It’s a few minutes past midnight. Not that you can tell from the flurry of activities going on in the sin city. The city is so full of life; night nurses fighting for the strategic parts of the streets, street families hurdling together to fight the biting cold, alcoholics dragging themselves to yet another bar, while the true champions of the night lurk in dark alleys waiting for prey. Meanwhile miraa and muguka sellers proudly display their wares for their unending customers.
He's never known what the difference is between the two. He will ask Owen about that.
The queue at the Cooperative Bank ATM is just getting longer. The bank must be making a lot of money on Fridays. Unless of course people are too inebriated to remember their PINS.
He's on his fourth Guinness. He will always be grateful to Sir Arthur Guinness for such a rich and rewarding drink. His eyes are now getting a little bit heavy. He can still see though, clearly so. Today he’s not at his favorite joint. They didn’t find any seats there. The new place is not bad. From the balcony of the new joint he watches Embassava buses come and go. He watches lovers cling on to each other while prolonging their good byes. Such people make him believe in love again. Until thirty minutes later they are prolonging a welcome hug. The day lass has exited, the night nurse has arrived. He smiles knowingly. A man has to do what a man has to do.
The Nairobi air is so much loaded. There’s a faint but unmistakable smell of the ubiquitous teargas wafting in the air. It is punctuated with the nauseating stench from heap of garbage and refuse, heavy dust, thick dense smoke from the matatus that only ply their trade at night and the smell of ladies perfumes, weaves and makeup.
Today is not the best of days. But it’s still a good day nevertheless. His companion is a great man. He's reliable. He's consistent. He’s the embodiment of greatness. He just has a tiny flaw. He's never on time……unless it's a summon to appear for a drinking session or a Gor Mahia match. The pursuit of greatness waits for no man. As for Gor, Srikal cannot be kept waiting. Even if you are the mighty queen of England.
The guys on the other table light their cheap cigarettes and there’s a fresh scramble for the loaded Nairobi air. He doesn’t like smokers. He loves his lungs and so loathes smoke. But then hi bar si ya mamake. He’ll have to endure or retire early to the warm welcome of his apartment’s solitude.
The music is okay. It's not Rick Ross but thank God it’s not riddims either. It will do.
From his spot the entire city is right in front of him. He sees her. She's in a skirt that's obvious the tailor ran out of material. She's sexy. It’s clear her dress is her choice. He would want to strip her. Not in public, just in private. She looks quite sophisticated. These yellow women will be the end of us all. She looks like she's the type of girl who drinks tots the size of his salary. He escorts her with the eyes till she disappears into a taxi …..To Caramel Lounge probably. One day he might just be able to take her there. A man is allowed to dream.
He's trying to close a deal on WhatsApp. She's some familiar stranger on one of his WhatsApp groups. She seems intelligent. And funny. And beautiful. Yes, he did stare at her profile picture. He’s superficial. He knows.
He must not seem pushy. So he takes his time. Complimenting and laughing at her jokes while appearing uninterested in pursuing a personal conversation. It’s still a group and he is trying not to be noticed.
The phone goes off. Tomorrow he'll have to start again. F*ck Android. He needs to buy a kabambe to feel the void in situations like this. Wait, kabambe doesn't have WhatsApp.
He is thinking about her. He’s thinking about them.
What's she doing now? Watching Scandal in her bedsitter at Kahawa? Does she have somebody over? Has she introduced him to their motorbike guy or their local mama mboga or their butcher? Has she cooked for him? Hope it’s just mukimo or waru. Has he discovered that spot by the neck yet? That exact spot that ignites her passion and drives her crazy? Does he make her scream? Does she love him? He misses her. He really wants to text her and spew nonsense. Break down and ask her back. Beg if need be. He misses her sweet scent, her soft perfect lips and her homeliness. He's saved by the power shortage. It’s ok. He'll text her when he's sober. He never texts back when he's sober.
He thinks about her as well. His Mama Mitch. The closest to Halle Berry he’s ever gonna get. He thinks about her dreadlocks. How he loved playing with them. He remembers her white teeth and her bewitching smile. He remembers Mitch. Their son. Mitch is a teddy bear but he was a son to him. He truly loved their little family. Is she out? Is she with her gang, the ones that she always showed up for a date with or is she with her new guy? Is he strategic? Will he score tonight? Will he change the name of their son? Will she let him and thus close the door on the beautiful memories they shared together? He’ll text her in the morning. He never texts her when he’s sober.
He thinks about her too. Is she at the kesha tonight? He remembers her telling him she can’t date alcoholics. He remembers explaining that he isn’t an alcoholic. He just drinks Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays only. She’d dare ask him to choose between greatness and him! Women!! He shakes his head.
Had he made any right choices in his life? His peers are getting married and begetting twins, divorcing and remarrying, going to statehouse for tea and giving out sewing machines to poor women, getting philosophical and motivational and commanding the respect of fellow men. Yet here he sits at this crowded bar. Consuming beer from a recycled bottle somebody used a year ago.
He thinks about his mum back home. Is she thinking about him? He knows she is. She’s probably kneeling. Praying. Praying for him. Praying that he goes to church the following day. Praying that he gets good health. Praying that her son doesn’t get swallowed by the Sodom and Gomorrah of our time. He’ll call her in the morning. He will always remember to call her when he’s sober.
He shuts down the train of thought and hugs his cold, bitter, crisp, dark love even tighter.
Maybe he’s an alcoholic after all.
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So did you notice anything new in the blog? Anything. Sorry, I forgot you are on your mobile . It's okay. I'll tell you. There's a social media plugin. You can now comment and share on Facebook and twitter easily.
That's courtesy of some great work from the one and only Owen Habel Lwanda. You can interact with his creative side on his blog http://owenhabel.blogspot.com or his geeky side at http://in4addict.blogspot.com.
He has also featured prominently on sabhinajoy.com and weed.com.
Otherwise keep calm and keep sharing.
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