She is elegance and freedom. She makes her way into
the club, a patina of beauty and grace. Her walk, smoother than Denzel
Washington’s while going to receive an Oscar. She sashays to the counter and
perches herself on the stool besides the counter as every custodian of
testicles drools over her. She smiles at the mixologist who hurriedly
gets her a dignified glass of whiskey. At this point, she is delving through
her purse, perhaps looking for a fuck to give since all eyes in the club are
glued on her. She gets one thousand shillings note and hands it to the barman
for her drink. She looks around, her eyes sparkle with knowledge. This woman is
adorned. She is curvy, even the bodacious Kardashians got nothing on her.
Height, 5’ 6’ inches. (I am good with such estimations). Her hindquarters are a
sight to behold. How those pair of sweethearts spread on the stool make my
‘Mighty King Kong’ pulsate at an alarming rate. She is naturally light skinned
and the deep dimples on her chubby cheeks are just a turn on. She pauses before
everything, including a glass of whiskey. Isn’t that sexy?
This female is a razzmatazz. You wish to inhale
her, absorb her, chew her, suck her and turn her into a part of who you are.
But dream on brother, dream on!
She is indeed a unique creature.
Allow me to digress.
See, the women in Kenyan clubs vary like the 50
shades of Christian Grey. Being an imbiber of all kinds of liquor, both frothy
and distilled, I have had the privilege of meeting quite a number of these
‘ladies’ in the many liquor dens (read clubs) I have been to, in Nairobi and
beyond.
There is much to be said about these clubs though.
The stinking lavatories of Molly’s club (Westlands). The high class hookers of
club RnB (Westlands). The one eyed bouncer of Club Brown Bottle (Thika). The
old, beer drinking mums of Lazino’s (Nairobi west). The mask wearing barmaids
of Natives (Thika road). The homosexuals of I club (Nairobi). The socialite
wannabe yuppies at Skyluxx et al. It is in pursuit of frothy moments with the spritzy
Pilsner that I have found myself in these mouth irrigating dens where women
take the largest number of the hoi polloi.
As your hangover is killing you softly, my mind is
reminiscing on the various women I have seen in clubs. Amusement galore.
v The all-time worshiper of the ‘D’
She is dressed in ‘tights’, which resemble
the United States of America flag, a crop top (despite the fact that she has an
award winning pot belly) and ‘condom shoes’.( These plastic doll shoes girls put
on). Since she entered the club, she has been on the dance floor. Ask me why,
it’s because she has no money for beer and does not want to be thrown out of
the club for idling. She twerks better than she can write her name. And sings
the lyrics of (insert an Obb Guru Tone) ‘Vybz Kartel’s- Rambo Kanambo’ better
than she can say the grace. Her business here is to rub that wiggly mass of
flesh she calls an ass on every crotch in the dance hall. She takes no offense
at all when butt slapped by the men on the dance floor and even thinks it’s
erotic. I don’t mean to be blunt but she is a whore. Spare your cheesy lines
for another day, getting underneath her clothes is as easy as A, B, C. Young
man, why endeavor paying for a lodging while she is ready to do you at the
parking lot? She likes ‘D’ and has it for breakfast, lunch and supper. Ninjas,
whatever dry spell you might be experiencing, this is a no go zone. However, if
you must hit that, dress that Kong in a couple of latex, this girl has suffered
from STD’s more than common cold.
She is the real 'poko haram'.
She is the real 'poko haram'.
v High class Hooker.
Spot her in that tight gripping,
hips suffocating knockoff Versace mini-dress just to bend men’s sweaty necks,
six inch glow-in-the-dark high heels to attract the roving eyes of ordinary
hustlers. She is carrying a trench coat on one arm and a clutch bag on the
other. Notice the overdone make up and the huge weave on her head that looks
like a bird’s nest. She positions herself at the center of the club and
orders a glass of caprice wine. When she spots a possible client, she endeavors
to catch their attention. Rolling of the eyes and curling of the tongue, winking, crossing her
legs for you to see that hip, she will even fake a call of nature so that she
can walk next to you shaking vigorously what her mama gave to her. You finally
invite her to your table. Here she will let her hands do the walking.
Immediately she lands those fingers on your groin, you do not know what demons
tell you to lead her to your car and drive to a hotel lodging where she will
treat you to a ball sapping game before you hand her a pretty amount of money.
She is at work and must earn. Desperate moments call for desperate actions. If
you play hard to get, she might as well spike your drink with 'mchele' (Drug)
,you fall unconscious and she pick pockets you peacefully.
v The attention hungry maniacs
Nothing much to be said about this dimwits. This
are mostly the hippie yuppies of campus. They want to show the whole club that
they were born dancers and that their meakins-drinking, HELB (P) misusing,
Galaxy pocket owning, Bachelor of commerce studying boyfriends are getting them
rounds of Smirnoff Guarana as if the rest of citizens in the club are
drinking on charity grounds. They will shout ‘Awwwww, that’s my song’ everytime
the Dj plays ‘Wine and kotch’. They are here to take selfies for their 50
instagram followers which will be hashtaged #TurntDownForWhat. Their vocabulary
is bloated with curse words and at some point you feel like blessing them with
the shut-up bitch slap.
In this category too are the damsels who like
summoning attention by kissing among many PDA activities to shove it down our
throats that they can kiss a girl. I think it’s time someone built an only
‘lesbian’ club to accommodate these ‘just turned lesbian’ women. (No homophobic
bigotry intended)
v The midlife crisis mama
This mama will buy any man willing to give her
company the whole counter. She has money but lonely. She is 40 and midlife
crisis has hit her so bad. Her marriage is a mess and her children are just a waste
of ovules. She seeks solace from the Kingfisher. She is vulnerable. Make her
smile and she will be begging to take you home. She remembers not the last time
she had an orgasm. The husband is abroad working I mean. She will make a very
good sugar mummy and she prefers boys who she will toy around with.
Back to where I started. The lass at the
counter.
This female is the kind I wish to see in the club.
The independent and elegant woman. The one sitting at the counter alone and
seems to enjoy self-company. The self fulfilled lady who has become an extinct
species. The lady who affords her own drink and needs no man to pay her bills.
The lady who does not throw tantrums in the club for cheap attention. The one
that that does not endeavor to harm her backbone by balancing her body on
six-inch heels on the concretes of Westlands. Spare her the cheesy pickup
lines, she has heard better in her life.
The wind in her hair. The bewitching gap
between her teeth. Everything about this woman is a razzle-dazzle. She is
done taking her cognac and enjoying her time in the club.She tips the
bartender.Yes she does. She leaves and does not even crab walk despite the
strong whiskey she has been downing. Thought she is heading for the bus stop?
Jokes on you, her taxi man is waiting for her outside. I escort her out with my
eyes and wait for the day i will tener cojones to approach this madam.
