Wednesday, 24 April 2013

The Tuareg Man [3]

Music review done and submitted to the chief editor. Business article almost done just a few unapproved Keynesian theories then submission. At-least I have some few minutes to spare and flip through The Daily Facebook evening print. Our BBA representative was officially named. Alhuda Njoroge better known as Huddah Monroe, there goes the respect of the Kenyan woman. I thought it would be Vera Sidika, I had this flinch that Africa would get to see how our society is an ass #sigh. Just as I had thought my work on www.raverend.co.ke was done, my secretary submits more work from the head office. Event, coverage at Changes bar and restaurant. My boss new that I hated Westlands and on Fridays I had poetry at All Saints Cathedral, so why send me there? Guess I'd have to leave early enough before the breaded roads suddenly get jammed.
The thought of going to 'Westy' made me feel like I was taking all that I stood for today to a Wasteland. I hated the place's night life. I hated how the touts made you feel like the most important person just to get ignored on your destination. I hated that your shirt could get drenched by sweat that was probably the perspiration of joy from  a campus student who had successfully cheated on an exam. I hated that all the hood rats would have their fairy godmother hook them up with the freshest cats. I hated the men there who wore Vitenge pants. I hated that a fool might think that you're from Mwea Tebere and plant 'mchele' on your drink. I hated that in every dark aisle there was a woman doing a gymnastics 180 degrees leg split for a man who wasn't her gym instructor. I hated that the ladies there would shake their ass more than my vibrating Chinese handset. But more so, I hated that I was a conservative in a bar called Changes.
I set my eye on one of the most fast rising couple in the society today. The man fit the stereotype; average height, light skinned, balding, expensive watched and had a stomach that looked like he was on his 3rd trimester *he was only missing a toothpick*. He swayed his hand all over as if trying to hide his ring, but even it wouldn't take Stevie wonder to see it with braille. His lass, looked so young, young enough to be King Mswati's next wife, maybe even young enough to think the perks on her chest were a big allergic reactions *welcome to the 21st century love story*. Calling her beautiful would be 'pedophiliac' lets just say she was adorable. From her skirt length, you could see Thighland and with the few right words, there was nothing left but to see the rest of the Asian tiger. To put this adjectives on her skirt size, if she was Ugandan, she would be serving life imprisonment.
Mufasa, had done it again; presented a young 'cat' to all the animals in the society. We exchanged more than two looks, talk about an eye for an eye. Her man was slowly passing out, she then came way. 
"Hey handsome!"
I looked to my left, tapped the guy with a millipede of left feet dancing next to me and said,
"The young lady is talking to you."
She then came closer to me as if rehearsing a PK advertisement and whispered
"No silly it's you!"
"Oh, oh, no I'm not handsome but people always confuse me to him, I'm Halwenge'
Apparently that was funny, she laughed like she needed it.
"you're must be funny."
"What betrayed me?"
"I'm Diamond by the way"
[of course her name was Diamond, thanks to Rihanna, she thinks she also shines, if she only knew she's reflecting] I thought.
Now her name made me laugh. giving out the hysterical laugh that everybody gives on Sunday nights when Churchill claims to be a comedian. This was because the only 'Diamond' I knew was from my stash of blue movies.
I didn't have anything to say to her. She made me nervous, nervous that FIDA might burst in here like some swat ish charge me like a battery and ship me to Guantanamo Bay.
"Aren't you going to buy me a drink" "Get to know me" "and take me to your place?"
For some stupid reason, this thoughts raced on my head. "Why did the president hold hands with his deputy like kindergarten kids jana" "Does this mean ICC have the wrong guy" "What is the 'V' that shapes on some women's pants?"
Guess, will never know.....to be continued....

No comments:

Post a Comment