Dubois Avenue on a Monday morning is a battlefield: hawkers shouting “Madam, chukua hii handbag, ni original!”, matatus honking like they’re trying to scare the devil himself, and boda bodas threading through pedestrians like needles through cloth.
Kero — real name Kerubo, but that’s only used by her mother when things are serious — cut through the crowd in her red high heels like she owned the street. Her friends, Jenny and Wambu, had nicknamed her “Kero” after her love for keroro when they were in campus. She was the type to touch up lip gloss while crossing Moi Avenue traffic and somehow survive.
But today, confidence in her step had a wobble. She was on a mission. A face emergency.
For years, Kero had been using “instant results” products — those mystery creams that could make you look five shades lighter overnight but came with the fine print: may also make your skin declare independence. She had a whole shelf at home: Papaya Extra Whitening, Cleopatra Gold, even that cream with a label entirely in Chinese except for the words Super Glow.
It had all caught up with her. This morning, her mirror had revealed a small but mighty uprising on her forehead — three pimples, bold and unapologetic, camping there like VIPs at a festival. And the rest of her face? Patchy, sensitive, and looking like it had been in a political rally gone wrong.
“Wueh! Leo ni noma,” she muttered, checking herself on her cracked phone screen.
That’s when she saw it — Mama Jay’s Cosmetics & Beauty, proudly displaying posters of women with flawless skin that hadn’t existed outside Photoshop since 2008.
Inside, Mama Jay herself — queen of downtown glow, prophetess of quick fixes, and expert of dubious imports — was counting coins at the counter.
“Kero! My beautiful daughter! Hii uso iko aje?
“Mama Jay,” Kero sighed, “hizi products zimenigeuka.
Mama Jay’s eyes lit up like she’d just spotted a customer buying three wigs at once. She ducked under the counter and emerged with a tiny jar labeled Snow White Glow & Beyond. The font was shiny, the lid gold, the promises ambitious.
“This one, my dear, is the magic. Imported from Guangzhou. Clears pimples, brightens skin, even makes you look younger. You will be glowing like you were born in Karen Hospital yesterday.”
Kero didn’t think twice. That night, she applied it thick — like blue band on supa loaf.
The next morning, she caught her reflection and gasped. Her face was red. Not cute rosy-red — but bold, traffic-light STOP red.
“Eh yoh! Mama Jay! Nimekuwa sign ya stop!” she yelled, storming into the shop.
Mama Jay didn’t even blink. “Ahh… that is the detox stage. The product is chasing away all the demons in your skin. Give it two more days.”
Jenny, who had tagged along, shook her head. “Kero, hii ni trap. Your skin is negotiating Brexit na hiyo cream.”
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