I tried a soulmate sketch – this is what happened! It floored me!
I was supposed to be doing something important on the computer. You know—something grown-up. Like paying bills, writing a proposal, or finding original spare parts for my Kwid. Does anyone ever try to find fake spare parts? Anyway!
That little red slay queen is giving me more problems than dating—imagine. She looks cute in the driveway, sure, but maintaining her is like trying to love someone who keeps ghosting you, then showing up when your phone battery is at 1%.
So, there I was, meant to be searching for a reputable auto-parts dealer, and instead I found myself thinking about soulmates. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the 17 open tabs. Maybe it was the fact that even my car is more demanding than my love life.
But something in me whispered: “What if your soulmate is out there… but can’t find you because he’s using Waze in Nairobi?”
And just like that, I fell down a rabbit hole. Not the kind Alice stumbled into—mine was paved with affiliate ads, slightly questionable testimonials, and an offer to receive a psychic drawing of my soulmate for a mere $29. A man I’ve never met, drawn by someone who has never met me. All via the internet. What could go wrong? Lol!
The Woman Who Knew Too Much
This thing of falling into rabbit holes goes way back—way back to the days when I used to mark student scripts in two weeks flat.
Now, don’t get me wrong—it’s not like they were PhDs. Naaah. These were first-years. Introduction to Anthropology. Fresh out of high school, armed with confidence and vibes. But don’t be fooled. Even undergraduate scripts can wear you down. By day three your eyes glaze over, your red pen starts leaking into your coffee, and every sentence reads like a philosophical riddle wrapped in grammatical chaos.
At the time, I had a neighbour—Betty. She was one of those highly competent, quinoa-soaking, herbal tea-brewing women who was trained in something expensive and mysterious called the Waldorf Method. She teaches children through storytelling, seasonal baking, and probably the gentle use of moss.
She was also the unfortunate recipient of my emotional soundtrack: a constant switch between soul music and loud Kikuyu classics—whatever it took to stay sane while marking papers in which students responded as if armchair anthropologist was a type of furniture.
I liked Betty. A lot. But at some point in our friendship, she sat me down and said: “Muthoni, I think you might be…easily distracted.”
She said it kindly. Like a teacher breaking the news that your child eats crayons.
Naturally, I denied it. I even built an internal fortress to resist the idea. Brick by defensive brick. But sitting here today, browsing a psychic art website instead of doing my actual work, I felt a small crack form in the wall. Betty, it turns out, was just seeing the kindergartener in me.
The Checkout Moment (A Crisis of Faith)
I won’t lie. The site was convincing. It promised not just a drawing, but a description of your soulmate’s personality, their energy, their life purpose. At one point, it claimed the sketch could bring clarity to my love life.
I had questions.
What if the sketch looked like my ex? Would I be expected to forgive and forget just because this time, he was delivered as a digital PDF?
What if it looked like that one toxic boss I used to work with? The one who sat upstairs with a big stomach, for six whole years, and did nothing but ruin the energy of the entire organization just by existing? Because weeh! Some people!
It wasn’t just a purchase. It was a surrender. A small, whimsical surrender to the part of me that still believes in signs, serendipity, and psychic sketch artists working overtime on the internet.
I was amused and mildly afraid. This was either an act of self-love—or a red flag on steroids. At one point, I even paused and asked myself, “How much does therapy cost again?”
It might’ve been cheaper.
That’s when I remembered Betty. And the rabbit holes.
“Muthoni, stay focused,” I whispered.
The Reveal
The email arrived the next day. No ceremony. No cosmic lightning. Just a subject line: “Your Soulmate Sketch Is Ready!”
I clicked. And there he was.
A man. With eyes that had seen things. Eyebrows that meant business. A mouth that looked like it only spoke in riddles. He looked like the kind of man who fixes tractors in silence, writes poetry in secret, and cries during Finding Nemo.
I stared at the sketch for a long time.
Was he handsome? In a rugged, silent-type way, yes.
Was he familiar? That was the strange part—maybe.
I felt something. Not certainty, but curiosity. A flicker. A spark. The tiny, ridiculous possibility that maybe, just maybe, this internet art experiment wasn’t completely unhinged.
So, naturally, I did what any self-respecting woman would do:
I ran him through Google Lens.
And lo and behold—the sketch matched fifteen different men.
A tech CEO in Finland. A gospel singer from Uganda. A man who sells tyres in Kiambu. But the only one I was remotely interested in was—of course—Idris Elba.
Weeh, sasa itakuwa aje? I asked myself, suddenly deeply invested in the metaphysical logistics of relating with a British actor who doesn’t know I exist. Although… a journey in search of the tyre seller in Kiambu is probably more viable.
I considered printing it out and framing it. Just to confuse future visitors. “Oh, that? That’s my soulmate. We haven’t met yet, but I like to keep him close.”
What Did I Learn?
That we have the permission to be curious – like children with a crayon and no regard for lines. That not every decision I make will be strategic – I just have to find balance between strategy and the why not?
And yes, Betty was right—I am easily distracted. But sometimes distractions are the only way the soul gets a break from the grind. Sometimes they lead to laughter, to strange portraits, to blog posts.
If nothing else, I now have a picture of a man I can show my mother when she asks why I’m still single.
“Here he is, Mum. He’s psychic-approved.”
If you would like to try your own stretch, here is your chance: https://www.soulmatesketch.com/2-01721767000544#aff=MuthoniThangwa
Muthoni Thangwa 
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