It’s been long since I last wrote, not because I ran out of stories or because I am suffering from some writer’s block which I understand is more lethal than Ebola and HPV combined. Actually I have no reason for not writing. You could blame it on anything the cost of unga, the propensity for weaves among our lovely ladies or the Boko Haram insurgency in West Africa. Much has however changed since I last wrote. Like I am a step further from the second floor and taking twenty one by the horns. Twenty was equally an ass but twenty one is different, its two asses…figuratively speaking.
Twenty made me feel like I was going to have the upper hand in life now that I was in the second floor and more so at the balcony, and who doesn’t want to have the upper hand so you can see everything life is lining up for you and then plan how to fight your adversaries or prepare a table for the good? Here, you can place a rocking chair and pour yourself some whisky as you think about your next move. There is nothing to worry about here, everything is constant and certain like death and taxes, nothing changes you still blow your nose with your right hand and wipe your ass with the left. At twenty you are just a boob guy and as long as she has a bust the size of the China wall; she’s okay. You don’t care how many stairs she takes in a single stride, whether she opens her bottle of cold beer with her teeth. You just don’t give a hoot whether she wears thongs or mothers union, natural hair or a weave. Whatever gets you through the night!
Twenty one is however different, you are off from the balcony, off from the great view but luckily you still carry your whisky with you only this time you are not sipping from a glass but the bottle, you are back to climbing the stairs hoping that you will get to thirty sober and ready for life and extra responsibilities. Thanks to the whisky, you start noticing things, it’s no longer just about the boobs, they all relieve themselves with this pressure that could dig a grave enough to burry a mature mongrel but you can now discern which one likes hitting the toilet bowl walls from the one who likes splashing the water. Responsibility is knocking and you now know where every condom dispenser is located in school. You might as well start searching for the real one in a world of make believe. One who can bear with your poor taste of music and listen to Tim McGraw on a stargazing date, one who already has your three kids names figured out.
Twenty one got me listening to James Blunt and a little bit of Westlife, watching Halle Berry movies and writing letters (send me your addresses). It’s a tendency to relive the good old days, I might as well start growing an afro or start playing hide and seek and catch locusts all afternoon. I have been having dreams too, many dreams, one moment I am in a beach somewhere in Central America eating sea food and some other time I am in Cappadocia eating tacos. It is amazing how I can have all these dreams in a single night unmindful of my insomniac nature and sometimes during day naps no matter the length. 15 minutes you are collecting seashells Nicaragua and in the 22nd minute you are relieving yourself in a bush somewhere in the middle of Maasai Mara. Before the minute hand hits 30 and you have to snap out of your power nap you are in an Italian restaurant in the CBD having beer and croissants. The CBD part is an edge closer to reality because there is no way you see yourself peeling a banana in Panama let alone in peeing the Mara given the poor state of your back pocket, hell you don’t even have a wallet!
Never mind it’s 3:48 pm but she sits there like it’s the same time in the AM. She is unmoved by the noisy state of affairs in the CBD, it actually appears like she enjoys it. For the first time since Judas kissed Jesus, you feel the need to leave the counter and go to her rescue. But what are you rescuing her from? The noise, or the drinking or from falling for other men other than you? She is slightly older but Max the cougar type in your squad told you the old ones are sweeter and awesomely straight forward. This one does not fit the cougar bracket as she appears no more than twenty seven (you can tell by looking at her legs or just conduct some carbon dating- whatever floats your boat). So I ask the bartender, “How long has she been here?” He appears not to know who I am talking about or maybe it’s just some customer bartender confidentiality policy so I might just have to tip him or brandish my handkerchief and shout FBI but after a moment probably after thinking what I’d do to his family if he did not cooperate he whispers to me “around two hours, she checks in everyday around 1:30, never late, always alone, same spot, credit card never cash.” “Everyday!? Monday to Monday or Monday to Sunday or Saturday to Saturday?” the guy seems rather irked “end month to end month” “None of these days with a man?” I know he said alone but it just sounds unbelievable? “No sometimes with a chimpanzee and a tiger for Fridays” “…and what does she drink?” the bartender who is now packing some glasses on a tray is just about to cry. I swear if I continue asking these inane questions he will throw a glass at me; imagine coming from a dream with a bandage covering your entire forehead. “Man! Don’t you have something to do? Like go play in traffic.” Such an unfriendly bartender, so I decide to approach her maybe she could get me into her cocaine business or whatever she does that makes her own that balcony and tip the bartender enough not to give any information that could sell her to the feds.
Cool afternoon. I say pulling one of the high stools next to hers however cautiously.
Yeah characteristic of Nairobi afternoons. She says unmoved by my intrusion, she doesn’t even look at me or the cheap beer bottle I am holding. She must have met many.
You mean from this point? I mean Nairobi afternoons are sunny as hell (but I kept this one to myself, otherwise she might just knock me down from my stool and send my poor ass crawling back to the counter)
Native or just touring?
Native, born and bred?
I want to ask Eastlands or Westlands but I haven’t had enough beer to make me
Love the view?
No I am just watching the skies.
Seems like the sort of girl to take for stargazing dates.
Checking for a silver lining in the clouds? Poor sense of humor I know but a man got to do what a man got to do.
Giggles, no for a letter from my dad and mum.
I am sorry I intruded a moment. I say as I pull my stool back.
No stay, it’s been a while since they left.
The bartender tells me it’s a ritual. Oops! Now I see why he was reluctant to tell me… he could tell from the size of my nose that I can’t just keep information to myself
He did? Not really I just love it here.
What did I just do? The guy might just lose his tips and maybe his job. If he returns to banana vending in Kisii land he might just curse me and I might never dream anymore or worse even become a night runner.
No he didn’t. I pass by here every day and I always seem to notice…he just confirmed.
I know you are wondering, why every day? Hell I am and can you give me the connections already. I have lost the hope and peace of life but my margarita gives me that. She says as she sips from this small wine glass with a very slim neck.
All this time I was staring at her legs I hadn’t noticed what she was drinking, her Rolex, freshly done manicure and diamond ring. Her heels must have cost her an arm and a leg.
What about you, it’s an odd time what are you doing here?
Me? Aaa? I could just say I am day dreaming but I’ll sound useless. Eeeh I am waiting for happy hour, I smile ashamedly.
Haha you sure are…have some more beer…on the house?
Can I have some more croissants too? (Mum, forgive me, I know you taught me better but I just couldn’t help it)
Knock yourself out!
I swear I never want to wake up!
What’s with the timing?
I am jobless in the entire meaning of the word, my parents left me a huge estate but I have people who take care of all the businesses, I never get to look at any financial reports but the deposits into my bank account are steady so no real need to supervise or question things.
Could you…this is the point Satan and all his witches see most appropriate to remind me that according to conventional rules of table manners, I have to leave some croissants for me not to appear greedy. Its 4 pm and I have to wake up and meet someone and seal this deal that might just ensure I don’t survive on croissants from some lady watching clouds.
I am getting along twenty one well, the staircases are steep here but luckily there are hand rests to hold me up. If I could I’d go back to twenty; the balcony, the whisky, the ‘as long as she has boobs’ mentality, loads of sarcasm and a perverted sense of humor. But what is life if we stick to one point? What’s the essence of her boobs if she can’t cook? Twenty was South Pacific sunset, Caribbean twilight and dusk in the Coral Sea but twenty one is corruption, the cost of unga, the Syria refugee crisis and sponsored beer and croissants.
Peace and Love!