You think you have seen them all until someone chucks a success card you sent them in class eight. This is a whole different story, altogether. I mean, all women are crazy but some are truly crazier than others. With the traffic situation today, I was stuck at a spot which reminded of an encounter I had some time back.
I was onto one of those random two-three many with a childhood bud, let’s call him T. His friend had a gig as a DJ at some haunt in the Ngara area, Nairobi. This was not my original plan, though. I had reluctantly tagged along from T’s prodding and more so, for lack of a better plan.
Soon, dawn begun suggestively licking the drowsy nightscape. I picked my cue to nudge T into joining the great migration that throngs nippy Nairobi mornings the day after. Well marinated and stubborn as ever, we just managed to moved joints. He said he was intent on grabbing some this or (l)ass.
We ended up in a smoky, stuffy underground spot where I remember following a South American football tournament. A cold Pilsner thrusted my already violated throat and kept the ‘Smokey Robinson’ image in check.
Right across was a lady. Or as they call it nowadays mteke!
She wasn’t particularly a thing of beauty, but those Gazongas elicited involuntary jaw-dropping. She was serious too, and not an off the mill ‘trapster’. Still, she was worldly and very particular on Stickmatisation which just intensified my interests as she appeared feeery ‘innocent’
All this, I learnt on the second meeting. It was on a random weekday and safely tucked in a corner ideal for canoodling. See, she was full of surprises. This time, she flipped some Chinaman phone and be hold, her glorious preciousness shot from several possible (and impossible) angles appeared in all the graininess pixels could offer!
I almost tilted the table over as levers worked my fulcrum when I peered closely enough –
Man, even Moses had not seen anything as dense one as that. The bush was stronger on this one!
Don’t ask why I kept on – I dropped enough hints for a smooth course of action, and on a particular Thursday evening, I was to transport the ‘Merchandise‘ home. One liiiiiiiiittle problem. I had about Kshs. 550 /- to my name. The month has taken a particularly nasty turn, but blue balls know no month, rather the many months gone by.
I had to wait for her to leave work (at some cinema) and had planned on hanging about the office until it was time.
All the same, I couldn’t sweep her off straight away to the stage. Tact. So I decided to gamble with one as I waited. She came, and naturally, had to order for her as well. She seemed in no rush. Therefore, even as I drained the last drags from my bottle, I steered the conversation towards leaving.
Then she ordered another.
My balls cringed.
Shortly after, I had only 150 /- to my name. Fare for both of us would be Kshs. 200… even as she kept asking what my plan was.
Bang your brains off ya mean?
“Yeah, yeah, we hang around this local, have a few, dance, at least before dawn…”
She had high heels and the walk to the stage was a painfully slow torture as my mind shuttled between how I’d make up for the fiscal shortage and giving her enough excitable reasons – in case she decided to change her mind mid – stream.
Boy, I dint even have fare back to work the coming day – but I was fery fery determined that the Syokimau Train spends the night at the Embakasi terminal.
We’re seated on the mat, at about 12:30 pm. It’s one of those late night javs run by a racket intent taking advantage of transport shortage.
Part II, en route.