Dear Diary…

Wee, Gili utakunywa?”

Zii, mi staki, ka mnanunua nunueni tu.

That’s Gilbert, the guy that never wants to contribute money for the drink but will drink his ass off more than even the owners of the drink. And that was the phone call between me and Gilbert, the phone call that ignited everything. You see where I work we have this thing of ‘form kwa nani?” “Form kwa nani?” I dont know how to translate that but it roughly means “Who’s place are we drinking tonight?, or “Who’s place are we drinking today?” (These crazy workmates can even start drinking as early in the morning as  right after breakfast. And so it happened that on that evening, they decided that the venue was at Ancilla’s. Okay, it’ll only be fair if I describe Ancilla, or Ancy before I proceed. Ancy is the tarumbeta, the mouthpiece of the room. She’s this tall (but not taller than me) loud and noisy girl, the don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-fuck-with-you type of girls. She can be friends with you for one minute and the next minute she’s threatening to pour hot coffee on your forehead if you dare ask her anything. This one can shout Halleluya at the top of her voice and not even give a damn about how she’s affecting people with her Halleluyas. But she’s nice, nice talkative…but only when she’s in the mood. So on that day she happened to be in the right moods for the day and she agreed to host us at her place. And coz she’s the kind that will decide on one thing now and a minute later change her mind, everyone left for her place. Everyone except me and Dennis, or Denno, or Chomba, or Chomzay, or whatever. This one has more nicknames than Floyd Mayweather I even wonder what his real names are.

Dennis is the only guy I know who still has his Mohawk hairstyle surviving, all the other guys either let theirs overgrow and turned them to dreadlocks, or they died during Martin Luther’s march at Selma. But Denno’s is still surviving, except for once or twice when he changes it to dreadlocks for special occasions, like when we’re going for lunch or something. So Dennis and I told the rest to go ahead, that we’ll join them later on in the night. I don’t know about him but I still had other issues to sort (I also have recently acquired a state-of-the-art bicycle that needed to be taken back home) And so as soon as I’d packed my bike home, we were off to Ancilla’s with Dennis.

We arrive and are immediately told there’s no alcohol in the house even before we reach the house itself. Damn these people love to drink! And that’s when we call Gilbert to ask him if he’ll also drink with the rest. “Zii, mi staki, ka mnanunua nunueni tu.” Gilbert is stubborn. And talkative. And likes to argue…a lot. The nigga will even start arguing with you about the color of your teeth and convince you that last week they were indigo but this week they’ve turned orange. He argues a lot that at times it can even be more annoying than Adelle’s songs. So to avoid any argument, we tell him to fuck off, we buy the drinks and join the rest.

There we find Dennis, and not Dennis the Mohawk guy. It’s the other Dennis. Or Denno, or is it Deno with a single N? I don’t know. I’ve never been good with this nickname thingy. I usually just call him Deno Samosa (Apparently, the nigga watched some inspirational talk by TD Jakes and he was told how he’ll probably be the owner of a chain of supermarkets if only he started by selling small items wherever he was. So he started with peddling Samosas in the office, but ended up eating all the profits, and the business died even before Beyonce could give birth.) And the nigga literally knows everything about everything. From the year Christopher Columbus discovered the US of A to the reason our president is always pissed off at everything nowadays. I think he’s even the only person who knows Vera Sidika’s real age. Remember Zack from the #BringZackBackHome campaign? Remember how the guy suddenly disappeared from the news after the media campaigned for him and we contributed money, remember him? Dennis knows where he disappeared to.

Dennis is in the kitchen preparing food with Mercy the socialite, our own version of Kim Kardashian and Linda Nyangweso rolled up in one piece.  Fun when sober, more fun when drunk. But try making fun of her and she’ll flip her hair and roll her eyes from Zambezi to Lesotho. She’s the female version of Deno  Samosa coz she also knows everything. Oh, except anything Kenyan. She’s like one of those sugar and spice girls who was raised in Utawala but her world is somewhere deep in Rihanna’s closet, or she’s fantasizing how she’ll be with Ed Sheran on his next world tour , or wondering why Nicki Minaj broke up with Nyashinski.

Gloria is in the bedroom, doing god-knows-what with Eva. I guess Eva’s probably taking selfies and posting all over Instagram with hashtags like #AncilaThings #TurnUp #Baller #ThisLifeChoseMe. She’s the blonde of the group, she sells second hand cars during her free time and oh, a girl can shake her ass like the world depends on it. Just give he a bottle or two an kaboom!  Gloria’s the silent one, silent till food comes around then she becomes as protective as William Ruto trying to protect his grabbed lands. She’s the foodie of the group. Eats, smiles, eats again, smiles, repeats.

Eventually Mercy’s food is ready even though it took longer to be ready than a delivery from Kilimall. Food is served, and to cut the long story short, (I told you these people love drinks) the drinking begins. It’s a shot after the other, soup after another soup, with just three songs on replay mode on the laptop that is now abandoned on the table. People start speaking in tongues, Gilbert starts arguing, Dennis is hurled in another corner with Gloria, probably convincing him why Tupac had to die for the good humanity or why Barack Obama is elligible to vie for the president of Kazakstan. Is Kazakstan even a country? The other Dennis wa Mohawk…well, ask Mercy where he is. Eva is at the centre of the floor, shaking what her mama gave her and adding “aki woishe” at the end of every verse that Ed Sheran sings.

636115580245779536-936230570_14-drinking-games-to-spruce-up-your-night-outMe on the other hand, well I’m still seated, staring at everyone and wondering why the fuck am I not as high as everyone else. I reach out for the almost empty bottle of whisky, but Ancy gets it before me. “Weee! Usinisinye..hii ni yangu!” She yells at me then collapses on her seat. But as soon as this Bazokizo song comes on, she’s up on her feet.

Minutes later and all that energy is dying down. People want to play Truth or Dare. We find an empty bottle of KC Coconut and the spinning begins. Spin The Bottle it is. People start spitting dares that even King Jeffrey Lanister couldn’t think of. And that’s just as far as I can go with that coz some of them are graphic, not for view to persons under the age of 18. And oh, there’s also some confession session where one of us confesses more than the ordinary. But hey, what happens at Ancy’s stays at Ancy’s, right? Suddenly the drinks run out, people are getting sober. Eva is dancing no more, Mercy finally stopped flipping her hair, Denno Mohawk is nolonger betting on Sportpesa…something got to be done, we need more alcohol. And Dennis is just the right guy for it. Before we know it Dennis is on a motorbike (or let me just call it Ndudhi) headed to god-knows-where to buy another bottle. Me on the other hand I’m half-carrying Ancy back to her place (Yes we all left to escort Dennis to buy that bottle). She starts screaming she’s cold, so I try acting like the gentleman my mama raised me to be and I literally take off my T-shirt and give it to her. Mateso ya wanaume ni Mungu tu undo anajua aki, so what if I’d have got asthma, or some other disease from the cold? Anyway I did what I had to do coz if I hadn’t then am pretty sure she’d have yelled at me from the top of her voice telling me how am not gentleman enough. Talk of Carolyne Mutoko, Martha Karua and Kalonzo Musyoka rolled up in one piece. That’s a combination of feminists I wouldn’t ever want to get into an argument with.

Minutes later Dennis is back with the whiskey bottle and the party continues. Whatever happens in between that time and 2:00 am in the night I don’t know..or maybe I just can’ t recall coz I myself got high as fuck too. I just remember at one point being requested to add two spoons of salt to some soup that I was thereafter forced to drink. Next I remember is we’re discussing who’ll sleep where, with who, how, when, where, doing what and stuff. And since Gilbert left already, (yeah the nigga has a tendency of being the first to get drunk and insisting he has to go back to his place coz Uhuru Kenyatta needs him more than we do) agreeing on the sleeping arrangements doesn’t become much of an argument.

Again what happened in the night, only God knows coz I think I was passing out even before I could close my eyes. If they said their evening prayers before sleeping, I don’t know. If they held a meeting and discussed how they’ll strike and won’t go back to work until our swimming pool is filled with water, it’s well and good too. All I know is I passed out.

And as I said earlier on that what happens at Ancy’s stays at Ancy’s, I won’t talk much about that day. I even wonder why in Vera Sidika’s name am I writing this stuff here and telling on all of them. But hey, they brought that to themselves. Remember up there where I told you we played some Truth or Dare, remember? Yeah, apparently somebody (I don’t know who) dared me to write this so…okay, enough. Why am I even continuing? Bye, I gotta go to sleep, adios. See you when I get fired from my job.

3 thoughts on “Dear Diary…

  1. Pingback: A Toast To 2017…When We Were Drunk. | MARVIN'S ROOM

  2. Pingback: Random Rants of Bachelor, Keep Scrolling. | MARVIN'S ROOM

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