The trip, the after party

The bar is alien of activity in contrast to the opposite room where whites are telling lame jokes, staring at the bottoms of Kenyan women while some are slowly ogling at our own women. If globalisation has brought something to us, am afraid it is that Kenyan ass ain’t free, you need money to tap that. The foreigners I understand have come to spend their money getting dirty cos the parking lot is full of expensive but dirty bikes, cars whose daily fuel consumption could buy a vitz and others whose single rim could flatten out a Probox in a race match. On the stereo system two metres away a lame DJ is  playing some lame music to which some Kenyan girl is showing a rich foreigner how to get down. How did I know the loser is rich? Well have you seen our kind women go for such an heinous creature if not at a price. I feel like puking while I asses in what universe such a guy could be ranked as average. It kinda makes me wanna ask, besides lots of money and a huge dick what else do women look for in men? Ooh please don’t answer that, am having a good day while I write this. On the couch directly opposite the  huge LCD screen on which Spain is molesting France is another foreign couple who haven’t spoken the entire time we have been at this bar. This is if we save the occasional time when the drunk version of me try to sit in front of them to watch Spain go ballistic when the woman jerks from her struggle with sleep to say ‘You are blocking my view’ in a thick Australian accent. She is not so good looking so I obediently roll away cos God only knows that if Angelina Jolie looks like a goddess and throw punches like councillors throw chairs, who knows what this very average looking girl can do to my  thick lips and sunken eyes. A black eye, I suppose, which won’t be so black given my dark tinted skin.

On the couch closest to the bar is another couple with their son who I believe finally got his chance to see monkeys. Looking at them I ask myself what kinda questions he must be asking his dad. ‘Dad, are you sure those over there are not monkeys, cos they sure look alike esp the one with thick lips?’ ‘Mum, can I throw them a banana we see what happens?’ ‘How come they seem to drink alcohol? Is that evolution?’ I could go on and on and make such a fool of myself but suddenly the Australian couple approach our table and make an offer no university student could ever refuse, they want to buy us beer. Well excitement get the better of Kababa and he orders three Bailey’s gin.

On arrival of the first round of beers we strike a conversation. We learn that they have been studying Swahili in their home country and came to Kenya in order to have a real experience of how Swahili should be spoken and how they live. While at it they decided to see the beauty of Kenya. I’m tempted to tell them that Mwingi is the last place to be to learn any language save for Kamba and whatever it is Kababa speaks. I sit on the idea when I have a vision of the bottle am holding being my last beer. They tell of what a beautiful country Kenya is and blah blah blah. After over 30 painful minutes of a foreigner who doesn’t seem to know how much a kg of Unga cost go on and on about how lucky we area and definitely three Tuskers later Kababa stands on the table and gives a speech.

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He tells of how he would like to tap an Australian ass and how he’s sick of Kenyan women who give some at a price. He whines about his ex girlfriend who had such a great ass and how he tried everything including Kamote to no avail. He even says he read books on how to get laid to no avail. He’s afraid that he might die alone after all this years. I pour him another bottle of dry gin and he takes a sip and goes on and on about how Kamba men understand “shida ya wanawake” in the bedroom. When Mutiso interjects that his bad luck could be cos he’s so short. He bounces back with, “The shorter the monkey the longer the tail.” He complains he’s a virgin and what a nice guy he is. All this time the Australian couple sing a drunken remix of Party rock Anthem and Merimela which to me, over 6 beers in the belly, seem to find funny. This kinda reminds me of the time when my Granddad had told me that Kenyans are the kind of people who will bow to they guy with the deepest pockets. I brush that idea aside and watch while the couple struggle to speak Swahili words. They can’t seem to understand that Mwingi and Machakos are accessible through different ends of Nairobi. After every time Kababa and Mutiso explain in drunken English they say, “Kumbe Mwingi si Machakos.”

Duch who has been sleeping in the car walks in and says it’s time to go, we have to travel back to Nai lest our parents get back home and find their cars gone. Kababa is still at it asking the Australian folks for a job a suppose, maybe I would know had he spoken in English. The Australian folks arms intertwined walks us to our cars still singing Party Rock anthem. Rory tells them to STFU to which they say, “Wakamba hawatahiri wanawake wao wanakata tu wanaume”

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3 responses to “The trip, the after party

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