Karenju puts aside
his cue stick and spreads me on top of the olive clothed pool table. Our naked
sweaty bodies rub against each other our breathing clearly in synch as we both
burn with desire. Carnal desire. He reeks of male sweat typical of a construction
worker who forgot to freshen up. I’m redolent of a musky scent courtesy of a
mild masculine deodorant. I run my fingers through his short dreadlocks as he
skillfully gives me head and once he’s done I equally comply stealing a few
glances from him. His mouth has formed a
neat ‘O’. He thrusts himself forward making his tumescence almost choke me. He
steadily holds my head in place and gets down reaching for his wallet in his
stained jeans and fishes out a sachet of studded condom handing it to me to do
the needful. He flips me over. I close
my eyes in wait for the next ordeal and just then a phone starts wailing. I
open my eyes and realize it’s one of my morning dreams again! The prefix number
+40 (Romania) on my screen instantly sends shivers down my spine…
I reside live
in stay in a huge two-wing flat in Dagoretti. It’s not a high end location
though it's largely middle class. I occasionally spot some German recons on the
feeder roads; there is the learned friend cum silver metallic Mercedes C
200 owner with hairy legs who lives in a duplex across the road
and jogs quite early on Monday mornings; As residents inhabitants we
also get to hang out at The Junction Mall which just like when waiting for a
delayed flight at Mombasa Airport’s terminal 4 on a cold Sunday night is good
for celebrity spotting e.g. Wahu leaving the establishment with an all grown up
Tumiso in a silver metallic beamer or Risha, our resident event entrepreneur
being chauffeured in a white 4WD pickup etc. All this as you sip your glass of iced Cappuccino at
Artcaffe. On the front wing of my flat
are some establishments including an exclusive Pool Table place where Karenju (the landlord’s nephew) hangs
out most of the time. I don’t date short people but no one said anything about sleeping with them. Only time will tell whether he and I eat the forbidden fruit. Can I hear an Amen? Maybe it's all just in my head but the sexual tension
between us is just too strong. My fantasies of him range from him
accosting me in the hallway to the flat during a black out, tying me up and making me his sex
slave in the rooftop that is still under construction among others that I may not be able to divulge here. Basically him doing bad things with me. *Hides*
It’s a bright
Saturday morning. I get out Roseline after pumping some air into her wheels and
mount the paper bag containing the suits I’m to take to the laundry on her
handle bars. As I make my way down the stairs with the bike, a short, dreadlocked,
chocolate complexioned man with unshaved facial hair in a black and white
jumper and cargo pants that reveal well chiseled calves like those of a
seasoned Manchester United Player looks at my direction with a broad smile. ‘Niaje Collo (Hi Collins)!’ I almost miss a step. Fuck!
*****
Behind the
Scenes
So
last week I was finally clearing my desk and some of my immediate former colleagues
decided to go mushy mode. There’s Edwin who particularly decided to give me an
incisive lecture on how I should now get a respectable girl and wife her citing
my estimable sense of responsibility and ability to educate some little devils. I roll my eyes. Then
there’s Bob. ‘We’ll miss you,’ he
said. I particularly feel I should have at least developed an interest to know
him more. I mean last year I was working with him in Mombasa and he’s the same
guy who made me grace the famed den of
sin Casa Blanca. But then he has a beer gut, drinks like a fish and he
ain’t rich plus I hear he also has a weak loin when it comes to womenfolk. What
a ghastly list of qualities! Wait, why am I even talking about him? Delete that.
The Madaraka weekend was largely spent outdoors. Saturday was shopping for shoes and a pressure cooker. I flog the bus while it's going downhill and since it's still in motion, the tout lifts me with both his
hands on the steps instantly making me smile awkwardly because it feels ticklish. I
think the two men seated on the second pair of seats from the door noticed because upon me getting in (the bus that is), I do sense they are checking me out questioningly. My inner goddess with its arms akimbo be
like ‘Whatchu looking at?’ I sit
my proud a** on a window seat adjacent to them. I liked it!
The Lunch Date…
I
get to the city center and give Simon a call. He picks on the second ring and
accordingly gives me directions. ‘Let me
know when you are in a matatu (public vehicle)’ he says. I decide to get into a supermarket at least
to get some soft drinks, crisps and confectionery. I’m going to a bachelor’s
house. It’s always good practice to carry something when visiting someone’s
(boyfriend included) home. People may have been starving in that house and you
may as well be the Jesus they need to multiply the five loaves and two fish.
The
journey on the Thika Super Highway is smooth and being a Sunday it isn’t exactly eventful.
I have no idea where we are going but carefully know that I'll be alighting at the final bus
terminal. The vehicle makes a turn off the freeway onto a busy street and as it
surges forward, I notice the area is highly industrial. The only familiar sight
is Chandaria Industries just because the name rings a bell. In a few minutes,
the vehicle halts. ‘Hapa ndio Baba Dogo
(This is the place)’. The tout informs me; I make a further phone call and upon Simon’s advisement board a
motorcycle that wades through a dusty road. I tell him to drive traverse
carefully as I’m not used to being on these death traps. I also get to find out
that public vehicles don’t access this road and the motorbikes operate until
late. We finally stop in front of a flat that intriguingly spots at least a CCTV
camera. I pay the rider and he bids his bye. As I make my phone call, I see
some young men in a shade playing draught.
A tall, dark and fine African man – wearing an Arsenal T-shirt – finally
waves at me from the first floor balcony and says he’ll be down shortly. He’s
carrying a female toddler…
So
Simon can still pull a manly hug while balancing a kid who already disapproves
of me, what does he think; it’s a group hug now? ‘You have a beautiful daughter...’
I say to him as he finally closes the gate behind us. He has probably
missed the cynicism in my voice. Smiling almost immediately, ‘…actually it’s my niece, don’t worry she’ll
warm up to you soon’. He says. My conscience is twirling like Kenya Moore.
As we enter the house I notice I can see the Kasarani stadium on the other side of the valley and once he has introduced me to the young and fine handsome
man seated next to the window with a game pad on his hand and the lady who I
immediately gather is the sister, I hand him over the bag of goodies. The diva
of a child beams as she follows the mother to the kitchen.
I
take a seat on the three-seater orange couch. There is a bottle of Blue Moon on the table
and a bottle of black currant soda too. The screen is showing some paused game.
Asked on what I want, I settle for some sprite (it’s among the drinks I
bought). I scan the spacious living room. It’s naturally well lit with neat
tiles of a floor and high bright walls. He probably moved in here recently
going by the huge chunk of space. Carrying a glass and the bottle of soda, he
serves me and sits almost next to me (Point). He replenishes his glass of
liquor and asks me whether I’m interested in playing the game but I immediately
pass on it offering to watch how they battle it out. After some sword wielding
and several blood smears. It’s Game Over. I feel relieved. Men still play
computer games? I ain’t old but really guys?
He
recommends we watch the One O’clock News. My grasp on the ongoing Parliament vis-à-vis the salary interchanges with
the country’s remuneration commission is clearly valued going by the nods I’m
getting from the two gentlemen. ‘I see you are a gunners fan?’ I say to him
feeling sententious on my ability to pick a safe 'man topic'. He holds his shirt with two tips of his fingers.
The goddess has dropped the akimbo posture and it’s up in arms busy shouting Strip! Strip! ‘You
mean this? No, it’s my brother’s, in fact thanks for reminding me, I shouldn’t
step out in it!’ I gather the
brother is out of jurisdiction. The subject matter of the recent election
petition at the Supreme Court is also palatable though it’s the only area where
we hold opposing views until the sister brings a meal of white rice and beef
for us to devour. The aroma is invigorating! Simon moves inches closer to me to
make space for his sibling(Point).
After the lunch I ask whether he has anything
interesting to watch and just then a text message from my buddy Jo-C comes in. ‘Cole, I’m attending the European festival
at Alliance Francaise from 3. Feel free to join me.’ I type a quick
rejoinder seeking a rain check. He suggests we go out to get a movie citing it
will also be great to familiarize with the area. I grab my camera and put it in
my pocket. Simon walks on my right and the cousin flanks me on the left. ‘This is Lucky Summer. I’ve been here for a
month now since I moved from my folks place in Southlands’. I keenly listen
as he explains. Once we are past some dusty playground, we get to a very busy
street. ‘Hawa ni vijana wa mtaa,
wamependa madre (these guys are the locals, they love drugs and stuff)’.
The intuitive cousin explains my interest in some not-so-Mutahi-approved young men seated next to an
unfinished construction site. He points to me the famed Dandora dumping site on the other side of the valley. I feel like
taking a snapshot but when he mentions that a slum starts at the end of the
path we are in, I abandon the interest altogether. ‘Collins, ever been to Dandora?’ Simon intriguingly asks me. I
shake my head in full agreement. ‘Yeah, I was
there last year on my community health work side hustle…’ We take a left turn and run into a neat alley
(well, almost) with some two beautiful block of flats and enter a kiosk that is playing some loud Luo music. I can effortlessly make out
the words Nyathi Maasai until the
lady attendant reduces the volume to attend to us.
At
some point when the cousin is talking to the attendant, we are lost in our own
conversations. Badmouthing former lecturers, I making fun of his bulging beer gut. He only smiles and rubs it with a vestige of pride. He forgot to remove the Arsenal T-shirt. The guy clearly loves his
pints. He picks a movie, seeks my approval and asks whether we should leave(Point).
Conclusions
Ice Age 4 was a great animation to watch despite me dozing off briefly. Simon slept through almost the whole thing and only momentarily
feigned alertness when I was replenishing my drink and/or when he had to
enlighten me on Drake and Nicki Minaj’s voices. After the flick, he opens his
playlist and starts playing some very depressing
music. “Yellow Tape” by Lil Wayne ft. Fat Joe et al (Thanks to Google, now I know
this). What a better way to crown an affirmative position of straightness BUT…
Shouldn’t
a straight man be busy with his girlfriend or something on a weekend? He has
since offered to pay a visit to my neighborhood when he returns from a work
related rendezvous. I’m absolutely agreeable to it. The universe seems to have a way
of always bringing us together. Perhaps he's shy and fears making a move. Maybe he’s that guy who likes taking his time. Maybe he's as straight as an arrow just the way my first instinct has already ruled. But his warm embrace was again offered at
the bus terminal just before I boarded a vehicle back to the city center... Okay
fine, I need to stop this BS of denial. A zega man can use a straight man for a
friend right? God knows we have scarcity of these. Probably it’s the universe’s
way of telling me that for once I can use a friend for a change and not just a
random dick loving man in a Chelsea soccer T-shirt!
P.S
That Romania phone call is a whole different article. We can’t cloud Simon’s
day on T.S.R with another High School blunder. Oops. I’m out.
Cole Mutahi
Next
Time on T.S.R
‘Can I get you some ice cream?’ He
asks after the movie...
…it is very important to compliment some
of our men. I mean, isn’t there a saying that when you judge a fish by its ability to
climb a tree, it will live its whole life thinking it’s stupid?