By Patrick Mukada
I was alone at my big brother’s residence in Nakuru when I decided to step out that evening. Not even Jack, my brother’s neighbor and long-time campus friend, was around. The Wi-Fi too was not working. Aren’t those just excuses for me to go out? I remember asking myself. I lost the gate key when I had used it like half an hour ago when I went to buy food to cook before I left. As the saying goes, fombe huhitaji matandiko. If you are going to drink, then you have to eat. And a nice meal for that matter. I have more than once seen slay queens embarrass themselves when they puke chapo ndondo or ugali skuma after drowning a bottle of Johnnie mtembezi. It is written even in the bible that a little wine is good for the stomach. Although it is prohibited to add words to the Holy book, I would gladly add a little wine is good for the stomach long as it is not empty.
After a near half an hour search for the gate keys, I finally found them under the sofa. I hurriedly freshened up and headed out into the drizzle. When the key disappeared on the sofa set and it started raining, I had a bad feeling about going out. However, my mind was preliminary set on downing a few bottles rich in barley. Unlike the capital city where even the outskirts would be busy with activities as through the night, Free Area was dead at ten and I had to get a motorbike that would drop me a few meters from the 7D night club. While people packed cars, I did not want to arrive on a motorbike. A friend of mine a while ago joked that even Vera Sidika had his motorbike guy. When companies like Uber, which make riding around somewhat cheaper are not available in Nakuru, a bodaboda becomes the only option. I paid the guy and off he went as I joined other revelers at what I expected to be an uptown joint.
The club was not what I expected. I have been going to night clubs ever since I was 17 years when I started recording and performing music. I can attest that 7D is a shitty place where you will seat under a huge tent that looks like a dome erected on metallic pillars. I thought the place was overrated. I mean, anyone who has read on the financial slump in Las Vegas will understand how the new club life has transformed Las Vegas. With the hype I had heard in the past about 7D, I honestly was disappointed. Plus the whole place was buzzing with hard faced bouncers who outnumbered their waitresses. I wonder if the manager knows the concept of minimizing cots and maximizing profits. More than ten bouncers, for such a small place is ridiculous. It is only that I had gone through a lot of trouble already to be there and my functional nostrils were already smelling whiskey. I found a table at the furthest corner and settled. I signaled a waiter and after making the payment he arrived minutes later with two bottles of freezing tusker.
One drink later, two ladies sat two tables away and I realized one of them was keen to throw a few glances at my table. The disk jockey was playing Caribbean music and the ladies stood to shake what their mama gave them. I was watching in admiration all the time, trying to keep my trouser trunk flaccid. I lifted the bottle and took a gulp all the time while watching her behinds. My second beer was half way empty and I figured I would need another sooner or later. I signaled the waiter again for two more beers. My table looked attractive especially for ladies who were looking for company that evening and someone who could afford to buy them a drink or two. I looked at the finer slay queen among the two and our eyes locked. Next thing I know she is heading where I am seated and on arrival puts her hands on my shoulders and whispers something I couldn’t hear. She grabbed my head and put my face into her burst. I melted. She finally pulled me from the chair and we made provocative moves before settling down.
With two ladies at my table I figured we needed more drinks. However, the ladies did not realize I did not plan on blowing all of my money like rappers encourage us to do. Since beers were not doing me much good as far as getting drunk was the goal, I decided to get something stronger. The waiter next to our table made a few suggestions and I was keen especially when he mentioned the prices. The moment my face touched her boobs is the time I lost my brain. Perhaps they thought I would spoil them with drinks and I would want a happy ending of sorts. The 550ml Viceroy obviously did not impress them, and one of them was crazy enough to suggest that she understood I was a hustler, just like herself. How sarcastic! After the two ladies downed their beers and the bottle of brandy was almost empty they left for another table. Another boy child used and left alone. I left the club, as disappointed as I came in and cursed hell for leaving the house. I took solace in talking to the motorbike guy, who claimed I was lucky. Other folks get to take such ladies home and wake up in an empty house, he claimed. Lucky or unlucky, the boy child had suffered.