FIFTY SHADES OF THURSDAY IN RONGAI

 

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The waitress is striking. Not a face you would forget easily or remember when you are alone in your sheets. Neither a body that will make your girlfriend cringe or raise the level of bile inconsistently. I peered from the side of my eye trying to avoid any weird controversial stare. She walks towards my table as I set up my laptop. She dimmed a little bit as every female waiter does when serving her female counterpart, probably an unwritten battle of wits and wigs. Stephanie had the sheer embodiment of someone who has lost weight quickly and eats sparingly like those “I can’t finish a whole pizza by myself” girls. Arghh! The top of her jeans looked somewhat of a drawn curtain buckled firmly by a brown leather belt that rather had too much excess poking from the sides. I didn’t want to look too closely; the morning was too cold for any shuddering look and the week too draining for any faux fashion.
Waking up at 5:30 this cold morning is quite eventful, you need the rum, the vodka, straight up cigar for the thought of a single eye opening. All I have is coffee and left over tea from last night, which now a cockroach has found its way around, probably playing dead. The sweet chirping of a bird is ringing sharply in the background, probably to remind me there is beauty in adversity and also if I were a bird I wouldn’t have to shower. Damn
The hotel lounging area has subtle music. The type you can listen to with your boyfriend, slow but not drowsy. Not quite advisable for the singletons, plain suicidal. I thank God I can’t kill myself with a laptop. If you are reading this and you are my ex, remember you were in a relationship alone. (insert laugh emoji)
The waheshimiwas come to this hotel, the who is who hug each other amicably shouting kawaida to steph. She sways around with an empty tray, more elated than the customers, more energetic and straight up annoying. But I like her, she doesn’t talk much and always address me by my name and not ma’am like I’m her high school grammar teacher . They discuss in their political tone of their triumphs and the upcoming elections that will determine mbivu na mbichi. Their strife is to get the youth to vote them into office, they discuss the gym and going for a quick revamp at the barber. I look on in dismay but in a subtle way. I don’t even know them but if they are to get into office, may the tarmac road come before the gym.
I order for Macchiato double shot. It has been a long morning. Longer than Stephanie’s nails. Colder than her aggressive stare and bountiful like the mheshimiwas vocabulary. Canaan had come to me, so I thought. I am not necessarily patient, the agony of waiting in line, waiting for the right man, waiting and waiting for the second coming. I blame the aggression that lies deeply rooted in me, the inability to resonate the whole concept of doing nothing. I summon another waiter, he looks like the chatty type, the ones who come to your table and hang like a chandelier- touching all that is meaningful and meaningless to you. I ask for a glass of wine, maybe that will take a shorter time.
Waheshimiwas don’t stay too long at one place; their meeting was one hour to be exact. They probably feared more youth will stream in and ask them for money or locals will start encircling them demanding rights turned privilege. Or maybe their agenda was just finished in a timely manner. In one hour i can dress like an underground celebrity, a mini version of Bonang Matheba. I can also sleep through one hour and make it five days, all of a sudden its August.
Writing comes with its challenges, it’s like learning to ride a bike but harder. My friend Elvis calls it manual labor. A lot of work very minimal returns if any but then I remember Shiko Dolly’s message urging me to send her links and my boy Cyrus asking for another article after the Sunday shenanigans. So I write on……
I couldn’t find the right words or the right words couldn’t find me, I browse a little bit for inspiration, Dundee always tickles me during times of hardship, my own mheshimiwa, who actually gives me money and doesn’t ask for sacrifices like queuing. A few pleasantries here and there as I remember who owes me money so I can get another cup of coffee. I am the only one on the list. Lousy does not even cut it. As I lift my head despite being mentally famished….
A bevy of beautiful men stride in the lounge. Who are they? Where are they from? Do we speak the same language? Ca Va bien merci?(how are you?) Vouvoulez couchez…. They had those kind of faces you see on Instagram. Are they from Rongai? How do they know Rongai? Rongai has beautiful men?the confusion, the mental shock , I couldn’t fathom that level of handsomeness in Nairobi, in Rongai, it was illegal. Too much handsome in one picture; all looking dapper and sharp. They were my sign. A sign that perhaps my standards are too low. A sign that perhaps ther is a Channing Tatum for every Diaz. A sign of fear and hope combined together. A sign that they left prematurely was the car skidding before the gate. A sign that I would end up with a Nyesonga.
They must be used to that, the sudden pause females and males have in their natural look. There is no denying the level of attraction they possess. It’s like finally seeing Miss Bellum’s face or the feeling you got when Medussa came into the picture. So I looked, stared on, I bet I even smiled but not too hard to make them cocky and not too subtly to hurt their egos. Shirt half opened, sophisticated brown leather belt, tribal tattoo on the sleeves, beard longer than my extensions and those well brushed leather shoes. The brushed leather shoes with an implication of tender love and care, he probably sleeps with them in his bed. He was the Kenyan Channing Tatum. I visualized my whole future with him and our three kids taking up my face but his physical form. We divorced however, I married the second best thing.
Yankees jersey, a blue jersey quite synonymous to the one I had with white imprint of the team’s logo. The black Jordan’s fitting perfectly with his tanned skin tone and the ice on his wrist bringing the whole world to a stop. Mostly my world (giggles). He is over compensating a nonchalant gaze and a striking weak smile as they walked. A sight for sore bored eyes that have stared on the computer screen far too long even eyes that haven’t seen any screen whatsoever. A good body tops it all, stout but with arms that can raise all heavens. I bet I saw him in Game of Thrones or he saw me in Game of Thrones, call me khaleesi, you can be my Khal Drogo. I could see his heart pump through his muscle shirt and the veins of my own existence; it was like he was made just for the eyes to devour. The brown skin Adonis look going, dark eyes that made my night seem bright. I wondered if he is the goofy one in the group, my subtle blush that accompanied was a dead giveaway.
The rich chocolate hair that had tousled griminess which assured you of finessing on a whole new dimension, strongly arched eyebrows like he passed by a makeup artist’ house. Eyelashes so thick I could use them to cover myself in this cold area and eyes- the eyes deep and profound. If he looks at you once you can feel your soul leaving and merging into his universe to create a whole new version of Big Bang Theory episodes. His fair skin made him impossible to ignore, probably of mixed race- Somali meets Italian but raised in Kenya. I have not seen his level of catastrophic delight my whole life and I don’t even prefer white or light skin tones. Moment of silence for a few crushes I have ended.
He was wearing Jayz’ cologne, the one written GOLD in gold. I only knew it because he said out loud that it was the one he was wearing today. I was wearing Chris Adams, the one written CA, it has affiliations with most men’s armpits. A few sophisticated men who don’t listen to trap songs and don’t think rapping Young Thug’s whole song is an achievement. It is however an understated achievement. My eyeball game is a little too strong, I can look the enemy in the eye and tell them I love them like its nothing, but that’s because God commanded us to do so. His eyes were provocative, in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable but not violated. They were mesmerizing; his nose was carefully arched on his face leading you to his striking sharp lips. Good heavens! Are these gods real? They walk on past the lounge to the pool area; i remain transfixed trying to comprehend the level of realms I just experienced.
Steph finally brought my cup of coffee, good timing supposedly. She was sent by those men of pleasurable nature to caffeine me back to life.
I was declared dead at 3pm. I had gone down five words and there was no physical activity. My creativity flat lined, my body was in another dimension and I couldn’t keep my thoughts in one article. So I tell Dundee and Sharo of the beautiful creatures I have seen and will lay eyes on again. Dundee shares my grief, excitement turned dismay. Sharo blueticks me. (RME) we steer away from the boy talk and delve deeper in non-consequential talk.
They passed by again, just when my life line was back in check, just when I had finally made peace with my normal Githinji, Karis and Moha. The kind of fellas you can fart in front of or show your morning face to. Ps. I fart glitters and unicorns. They were teasing me, my heart and soul couldn’t go through it twice. This time they were louder, more aggressive and just leveled up to August Alsina meets Idris Elba. Channing Tatum strode so close he almost knocked my glass of wine; he simply smiled and bit his pink lower lip. I packed all my shit and exited stage left. To the bathroom. I would have made him buy a whole bottle of Nederburg and tie him to the chair so I can sip while watching something tragically beautiful.
The girl with the yellow heels and pink fuschia top walks in just when about to call it a beautiful day (I changed the adjective). The red weave hair seems ugly enough to deter you from the rest of the outfit but it doesn’t hold water. The underdressed short sponsor in glasses does not do her much good either, his cheket is ill fitting and does not leave enough ‘money’ imagination to go around, makes us all wonder why him. Then she makes a call to an ally in that accent that isn’t familiar with Rongai people , that was my cue.

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The nagging waiter came back to ask me to top up my wine, I straight up asked for a triple shot vodka with lemon on the side. It is truly August the third today. Happy Birthday to my main girl Kaberia Shi! May you live up to be as happy as always and as thick as Rihanna! Also shout out to all the fine men that make my life worth living and my wine worth spilling.

 

 

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