“Nikiwa na Pesa Huwezi Nielewa”- two drunk men talking, one said this, I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed all the way home. I am still laughing.
Weeks gone; I stood outside a club. It was night, 1 a.m. I was lightly drunk, the night seemed to be full of possibilities. I was not in a hurry to get into this joint, I have been there, numerous times. Everybody knows me, I know everybody. Afternoons when I am bored, this is where I shoot pool, passing time. The weird thing, is that a club during the day & a club during the night are two different animals.
I will explain.
Daytime, a club lacks soul. It’s stark, ugly, bare, everything looks out of place. Night comes, with blaring music, the people, flashing lights, smoke, shisha, dancing girls, men who want to show the world that they have money. It’s all fake, when you pull back the mask, nothing is real. Then, it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not. What matters is that the revellers are spending money, the club owner is making money. It’s a two-way traffic, you’re given an environment to wind away your silly and abortive sorrows, you give away your money. Nothing comes for free.
Outside, I plucked a cigarette from my pocket & dragged at it. When you’re a little bit giddy & that first gust of smoke hits your lungs, it’s like your whole soul comes alive. I smoked for a bit, I passed the half-smoked slim to a boda operator who stood beside me, he had a little bit of it too, then tossed it away. He joked.
“Boss leo umeingia late sana.”
Ha ha ha. I laughed, fist bumped and moved to the entrance. Two of my bouncer friends stood there, filtering the crowd they wanted. We talked for a bit & then I was welcomed into the badland of debauchery, the full menu: sex, alcohol & drugs.
After years of drinking & partying, I have learnt that having a table at the club is a waste of money. I won’t be there at the table; all of my time is spent on the dance floor. If you want to sit, you should stay home & sit on your sofa.
Thus, I quickly moved to the counter, left my bag with my favourite waiter for safe keeping, took three shots of my favourite drink & jumped on the dance floor.
Folks who reserve tables at clubs are pussies, they suffer from inferiority complex. They want to show that they are the shit and can occupy space. In essence, it doesn’t matter, nobody is interested. Funny enough, folks at tables think they’re loaded, nop. The real Gs hang around the counter actually.
There’s this guy who had a Red label on his table. I don’t like the Red Label by Johnnie Walker. I regard it in the same light as Chang’aa. I tasted it once & that was it for me. I don’t understand why folks drink it, there are better whiskies, smoother whiskies, again, a man’s meat. Anyway.
The Red Label is a drink I wouldn’t drink for free. If you paid me to drink it, you’d have to pay me a lot of money, six figures.
So, this guy with the Red label on his table, was quite in control. Two women sat by him. One older, fat & ugly. Another younger, hotter, prettier, just on the boundary of petite & thick, very much my type. Funny enough, this negro was making out with the fat bitch, men!
On the dance floor, the younger one gravitated towards me. Just before we could close the deal, this mofucker cock blocked me.
He was a nice guy though, no hard feelings. I liked his calm energy; he was very much in control of the situation, very alpha, not quick to anger. I don’t understand his reasons for cock blocking me, maybe that was his younger sister or they were both his wives, you never know. But I liked how he did it. He was a man’s man. In another life time, I’d buy him a drink. I’d also tell him to stop drinking the Red Label.
I took more shots & moved to the dancefloor, where this quite petite chick danced with grace, the way she moved. The way the dress held her body, bringing out the curves in the right places. We outdanced the whole fucking joint! Deep in the night, this beta looking simp of a guy, whispered in my ear, “that’s my girlfriend man.” His voice sounded heavy, like he was about to cry. I ignored him. I felt sorry for him though, his woman was here feeling all my heat, my huge dick hard on her fat ass, & he was alone sobbing about her. Later as we left, I asked the girl if that was her man, she said no. She was very single. Ha ha ha, Women!
Below, I will give a guide to successful clubbing in this city.
1. Be humble — There are people in there with a lot of money than you, don’t try to compete, know your limits.
2. Be friendly — Say Hi to the bouncers, buy them a soda, ksh 200 isn’t going to make you broke. They’ll watch out for you.
3. Respect everyone — those waiters you see there aren’t broke, they could be doing other jobs. Some might even be more loaded than you.
4. Don’t fight — fighting is for weak men who want to prove that they can be savage. True Alphas talk things out. Always walk away from a fight, it’s not worth the trouble.
5. Move light — Having your card is enough. As long as you can remember the pin.
6. Don’t carry sand to the beach — this is self-explanatory.
My 1st book, A STRANGER; symbols of transformation is available for order. A hardcopy goes for ksh 1000.
Delivery is free around Nairobi. Copies are selling fast, so get yours before it’s too late.
Dm on Instagram to get a signed hardcopy @kinasisi_
