It is now official that I should steer clear of spirits. Thrice I have disowned my girlfriends in a club, just but to get the number of that quiet chick on the next seat. Thrice I have behaved rather badly, like throwing up or dancing in a manner that at least sends half of the people on the dance floor to their seats. Thrice I have had to nurse really nasty hangovers. I woke up feeling like three old women are dancing in my head to three different tunes. I have woken up feeling very cold but drenching with sweat profusely. Very dry on one cheek and very wet on the other. Spirits.
No wonder they have those funny photos Tigers crying and lions sweating with a snowy mountain in the background.
Moving on fast, last Friday, I wanted something different. Something unfamiliar. Not the routine drinking at military joints where beer comes at a cheaper than the regular price in your average night club in uptown Nairobi. Some lady friend owed me drinks but they were not forthcoming (@Lo, this is sheer kidding). Hence an alternative plot was readily welcome.
A trip down Coast
If you were born and raised in the Western half of Kenya, a trip down Coast is something that you always look forward to. Everyone who has been to the Coast, just but once is always nostalgic about it rather blithely.
We all go to Coast for the first time mostly from school either through an academic trip or a sports tournament. Were it not for the school trips most individuals would never ever have made it there. At university level, you will either go through the school or if a lucky girl, some naïve yuppie can squander his formative salaries on you with carnal expectations at the end of the day. The man realizes for the first time that paying for sex does not necessarily happen in a brothel or K-street, if anything still happens there.
The girl on the hand discovers that her body can take her to places, quite literary. All she has to do is ensure that it is not that part of the month, act and dress pretty. Put her best smile on, find a place and lock her issues and moods and be ready to give some really rapturous sex in the 3,4,5-star hotels. Either way one is using the other and thus it cancels out. Later, the girl can plaster the photos on Facebook (we all do, don’t we).
When you go as student, you must run on a shoe-string budget. You eat at the normal roadside hotels, sleep in cheap hotels and buy the cheap stuff along the beach. Later in the other half of the 20s one can afford a 3-star hotel with a woman who is not very materialistic. If she is material, then boy, you gotta wait longer or start stealing or evading tax. But either way, Coast is the ultimate tourist destination for many a Kenyan who was not born there.
The most stupid, imbecilic men in campus
You would think that three years in the university are enough to allow the university to go through a person as well him or her go through the university but sometimes the truth can be shocking.
The most stupidly inane thing I have ever encountered in the University happened this past Friday. We had been preparing to go to the Coast over the last two months and Friday was the day. Unfortunately, it was Friday the 13th. You always trash such things until Fate decides to screw you with a really big dick to make you understand that 13th is an evil number. How?
See, back in March we organized low key friendly matches amongst the halls of residence. With it came a few dollars that we had to share with some players and the school games tutor. A quiet woman who astounded me with her venality. She asked for a kick-back half the money and refused to back down once we started bargaining. In the spirit of future interactions she had her way with the promise that come this trip, we will certainly get our cut. We have worked so tirelessly to get the money out and the last thing on our mind was that this lady could pull some mischief on us.
Then came this trip and little did we know that we had a few enemies in the bus who succeeded in locking us out of the bus completely.
Ruth and Brenda
In such trips, mischief is the name of the game. We knew this hence Henry, my sidekick decided that we book the ladies accompanying us in poshy Coastal bus and deal with the manly stuff of bargaining for our cut in the school bus we were supposed to be travelling in. So Ruth, Henry’s girlfriend and Brenda, the Kalenjin hotie from the previous blog were lumped together for the first time and we hoped they will get along well.
The wild goose chase
We got to where the bus was parked, at Serena, most likely to avoid Henry. We were also in the company of Diddy, a tall, objectively violent person and a chest thumping Manchester United fan with enough amazing Man U stats. We missed the bus by a whisker and thought it was an oversight and chased it through the fast moving traffic all the way to Uhuru Highway where they stood waiting for us for at least two minutes. As soon as they saw us approaching the bus, they took off and disappeared into the clear Uhuru Highway into Mombasa road.
We called the powers that be in the University but patently, there was little intervention. We grabbed a cab and started chasing the bus in the hope that they will stop somewhere to pick the rogue games tutor. To our surprise she was apparently in the bus in spite cheating us that she was to be picked at the City Cabanas.
We chased. And we chased. Into Embakasi. Into Mlolongo. Into Machakos Junction. All along being lied to that the tutor was yet to be picked. We felt like fools. Sheep, probabaly. We knew the taxi fee was shooting through the roof and decided to turn back. As we came back, we decided on spot that we were going to Mombasa, school bus or no school bus.
The art of being a man
The better part of being a man is that you can make decisions instantly.
Crisis: The taxi man wanted Ksh.5000
Problem: We had little cash on us.
Predicament: Our women were already on course to Mombasa.
Dilemma: We could miss a bus to Coast as night was fast catching up with us.
So Henry called on his man Omosh at Mash and booked some three seats and we went back to negotiate the taxi fee that was scandalously high…On getting back to Nairobi, we bought some Viceroy, fries and chicken for a quick supper and tucked ourselves into the back seats of the bus, feeling wasted, cheated, violated and shortchanged.
Whatever happened to the spirit of comradeship? When we joined, a University bus never got full and you will never leave a comrade behind, much less a student leader no matter how greedy or high the stakes are. So those men who did us wrong, get your facts right and that was the most unmanly thing that you can do. But that is water under the bridge.
In retrospect, that was fate’s big dick screwing us. Besides it was Friday the 13th . It must be something we did back in March. That was cancelled.
Our times at the Coast
We touched down at the Coast exactly 6.20 am to a warm and breezy morning. The Coastal town was up and husky contrary to the common stereotype traded that Coastal people are genetically slow.
First thing fast (sic) we headed to Mtwapa to secure an hotel and freshen up before we take on the Coast. It starts to rain and this gives our drive from the town to Mtwapa. It brought out the balmy, ashy effect to the weather that promises a brighter day ahead.
As soon as we booked the rooms, we took to the next Roadside joint and ordered enough meet to give us gout by 30. After that heavy brunch, we headed to town with the intention of leaving our women and try to chase the men and the rogue woman who stole our cash. We get to Mombasa Poly only to find our students stranded there with no plan to play at all. There was a Coca-Cola sponsored tournament for high school kids that we watched for two hours before going back to town and join our girlfriends and kick the fan ball rolling.
We hook up at Casablanca, sipping Red Bull and Soda having been joined with another Ruth, Henry’s girlfriend’s cousin. She is quite some piece of work but she has a fiery attitude that can explode a petrol tanker and I opt to steer clear of her pronto.
We get to Pirates Beach to swim briefly, ride a bicycle, en route to our hotel rooms. We grab a few drinks at the overly priced Pirates Beach Hotel and some bitings as we witness Manchester lift the premier league trophy for the record 19th time. History. Hey, sometimes we regret how we ended in Arsenal.
Onwards we march to our rooms, quick showers and a much quicker supper. Our budget was getting constrained, so we decided to enhance our bodies with a few spirits that nearly ruined the evening. The ladies settled for Vodka as we deposited Guinness and Viceroy in our bank.
At Bella Vista and my roving eye
We went partying at Vista, which I must admit is one of the better clubs I have ever been to. The crowd is well controlled and the spacing was good enough. We settled into a corner table and ordered our drinks. The mood was amiable and exciting. So far, our women had been behaving, void of drama and as respectably as possible, something not so common in the University Female Community.
A few drinks down the line and I started my usual drama in night clubs. No matter how hot the woman accompanying me is, I always develop a thing for the chick in the next seat. I have often disowned my girlfriends swearing by my great grandfather from the paternal side that I don’t know them just but to get the number. Not that I pursue them afterwards.
On this rainy Saturday, the missus was giving quite a raunchy lap dance and undoubtedly everyone would tell that she was in deed my chick.
But there was this chick in the next seat in a skimpy purple dress. Pretty and confident though she seems the type who can describe no less than 100 ceilings, if you get the drift. She disappears on me. The seat’s next occupant is a tall chick; possess the coastal, light-skinned beauty and a body that had sexy written all over it. I kept winking at her and her smiling back. She nabbed to dance with her but I pretended to be too busy when in the really sense I can’t move my two feet anywhere in the dance floor. I did the usual Nairobi thing…
“Number,” I said whispering.
“I only associate with men who are not taken, there is your girlfriend,” she said with the natural politeness born of the coastal upbringing.
“Who?” I asked ruefully.
“That one,” she said pointing at her.
“Nope, she is not, she is just a chick I came in with…”
Apparently people were taking notes.
My drama was becoming intolerable and my company decided that I had had one too men, it was time to go. As we got downstairs, it was raining like hell. As they were deciding, I ran back to get the number. Before she could give me the number, my company decided to come back.
Brenda finds out I’m talking to her and boy, did hell break loose. I have never seen a woman so irked.
“Silas, you don’t do that!” It was a command and she was justifiably pissed off. But thanks to my fictive mind, I got off this one by creating a long story that can entertain another blog.
As Henry tried to get of the stranger who had occupied our seat, there was imminent violence.
“Hebu tokeni hapa, tulikuwa hapa mbeleni.”Henry said trying to sound as Coastal as possible.
“Waniambia nini? Mi nilikuwa hapa tangu klub ikijengwa( spoken in the slow, arrogant casual Coastal accent).