When you were leaving for campus, your parents sat you down on the eve of the journey to Nairobi. They talked of Nairobi being a concrete jungle. A savage city where the complacent were chewed up and only the strong remained standing. They told you to be afraid of Nairobi, let the dark never find you outside. And most important, don’t go and have a goddamned campus marriage. You nodded like the good altar boy you were then.

“Osoch you hear me?? You get a Njeri pregnant and you’re on your own. Your own!”

Your parents repeated and repeated this advice until your ears pained.

“Okay Dad, I feel you. I will avoid girls and most importantly, I will keep my distance from the hot drink.”

Your old man smiled and gave you a final hug. His beard scratching against your soft cheeks. His son was headed to campus. You jumped into a Transline shuttle to the capital. And then, as always, Nairobi happened.

Have you ever received a call from your parents inquiring where you are? You’re toasted as fuck but you have to pick up because it’s your mum. You try your best to sound sober but you can hear your speech going Judas on you. You don’t want her to know you’re drunk out of your hoots. You say some gibberish and quickly wish her goodnight.

“Where are you, John?”
“I am in school mum.” (The asshole is in Juja having a nice time.)
“How are studies coming along.”
“Yes, studies are rolling on well enough. Actually, my GPA is 3.4, I was on honours list.” (The motherfucker’s GPA was 1.6)
“That’s nice son, I am proud of you.”
“Thanks, mum, pray for me to pass more.”
“I will son, goodnight.”

The bastard then emerges from the washrooms, fist bumps his friends and goes back to the bottle. Does hasty shots then hits the dance floor to snatch a hot mami he’d been eyeing the whole night.
In light of the above prequel, the following events might true or pure nonsense. Their truthfulness or bullshitness can only be ascertained by you dear reader.

I had not planned to be there. But there I was, swinging on the seat, a joint of shisha dangling on my right arm. I took a steamy lungful before Jonte wrestled it from me. I was caught up in a haze of smoke when I noticed her at the near end of the Bar. She was alone on her table and seemingly had enough for the night. As if she noticed me noticing, our eyes collided and, in a flash, she was on her feet. Twerking wildly to the music. Shaking what her mama gave her, or what she took from her mum. I was unmoved from my perch. I just kept watching her as I took gulps from my glass. The drink was yet to wash down on me. As a cardinal rule, I don’t drink as much when I go clubbing. I must maintain a little bit of rationality. Have the feet to find my way home.

She kept her eyes on me, like a mountain lion stalking its prey. And she danced even more. I will tell you as much, she was drop dead gorgeous. And if she continued shaking her ass like that, I was going to fall, the victim. My moral compass was hurriedly losing its stand.
How did we get here?

I was in Rongai in the early evening. Finally, I had managed to pick my clothes from the tailor. You know   Kenyan tailors, how they drag on with your clothes for weeks upon weeks. At some point, you even give up. It’s like your clothes are theirs, some unsaid coalition. As if you made some donation, but not me, I hunted down the tailor until he was done. After weeks of cat and mouse Olympics, I had the wares on my knapsack.

I don’t know which demon crossed my head, but I decided to drop by Mike’s house. A terrible, terrible decision. Mike never misses booze in his house or weed. I wasn’t in the mood of getting high midweek or drunk in that case drunk. Not with a pile of stories to be written and the sword of classes bearing down on me. A battle ensued with my conscience. I go to Mike’s place and possibly get drunk and high, or I head to school? Go work on stories. An eternal civil war erupted in the depths of my brain. Shots were fired, grenades exchanged, bombs were lined up and the villain part of me won.
I was going to Mike’s place.

I find Mike seated on the bed. There are four other guys in the house. They all have glasses in their arms, a bottle of gin is meeting justice.  They invite me for a shot, which I decline. I am supposed to head back to school. And my campus has a strict no drinking policy. You show up at the gate drunk and that’s it for you. You get a thousand academic days in the sack. No negotiation. They claim to be a Christian institution, which is bull and cock.  Is it not Jesus who changed water into wine??? Is it not Solomon who said that a little wine is good for the stomach??? Which bible do this people read? But then rules are rules. And as a rule, fearing student, I decided not to touch the gin chilling on the table. Three guys excuse themselves, apparently, they were working on a project which was due the next day. So, we are three bored campus guys. With nothing to do on a Wednesday evening? Mike, I and another fella going by the name Jonte. 

Somehow, the conversation drifted towards finding a place to have a good time. Jonte was loaded, he’d brokered some deal and thousands were dancing in his pockets. Waiting to be spent. Joints in Rongai are lousy on Wednesday nights. We consult google and a few phone calls to party animals, those guys who know where it goes down. We settle on Memphis. A club along Thika road, it had ladies night kind of shindig. Chances were if we made it there, we would be swallowed in a sea of progesterone.

And that’s how I found myself in a matatu. Flying down Langata road towards the CBD at 70km/hr (I have made that up, how could I have known the speed). As we hurtled past 1824, it seemed deserted, devoid of life. What’s the hype with 1824 anyway? It’s a good place but there are times that it's so full that you can’t even gyrate well.
At the CBD, we downed chips and Kuku at some nifty joint. Any seasoned drinker will tell you that it’s not wise to drink on an empty stomach.

We are nearing Odeon and Gosh! I see the Sabina Joy sign. Flickering in the dark. So, this was the place, I thought to myself. That has caused much furore among Nairobi men. This is the place of myth, folklore and great legend. What did Sabina Joy do to Nairobi men? Even Bikozulu has written about Sabina. Does Sabina know that she is this popular? From what I hear, Sabina Joy is a brothel, masquerading as a Pub. Word on the street also claims that UON chicks are ‘business ladies’ at Sabina’s. In there, they have small stalls. During the day you attend class with a chick but at night she opens her kibanda for sessions of kurarua Mashuka. What goes down is the oldest profession in the whole wide world. The flesh trade.

 At the doorway, a man in a suit was frisked. He then walked up the stairs to enjoy what Sabina had to offer. I thought of the man. The guy was middle-aged, probably married. Did he have a family? A loving wife, a son, or a daughter maybe. When he gets home, what will he say to his wife?
“Babe I am so sorry, work was tough today. I had to extend.”
And the wife will look at him, see through the layers of lies. She will sniff the scent of a woman on him. But because she wants her family to be together and hopes that one day he will change, she won’t ask any questions. She will warm his food and ask the kids to come to kiss their father goodnight.

What happens to the kids? Does the man expect her daughter to be a winner in society or he wants her to delve into the flesh trade? And the son? How will he teach him to be a man? What kind of man will his son grow into?

All those questions flashed through my head as I sat in an Uber. Racing down Thika road towards our final destination, Memphis Bar and restaurant 

Before we boarded the Uber, we were in a Roysambu bound matatu. Jonte started talking up some chick, telling her crap really. That we were headed to this huge party where big hitters in the government would be. She can join us if she wants to make new friends, connections in Statehouse. She fell for the trick. Jonte, dying to impress her, he hailed an uber. Homegirl was happy, she started jumping around, blushing. Suddenly, she started asking that whatever happens in this party, we don’t rape her. That is the straw which broke the camel’s back. Did we resemble rapists?? Yaani she was saying that we were not true men. As if we couldn’t walk up to a lady ask her for nunu in good faith. What were we?? Savages?? We asked her to leave. By the way, she gave me a lollipop. You will be happy to learn I left it with the bouncer.

Anyway, here I was in Memphis. A lady in her late twenties, giving me a lap dance. My mhoigos was already up for the occasion and wasn’t going down soon. The chick sat on me, her ass flattening all over my lap and she let out a little ‘wow’. I can’t remember her name and don’t be quick to judge me. I was caught up in the cloud of the drink. I have danced with loads of women in the past year. But this one was different. Her ass was something else, her boobs were straight out of heaven. And here she was on my lap, my teeth grazing against her nape as she whispered profanities into my ear.

Things were escalating to unchartered territories.  Our lips had met more than once, to the chagrin of my friends. Now my hands were running across her hips, on the full length of her thighs. She had a silky, dark dress on. I parted it aside to expose creamy thighs, with a tattoo of a fish settling on the left. I touched the tattoo, asked her how she got it. But never got an answer. Just a silent mumbling.

“Baby, let's get the hell out of this place.”


  1. No actually... it is not Solomon who said a little wine is good for the stomach.. hahaha.. It was a learned man renamed Paul..
    Good article.. but I have a feeling you are pulling our legs.
    But the Girls rape concern is a valid fear.. these streets are hard this days.. no one can be trusted..

    1. True on the streets being lousy ... Chicks should be more cautious

  2. I wouldn't want my kids listening to you though nice article

    1. 😂😂😂 What... It's literature really. Thanks for reading ✨✨ then share your name please

  3. hahahhaa ama just falling in love with this articles...real life situations..keep up


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