Featured PostRant

Babe… I ‘Wonna’ Do It

Kick ass title up there by the way… And also, kick as image to go with the post. Anyway.

Saturday nights are usually that time when I use my WiFi for the good of Humanity; I watch Narcos too much. I feel Colombian. In fact, I have noticed a weird behavior creeping up where I tie my money into polythene paper bags. You know where that leads right? WiFi… In line with my new found spiritual Nationality, I watch Colombian News on Youtube and try imagining what they mean. I don’t understand the language. It helps me with my dreams; I have these dreams where Shakira is playing Pokemon Go with Donald Duck, and she speaks Colombian and Donald speaks… Well he speaks duck.
On one of the news casts, the caption at the bottom of the screen read, “Roban Y Destrozan Torres A Estrenar Viviendas Saqueadas.” Based on the 3 months of French I took in campus, that loosely means that the town was destroyed by a robot named Torres, and that Torres became estranged when Vivian at his Sasquatch. Colombia is clearly retarded. I put this proper constructive thought in the comment section and I was blocked by the user. So… I got bored and started reading a pile of WhatsApp messages I ‘Blue-tick’ for esteem. Pause… People do crazy things for esteem. Not just me. Your nursery and primary school teacher made you write a sentence in your book that made no sense whatsoever, because she wanted to feel like a ruler, a worthy queen amidst 5 and 6 year olds who cannot figure out why chewing a sweater does not amount to concentration… Or you tell me, writing “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” repeatedly on 3 pages… Doesn’t that amount to esteem problems? Does that sentence sound like a response you can give in a job interview when they ask you “tell us about yourself”?  But you had to write it because she needs it, right?

Back to the messages. I have this friend called Nyongesa who is always on the internet. But I can tolerate him because he has a lot of money and literally buys everything you need. I know that is how a gold digger works, but they haven’t found a noun for a male gold digger who ‘digs the gold’ from another male friend yet…  Whatever you call me only exists in your mind. And also, he likes going out. A lot. The problem is he always has a different lady every time out. And they come in numbers. Beautiful numbers… But I don’t talk to them. One, I am literally married. Two, I would be more confident walking into parliament, steal that Mace thing and leave shouting at MPs that their salary has been reduced, than I ever would talking to any of those girls. I am not shy. Although I am nearly perfect in all ways, I do have one minor flaw: I can’t start conversations with women without trying not to look at their chests. Being that effective is a basic requirement for manhood, which we all lack somehow. So Nyongesa had texted a while back to tell me that they would pass by my place before heading to some club along Lang’ata road. My house is always a mess… There is pizza as old as Kenyatta Day in my fridge which I know I will eat, and all my socks are on the living room floor. It helps me because I don’t have to look for them when I am in a hurry. Like a normal man, I decided it was not worth letting them in. So I texted back.

“I’m not in the house. Sorry.” And at that moment I stood up and walked out to take a stroll in the estate and also to look for more kittens to drown at the nearby dam. But Nyongesa doesn’t give up easy…

“Tushafika. Tupatane kwa parking…”

I couldn’t ignore him. I owe him 65437 shillings. So I walked to the parking where he was with everyone. It’s amazing how 7 people when drunk can fit into a Mazda Demio and not complain, fart or think about stabbing the person next to them with a biro pen. It’s just amazing. By the time I was looking at that car and the space in it, I had decided that getting in there would require me to see a unicorn flying into Embakasi first.

But there was this girl who was so drunk and enthusiastic, who ran and hugged me like she knew me. I have never seen her in my life. She had hair, real natural hair, going way past her shoulders. In my analysis, that is the ‘do not marry me type’. Her kids will be girls with long hair, and your career however large and prestigious, will take a dramatic twist; You will be an amateur hairstylist in a bid to bond with your daughters and wife. And me, I have very low standards by choice. In fact, I consider my styling efforts to be successful if the woman’s hair isn’t in their eyes or on fire. Also judging by the number of time she referred to Nyongesa as babe, 17 times in three and a half minutes, she was his bae for the night. They had a bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne which I am told is worth my rent and liver. But the lady talking to me, without my asking, told me her name is Zuhura (Girl I know your mother called you Priscilla Wanjiru Ngumau, but because you look Cushitic, Zuhura was a better way to save time. I do my research) and also told me she is so intelligent and studies law at a posh university along Mbagathi road. All this while, Nyongesa did not say a word. Remember we’re at the parking lot, making posho-mill level noise and the poor lunje guard by the parking wondering how he can get through the thick skinned level attitude these people had. I was about to tell her that I run this blog, but then quick thinking made me remember that she would later discover that my site survives on a  steady stream of traffic from people searching in vain for non-consensual sex between mythical creatures, and how not to pay for Whiskey. So I kept silent. Not for long.

Zuhura calls her friends ‘Sweety’… And she study’s law at a posh university along Mbagathi road. You see it too, right? Anyway, something odd happened right at that moment. Zuhura’s friend, Njoki was holding the expensive bottle. Then this conversation happened…

“Sweety…” , Zuhura calls Njoki.

“Babe…”

“Sweetey it’s happening,”

“Right now?”

“Babe… I ‘wonna’ do it.”

Now stop there for a minute. You don’t throw such a statement where two men are standing, two men who spend most of their time on the internet. I must say my face lit up at the thought of I wonna do it. Every guy understands the special kind of joy that can only come from hearing certain catch phrases. Usually the phrases are “Nimekutumia, Niko na Mzinga, Uko home, Nakupenda and I ‘wonna’ do it. The best way to bankrupt a man is to use the catch phrases in the right order.

“Babe do it…”

Zuhura runs to where the parking lot ends and meets a house wall, squats, lifts her skirt and pees. Then after peeing you know what she said?

“Mara that that!” as she stands and lets her tight skirt lose.

The watchman on the other side was so amused he started calling other watchmen from other blocks in the estate… “Aki kuna musichana amewachilia hapa kuwachilia…. Eeeh, rafiki ya ule kijana wa Block G1”.

I have so many things to say at this point. Where is her panty? Jesus also died for her? What just happened? Why am I alive? How did my life get to this point? What have I just seen and heard? Mara that that? What University again? Zuhura? Nyongesa? Mazda Demio?…

I guess the moral of the story is, if we are friends and you have a ratchet female friend who pees at car parking lots then says ‘Mara that that’, you need to pay more tax, and you need to warn me in advance. That whole night, nothing made sense, including blinking. I had so many questions, which I still do… Also, don’t judge a woman by the length of her hair, the type of handbag on her arm or bottle on her palm. Also, where do they get these women? I don’t know, but if I now you and you’ve done this before, peeing at a carpark, I’d just like you to know that both Jesus and I love you. Whichever uncle touched you inappropriately in your childhood, does not warrant peeing at a carpark and saying ‘Mara that that’ when you’re done. I need to stop there…

That woman in the picture is really cute isn’t she? I don’t know her, the picture is not related to this post whatsoever, but it just looked so good and I thought you should also see it. You don’t see such a photo and look at it alone, you go to church thank God, give tithe, pray for your girlfriend to understand the photo is for others and not you, and then share. I care for you man… I care. Si patron. Si cruceria… Adios Muchacho (That’s the Colombian in me).

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Thank you guys… Very much. A lot. For a month back there we felt you, and we know you are there and we will not stop what we do whatsoever. The OLX SOMA Awards ended and we didn’t bag it. But we won something we can’t give away. You. That belief guys have shown us, itabaki tumewanunulia nyama.

Share:

31 comments

  1. SKwinga. 3 October, 2016 at 13:37 Reply

    Nice read as usual but if your friend Nyogesa stops drinking maybe he can buy a bigger car that can comfortably sit 7.

    • MisterLeft 6 October, 2016 at 08:42 Reply

      Ruthy… Club entrances. That’s a new one. If you know anyone who does that, tell them Abraham didn’t offer to sacrifice Isaac his only son, for such…
      Hehehehe. Thank you for reading.

  2. Kristen 22 January, 2017 at 08:26 Reply

    I’ll right away grasp your rss feed as I can’t in finding
    your e-mail subscription hyperlink or e-newsletter service.
    Do you have any? Please permit me understand so that I
    may just subscribe. Thanks.

Leave a reply