The following events occur between 2200Hrs and 0300Hrs…
Its Friday night, we’d earlier on planned to own the night courtesy of my buddy Vinecarey ( I hear that’s what he calls himself nowadays, I used to know him by the name Omoro or something close to that back in high school when he was still shy when talking to girls). Vinecarey had earlier on promised to get us wasted but unfortunately its either things didn’t go his way or he just decided to become selfish coz as soon as we reached the CBD, he texted us saying he’s broke, can’t even buy a bottle of soda. Who gets broke after promising a whole night of partying!?
Anyway the night’s still young and we ain’t going back home this early, so we find ourselves asking the next obvious question; “We uko na ngapi tuchange tubuy mzinga?” We decide to hold an impromptu fundraising but then again Omoro disappoints. He’s still broke. How could we forget that? And since we ain’t here to feed anyone, even the harambee can’t happen.
On realizing that there’s nothing good that’s about to come up here anytime soon, Mandom pulls out of the group; he decides to go home. Oh sorry I forgot to introduce him, how could I. He’s the tallest, tall and thin…or slender whatever. Try and imagine that description. And in your imagination add the adjective ‘clumsy’ to it, and that’s Mandom for you. He was a classmate too, and just like Vinecarey he also feared girls haha. But that was then during High School days, the present day Mandom, or Edgar (that’s his real name) is obsessed with girls, or women…or both. He’s that guy that hits both sides of
the coin, the vunja mifupa kama meno bado iko guy. But all this courage of approaching girls only comes to him when he’s high on something, mostly Legend mzinga, or “Lejo” as he likes to call it. And so on seeing that his chances of getting drunk and hitting on girls are almost zero, he decides to go home. Probably there’s a woman already waiting for him there. Jaluo oksechi, or so they say, so my Luo friends tell him to leave if he wants to, nobody’s gonna plead with him to stay.
I say “Luo friends” coz actually there’s another guy, Oscar, or just call him Ogunyo and he’ll respond. He’s this huge fella, or to best describe him let’s just say he’s massive. The guy has never stopped growing ever since I met him in our first year of school. He’s carrying something on his hand (which I later on realize is a woofer that he’s just bought; a must-have for any bachelor of his age coz how will you changamsha your keja minus one). And yeah he also speaks in tongues too…he’s good at this language that’s spoken in France, French or something whatever haha.
Then an idea comes in; we decide to call Jude Thaddeus, Thaddeus with a double D, a name so ancient that I still think he’s a descendant the gods of the arena during the days of ancient Rome, probably the great grandson to the likes of Spartacus. Jude’s this bulky guy, fat and bulky in an almost oval shape. Or maybe not bulky, he just happens to have this body that seems to be swollen sort of. And oh he also has his specialty too, he once was aspiring to be a roman catholic priest during his when-i-grow-up days. Vinecarey tells me he never fails to turn up on such drinking occasions so one of us gives him a phone call. And true to Vinecarey’s word, Thaddeus is in. (And for future purposes I think I’ll stick to using Jude…Thaddeus is too long)
Its almost 2100hrs and we can’t keep standing in front of Tuskys Beba Beba totally formless without any clue on what to do for the night, so we decide to walk to Oscar’s place though it aint his place as such, it’s a hostel sort of. Jude will find us there.
Next is we’re at Oscar’s place, Jude arrives later on with his buddy. I don’t know him so there’s nothing to describe about him. Let’s just call him John Snow haha. Within 10 minutes after arrival, Jude’s already buying drinks. Yeah he’s that fast, the type of guy that believes that only Jesus saves, Luos spend. Call him a high-roller, big spender or spendthrift or whatever fits along that line. He’s the itisha upewe kinda guy, spending money aint a problem to him wotiss! But he only spends as long as you’re on his good side. Cross his line and he’ll tell you anything that’s to be told, from how thin you look in those jeans you bought in Muthurwa market, to how your head’s not proportional to your body and any other mean thing he’ll think of. But again all those is said on a lighter note. We just laugh it off and get back to drinking.
And so the mini-drinking begins. Oscar’s woofer is already set in place, music is at the loudest. Forty-fifty minutes later and I think zangu zimeshika. I begin losing awareness of whatever’s happening around me. All I see is funny faces talking djibrish, or gibberish wolefa. Everyone’s drunk and the small room can no longer contain five drunk bastards (okay we’re not bastartds, I just thought that word would fit in there). We decide to hit the road and go to any club. I hear someone suggesting Tribeka, the other says Samba, another shouts Sabina Joy…and so am left wondering just what sort of clubs do these people go to. We need to hit club Tahiti or something along that line of nudity. I aint spending my money in a club where the ratio of males to females is 30:4. Do the math, am also not sure whether that ratio there is realistic coz maths is one thing I’ve never been good at.
“Let’s hit Tahiti!!!”
I try shouting to my loudest…nobody’s listening. Probably am too drunk that whatever I think am shouting is too inaudible to be understood. And so off we go to whichever club they’ve chosen. Mine is just to follow behind like a stupid dog.
One-two steps on the streets and i fall down; my first fall. Things are getting trippy. Three more falls like that and I think I’ll pass out. I can’t feel my legs. But i get up after a long struggle, I murmur some murmurable words and on we march to the club.
Then I trip a second time. Jeso! My night ain’t ending with me passing out on the streets, I tell myself. Someone tries helping me up but I respond with the ‘mi niko sawa,‘ phrase. I can get up on my own. My knees are too weak to support my underweight body so I find something to give me support as I struggle to get up on my own. Then I stumble, again….
And that’s all I can remember about our walk to whichever-club-we-were-walking-to.
Next is I’m waking up at my doorstep, miles away from the CBD where I fell down. I look around me, it’s still dark, probably 0300 hrs in the night. I must have dragged myself home but lacked the strength to take out the keys to my apartment from my pocket and open the door, so I ended up falling asleep outside there on the doormat, probably thinking it’s my cozy bedbug infested mattress. I quickly find my keys and open the door before my neighbors who are early rises wake up and see me lying there stupidly. I mostly hope that this beautiful girl next door didn’t see me sleeping there in such state coz then I can kiss goodbye to the free meals I always get whenever she invites me over.
The next day I call Vinecarey and the just from the way he laughs is enough to tell me that I totally f*cked up last night. And just a word of advice, never do anything stupid when you’re drunk and Vinecarey is around. He’s quick at taking pics of you in awkward situations and later on he uses them to blackmail you. And ooh he also does this thing where someone just talks very wildly to an audience in words that only God knows the meaning, this one called Spoken Word, or Fatuma’s voice or whatever…but he’s a poet, and an actor too, a good one.
Days after, I meet Oscar and since he’s a man of few words when sober, he just leaves me with a word of advice, probably an advice he was given by the great masters of drinking: “Usikate maji ka hujakula poa”…which roughly translates to Don’t take alcohol if you haven’t eaten.
There’s no way am believing that I passed out so I challenge them for a re-match, or rather a re-drinking night, but up until the time of going to press, nobody had taken my challenge yet.