Today's Song of Kenya, Tuesday 22 December, is a love song.
But it is not the dreamed and idealised love of Africa that we often talk about, nor is it a sudden, instantaneous and perhaps ephemeral love.
It is the love you do not expect, the one planned and waited for by a poor but dignified man from the hinterland of Kilifi. 
In the village of Ganze, the young carpenter Kahindi assembles and repairs old doors, beds and chests of all shapes and sizes. 
It is a job done for his fellow man, for his people, and does not allow for great earnings or flights of fancy.
They say that dreaming costs nothing, but even in Ganze that is no longer true.
Young people dream of motorbikes and threaten their grandparents to buy them. Sometimes they go so far as to kill them, accusing them of being witch doctors.
Girls dream of smartphones and end up prostituting themselves to buy tampons, when in the worst case scenario (or in the beautiful houses of Parioli, without the conditional) it should be the other way around.
Instead, Kahindi's dreams belong to another time, and for this they only cost effort, days of work and the hope that the woman he loves will understand.
They are dreams that come true, because they do not ask for the moon, nor a tile floor. They do not ask for electricity, but for a small solar panel to power a light bulb.
Dreams that take shape slowly, and have the appearance of a mud hut with a makuti roof but... with a special dedication.
We have seen that hut. Coming up month after month with only one person to build it.
In the evenings after work, on Sundays, on feast days when friends would gather under a baobab tree or in the village clearing to drink mnazi and tell stories.
No palm wine, no 50-shilling bets on English football. Just a hut with a heart-shaped window.
I would like to tell Kahindi's sweetheart that, especially these days, she will be marrying a special man.
And that we would love to be present at their wedding.