tu?" anauliza. Mia anasema ndiyo. Yeye husafiri peke yake daima. Ana wasiwasi kidogo. Menyu iko kwenye karatasi moja ndogo.

"Just one?" he asks. Mia says yes. She always travels alone. She is a little nervous. The menu is on one small piece of paper.

Mia anaonyesha neno moja. Halijui. Mhudumu anatabasamu. "Chakula maalum," anasema polepole. "Chakula cha bibi yangu. Kama hukipendi, nakuletea kingine."

Mia points at a word. She does not know it. The waiter smiles. "The special," he says slowly. "My grandmother's food. If you do not like it, I bring something else."

Chakula kinakuja kwenye bakuli nzito. Ni moto, na kitunguu saumu na vipande vidogo vya mkate. Mia anakionja. Mhudumu anamwangalia kutoka bar.

The food comes in a heavy bowl. It is hot, with garlic and little pieces of bread. Mia tries it. The waiter watches her from the bar.

Mia anampa kidole gumba juu. Anacheka na kujaza glasi yake tena. "Nzuri," anasema. "Rudi kesho. Kisha nitakuambia kina nini."

Mia gives him a thumbs up. He laughs and fills her glass again. "Good," he says. "Come back tomorrow. Then I tell you what is in it."