What else is a Friday night if it doesn’t see you wash several bottles of what Mututho once considered illegal down your throat? What is the meaning of a Friday night if it doesn’t find you seated on a stool in a dimly lit building surrounded by your boys and a few other strangers who you know before the night elapses, you’d have walked home with one? What other definition does a Friday night have apart from a boisterous lustrous one? A night filled with drinking, drama and so much activity.
This particular one finds you at Rafikiz in Langata. Not that Rafikiz is your fav joint. No. It’s just because it’s end month and the pockets and so deep and heavy and your demons are commanding you to spend awesomely on yourself cause you don’t know about tomorrow. Also because earlier on when you went to the gents, you realized the guy was so excited, so you held him in your left hand, tapped his head with your right index finger and said, “Man leo lazima ulale ndani!” On normal Fridays, Legend (Lego) in Rongai does you more good than harm. There, 600 baab kills the night just fine – enough for your normal beer tatu and some smoke. But sometimes you don’t even spend a bob, the boys will always be there to chafua the table.
In fact the days you are horribly broke are the ones you drink most – when you are lazily lying in your keja, at circa 6 pm, one of the boys calls and roars from the other end “Eh, buuda, form ni gani?” Form ni kulamba uso yako! You will want to bark but will find better lines instead, “Man mfuko imetoboka, but kuna doo nmengoja bado… ” before you even finish lamenting, “Weeewe vaaa twende!” he will cut you short. You will jump out of bed, grab the towel and hit the shower, you will then jump into the kitchen but the only thing you’ll find there is mabaki ya ugali, and dirty dishes smiling at you. You will scratch your head and mumble a few nothings before you decide to eat out with that 50bob.
But you see, once in a while you need new experiences – say getting to meet and interact with new hookers, the urge to drink in a new environment where not every bar tender knows you by name and by your favorite beer brand, etc. And that can only happen when a good number of Kenyattas are lying still in your wallet pressed against each other, each fighting for liberation.
So yeah. This is one of those nights. With your boys, you fueled that Subaru that’s been sitting there the whole month. You can now afford it. Money, my friend. Money!
At 11, mshachafua meza. A guy you don’t know staggers to your table – glass in hand, smiles at all of you then points at the expensive bottle of liquor that’s confidently standing on your table. You smile at him and nod. He grabs the bottle, removes the lid, fills his glass, lifts it up and gulps down all the alcohol in it. He stretches his arm to reach for your mzinga again and refill his glass but you all hold his hands and block him. “Boss, tusizoeane!” one of the boys warns. The guy makes two steps back, you release him, he shoves his hands in the air and walks away. You start talking about him.
The guy reminds you of those hunnies and jamaas that like free things. Those that walk to your table with a beautiful smile and before you know it, they’ve joined you and are now on their third glass and are telling you hilarious stories so you can’t even ask them to leave.
Back to Rafikiz.
Three hunnies swing their assess in. They all are in short hugging dresses. Two have purses dangling from their shoulders while the other is holding a crutch under her armpit (she looks like she’s explaining something to her friends). You start imagining the contents of the handbags – among other things, you can clearly see a kioo in there, wipes, some tissue, a toothbrush, flats and an extra thong. Your eyes tail them as they catwalk from the entrance towards your table and finally to the adjacent table.
The two put their handbags on the table as they take the weight off their feet. The one with a clutch runs her right arm through the seat, then brings the arm close to her face where there’s enough light, and finally sits. You instantly start liking her, she reminds you of your favorite ex – that particular ex that you think you’d always date again if things worked out.
So when your boys join the dance floor, you constrain yourself on your stool planning an attack. Luckily, in one of your long gazes at her, she coincidentally looks your side. You lock eyes. You grin, she smiles, then she looks away. To avoid killing the moment, you walk to her table in the pretence of asking her for a dance. She turns down your offer (which is a relief anyway because you can’t shake a muscle even if your life depended on it, how else would you have established a common talking ground?). You set out to her table alone, you come back two (si that’s what you people call God’s blessings? ).
You flatter her kidogo. She feels good and wanted. You ask what brand she likes, “Black Tower” she says. You order it – kwani what’s money (pesa ni nini)! She feels comfortable and safe. Safe because what else do you think a woman likes other than a man that is willing to spend on her? That thing wins a woman’s soul.
After about an hour, you both start being fidgety. Once in a while you find your tongue sliding down her neck… She finds her arms under your shirt… Blah blah blah. You finally leave the place and order a cab home. Actually she orders, using your phone. You came in a rendezvous, you are now leaving one after the other. You don’t know if that makes sense, heck you don’t care. Si everybody has their problems? But one thing you are sure is that Tom – the only careful guy among all of you will finally have to drive the car home. Tom is always the guy that doesn’t just blake hivihivi. So the rende sees you off wishing you nice time with your kill.
The moment your first leg steps in your house, she almost ripps off your trouser. When you are struggling to lock the door, you kneel on the switch, “let there be light,” the switch commands. She sinks into your lips and sucks the hell out of it. She tastes like mango juice, you tell yourself. She’s gasping. Finally, you fall onto bed with a thud. A few seconds away from fulfilling the promise made to your man earlier while in the gents, your phone rings. You think of ignoring it but then think through it. A call coming in at 1:30 am isn’t something to take for granted. So you check the phone, Tom calling. You pick expecting some bad happening the other end.
“Jamaa, umesoma text yangu?” he asks.
“Zii, haven’t been on the phone..”
“Poa, check it sai.” Then he hangs up. You open your messages. “Usisahau kutumia CD man!” the message reads. You bite your teeth and throw the phone away. You then move the packet closer. Before hitting it, you well enough remember to wear rubber.
Hunny is so fine for your liking, you tell yourself. At about 4 AM, you are awaken by her incessant coughs. Girl coughs you’d think she earns from it. This goes on for the next thirty minutes and deprive your sleep. You ask what’s wrong and she says she doesn’t know. At about 6, when the coughs have now reduced, she asks for one more (just in case you are not promising to keep her (hehehe)), you pretend you are tired and turn down the offer.
When you are taking breakfast, one of the boys updates his status, “Great time that was,” that means they are all fine. Reason to smile. You turn to your catch and ask, “By the way, what’s your name?” she grins and says it. Then while taking her away, you pass by the clinic just to check your medical statuses (which was your idea). After taking your blood samples, she excuses herself for a minute. You remain there waiting the results of both of you. Her blood tests HIV positive.