My First 3D Experience (and No, it ain’t a threesome)! Othith Hat? etc.

Sections of the article you are about to read may contain coarse, violent and sexually suggestive language. Reader discretion is advised.

‘I'd like to take a few seconds to appreciate all the tall, attractive, athletic guys out there: You’re one of the reasons I’m convinced being gay was my birth right, well done!’ – C. Mutahi.

The Kasarani Stadium is a blend of blue, green and white going by the garb fans have donned in support of their teams this afternoon. I grudgingly allow Samson (hereinafter referred to as Sam) to mount the hand woven straw hat with the inscription “Nyathi Sirkal Ok Mul” (The Government’s baby is untouchable) on my head. He beams like it’s some sort of achievement. The things we do for men! I soon learn it is locally referred to as an Othith hat. I put on my stunners lest one of my colleagues or men from my past sees me here - It’s bad for my ratings you know - but with the hat’s green strands dangling ridiculously making me look like a clown, I decide to remove the glasses. The referee blows his whistle to signify the beginning of the second half of the match. The GOR Mahia/Sirkal players tackle the ball skillfully across the Stadium’s field towards the goal post but the Ingwe/AFC team in swift retaliation save themselves from a goal making some women in blue and white striped tops shirts ululate at the far corner of our row. Sam is clad in a black T-Shirt written ‘Luo Inside’ with a full simulated logo typical of Intel products. The shirt accentuates his broad masculine chest that is a subject of regular workout. His right bicep protrudes from the sleeve of the T-shirt almost revealing his barbed wire ink. He reeks of a musky manly scent in an environment that is largely full of sweaty scents. Off the record: I know I have been told in the past Mwanaume ni Jasho na Madeni (A man is sweat and debts). It is in those moments I have always walked away leaving the whiff of my designer perfume praying to Jesus that a good man should find these people and give them a talk on foul smell. I’ve pitied their girl/boy friends (if they even have any). In the past we’ve agreed that a zega man cannot be black, gay and poor. Now throw in foul smell, bad attitude and being broke in there! Make up your mind and pick a worthy cause! That aside, when my concentration is back from the loud Ingwe girls to the pitch, a GOR Mahia fan donning a green wig and the back of his green T-shirt written “Wuod K’Opere” has stood up in front of me blocking my view. I seek Sam’s attention and he straight away bends to hear me.

‘Babe, I can’t see. He’s blocking my view.’ I whisper to him. He takes a deep breath and calls him by the name on his shirt requesting him to sit down as I’m also trying to watch the match.

“Leave me alone Faggot!” He retorts studying Sam intently. Sam removes his left hand that was resting behind my back and leans forward.

“What did you call me again?” An infuriated Sam asks.

“You heard me.” He responds matter-of-factly.

He’s a very dark, petite young man but with a developed body frame. He has marks on his face that I immediately suspect are from bar brawls or regular violence but were he to take his life a bit more seriously he’d almost be handsome.

“Now listen to me you motherfucker. Just because you love D!ck doesn’t mean the rest of us are in your cock sucking business. Who do you think you are, eh? Now you better sit your ass down because I have no time to argue with people who can’t think beyond the length of their d!cks or depths of their assholes for a game I’ve paid for!” Sam responds to him making me and the other fans within earshot be like: 

He’s formed a fist and wants to make his way to where Sam and I are seated. Sam stands in an instant and grabs the collar of his neck with his sturdy right hand. I reach out for his left arm urging him to leave him alone. He’s breathing fire. Sam’s tall and muscular frame is intimidating and soon everyone around us urges him to leave the boy alone citing that he’s always like that. Sam looks at my direction and reconsiders shoving the vulnerable thing aside making him topple over but one of his friends grabs him and urges Sam to spare him. Sam (still incensed) takes his seat. No sooner has he sat down than AFC scores an allegedly disputed goal. Everything happens so fast that the whole stadium is soon in a mess with bottles flying all over the place and women screaming. Sam urges me to follow him. Everyone is trying to make their way down the terraces to the field. ‘Take my hand!’’ He says to me. I’m still processing the just ended episode of K’Opere’s faggot incident but before I can tell him that it would look awkward, he’s grabbed me by my shoulder and urges me to run with him with our heads slightly low. It’s at that point I realize it was an order not a request. I oblige until we get to the car. In the far distance, I can still hear teargas canister blasts that are typical in Nairobi’s downtown streets at dusk when the County Council askaris (officers) are engaged in running battles with hawkers. There are also chants in Dholuo but the voices are off key. My heart is racing. Since he drives a stick, his left hand occasionally pats my right thigh when he’s changing gears. It’s a very quiet drive back to the city centre.

*******

Behind The Scenes

1. I’ve been watching the NEWS lately and there are a few things that I can’t help but comment on. No, I won’t talk about the 14-year old who gave birth to triplets the other day for obvious reasons (my recent virginity loss confessions) plus she’s covered under Article 43(3) of the constitution. However these two men who signed an agreement to share one woman is an intriguingly debatable issue. I'm sure this may not be a first but just because it’s been highlighted, it becomes a controversy. You should see the agreement I once drafted with an Ex. to ensure our roles in the relationship were distinctly spelt out with no surprises. It even had a whole section on whose responsibility it was to ensure that protection and lubricant was available, money and even a clause on terminating the relationship. It was our own version of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele’s Dominant/Submissive contract in E.L James’ Fifty Shades of Grey. One of the men opined, ‘I love her for real and I was ready to do anything for her even if it meant sharing her with another man.’ He has since lost his job as a butcher and has gone into hiding citing threats to his life. A lawyer in a press interview said that polyandry is more abnormal than illegal since the Laws that govern marriage in Kenya do not expressly forbid it. Another counsel says that if the parties involved are able to show that polyandry has been their custom then it’s fine but added that he doesn’t know of any African community that does that. I endeavored to look at Article 45(5)(b) of the Constitution which if paraphrased say that marriage can be recognized if it follows a set of traditions, religious practices, personal or family law as long as those practices do not violate the law. Of course the local community in their usual element like their Homophobic counterparts responded harshly saying that they should be taken to court. Words like uncouth, untraditional, unbiblical and against the holy books were also cited! Okay, I shall pause here and in my own version try to throw my weight behind Jesuit Priest Luigi Taparelli’s concept of social justice. Kenya is a society where it’s largely favorable to the men folk to marry as many wives as they can without being questioned. We live in times women competently run for the same jobs as men, drive machines that were once considered male so now that one of them has entered into a contract with two men isn’t it a tenet of social equality? I am not a cynic. Maybe I’ve finally found my call to be a moral nihilist but I personally don’t see the harm now that the tables have changed. It’s like the culturally accepted marriage between women in some Kenyan communities.  Point a gun into my head, choke me with D!ck even but I’m still convinced that it is gay in so many levels then you still end up telling me that being gay is a white man thing? It’s unnatural in the African community? Kindly school me some more.

2. On Hannah Montana Miley Cyrus, I’m depressed. Only time will tell whether she wins me back in the fold. Bitch doesn’t even have an a** but twerked her way into emphasizing her stardom a few days ago making the VMA’s literally about her. This event ladies and gentlemen is where Britney Spears and Madonna shared a passionate girl to girl smooch a decade ago. I’ve been tempted to share the picture/video but since I’m a McGill noticee person with vested interests in Nashville, Tennessee and re-blogged on an international level including the Vatican (I’m sure some holy father is praying for me and my lost soul), I abandon that thought. And what's with sticking out her tongue like some animal on heat? So grinding on Robin Thicke’s frontal is now some sort of trophy? Miley may be smiling all the way to the bank but there are things famous people do in the moment and have to live with them forever. MJ much? However, I admit I finally learnt a new word this week: Twerk. To those at sea like me, it’s locally referred to as Bend Over. In gay circles, that is something you only do in the confines of a thoroughly secured room, your eyes tightly shut waiting for it to go in. Oops! TMI.

3. On Tuesday during my coffee break, I was meeting my friend Sage just a few blocks from the office to be introduced to his new boyfriend. Whoa! Aren’t those two in love (or lust)! I must salute him on one thing. He always has taste when it comes to men. Ever met one of those guys – you are definitely hotter than them – but they are just intimidating with their refined personality and presence? No? Once again I got asked why the F*** a pretty thing like me is still single? Thankfully, someone’s phone buzzed and by the time he came back I’d successfully steered the conversation to how skillfully carrot cakes in this place are done. Is it just me or what’s with lovebirds wanting everyone to join then in that emotional co-dependent shitstorm we call relationships!

*******

I make a call as I walk into the 20^th Century plaza that houses IMAX Cinema at about a quarter to six in the evening. ‘I’m downstairs, coming up shortly.’ I say. I’m dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim nudie pants I bought at Gikomba Market sometime back on impulse when looking for biking accessories. What? I’m a good boy besides why leave something that accentuates my butt and still makes me look decent? I take the left turn; briefly look at the movie poster along the stairs until I reach the busy ticketing and waiting area. I look around. Mmm! Nairobi has fine men! I finally locate him at the counter paying for the tickets. He’s in a purple striped shirt tucked into some fitting Khaki pants that show his bubble butt. I stand a few meters behind him until he’s done. He turns scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t notice me immediately until I block his way. He raises his head. The top two buttons on his Daniel Hechter shirt are open showing little of his chest hair. His sharp eye locks with mine instantly before he grabs me into a hug (Not the dude hug). As always, he smells heavenly! He looks at his watch and suggests we go get some popcorn. I’m loosely carrying a pullover just in case it gets chilly later. A slim teenage boy rushes past me hitting my hand making the pullover fall. He apologizes profusely as he bends to pick it for me. ‘Watch where you going!’ Sam reprimands him as he grabs it from him. Poor thing. He doesn’t hand it back to me but hurls it on his broad shoulder before he starts cruising me ‘You look different, as in good different. We should be meeting more on weekends when you are not all official and bossy. I barely recognized you!” He says. “Thanks babe.” I supply giggling like a teenage girl who’s just been asked out by the college hunk on a Prom date. 

We walk into the dimly lit cinema hall. He leads the way. At some point just after the ramp we are given 3D (where D is just for Dimension and not what some of you were thinking) glasses. I casually put them on when I trip nearly losing my balance. I remove them to avoid further embarrassment and humbly follow my leader up the flight of stairs. We sit almost at the rear. There are previews running. I put on my glasses but nothing seems to be working. Sam is trying hard to suppress a laugh but he fails miserably. See, in as much as I’m all old, cultured and opinionated, I’m still a boy when it comes to new things. For instance the first time I boarded a plane. I was so fidgety struggling to catch views from the window until the gentleman seated on the window seat next to me offered to swap seats to my advantage and offer some brief class on what happens that thousands of feet high. So being my first time to watch a 3D flick, you can imagine my agony. My Aha moment was when a lady’s voice finally directed the audience to put on their 3D glasses. Wooooow! I muttered to myself grinning from ear to ear as I sipped my chilled bottle of Sparletta. Sam was busy munching away his popcorn and occasionally leaned over to ask me whether I was comfortable. The only thing I think we were missing was a Maasai Shuka at least to cover our legs as we secretly hold hands underneath. Isn't that what happens in movies?

Soon the movie started. It was a Sci-Fi flick, lots of violence no nudity though except one of those forced kisses. I’d had some very wild hopes on watching nudity in 3D. Be that as it may, I felt like I was in a totally different universe. What were inventors of 3D high on? Can I buy these glasses for my Tely at home? Can I watch NEWS in 3D e.g. feel like I’m seated next to Dan Mwangi as he reads business News? (Please don’t tell him. From my online stalking, I think he’s a devout Christian) The Lady seated on my right kept fidgeting and shouting Oh My! Like she was experiencing an orgasm especially when missiles were coming right to our faces! At some point I removed the glasses and the screen was plainly blurry. Even my screen at home would give this a run. It was just funny seeing the way people’s heads kept tossing and leaning uniformly like they were being remote controlled. Let me just say at the end of the evening, I was one technology wiser. I think

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks me as we are walking out of the cinema hall (He’s still dangling my sweater). My smirk sells me as I respond to him. “Watch out for that step.” He warns. Once we’ve dropped the glasses at the container outside, we run into one of his friends who’s expecting someone. He maintains a solid handshake with this bespectacled guy and introduces me. My heart is at rest. No competition here. “Would you like some ice cream Cole?” He asks. I’m feeling shy because this new friend of his hasn’t been considered. “I won’t mind.” I respond in the usual Mutahi modesty. He heads to the ice cream bar leaving us standing awkwardly with his friend. “So, Cole what is it that you do?” The stranger asks me. “I’m an ICT consultant.” I reply. “Oh a Techie I see. I’m an Auditor with…”. He confidently tells me. “Sweet, it’s my pleasure to meet you.” I tell him. Sam is back holding two cups of ice cream. He hastens the conversation between him and his Deloitte friend and we are soon on our way outside. ‘Put on your sweater, it’s chilly’. He says handing it over to me.

Just to bring you up to speed. Remember our Monday conversation on Journeys? Well, unlike me Sam is openly out to his family. Yap. His mother accepted him after a period of deep soul searching. During that time he had had to crash at his best friend’s digs. His dad passed on when he’d just finished university. His sister, the only other surviving sibling is a pretty girl who thinks I’m cute and witty - well, that’s according to Sam ever since we met for a quick evening catch up and she had to come pick her set of house keys from Sam. I even recall after our first date meeting, I’d urged him to drop me at Prestige, off Ngong Road to catch a cab home. He didn’t heed to my request saying that his father had raised him with strict instructions that in case he picks his girlfriend, he has to ensure that she’s dropped where she was picked. No derailments. I’d raised my eyebrows in protest saying I wasn’t a girl. Of course at the time the departed man never knew his son had no interest in women. But I’ve since got on with the program. Am I his boyfriend? No.

My decisions when it comes to men are largely not informed. There was this time I left town on Saturday Sunday at 1a.m. after a great night clubbing and travelled through three counties with a man (later turned boyfriend) I’d just met the day before just to get laid? Then there’s my first and probably longest relationship. Griffin. High School classmate turned sweetheart that spilled post High School. He was all macho and the face of all and sundry evil deeds in school. Being seen with him made my life worthwhile, Oh! *Pats his chest with closed eyes* Have I even told you of my first date in a Mosque? I’m not so out there but Oh Boy, haven’t I done some pretty disturbing things for my time! Don't even give me that look, I'm not exactly a virgin! These and more are some of the more personal and intimate conversations we’ll be sharing in the remaining seven months on T.S.R babies. I have since decided to continue supporting my favorite club MUFC (where C is for Champions) from the confines of my house or the stools of Club Bettyz. I know I love living on the edge but I will never again be seen  at a Sirkal studded stadium. It’s just dangerous when you are loyal to a team that riots when they lose, rampage when they draw and revel destructively when they win after paying homage to the late Tom Mboya’s statue on Moi Avenue. *Waits for insults*

*******

I am licking my ice cream seductively. Sam occasionally steals glances my direction and shifts his concentration back on the road. I know I’m giving him problems because we have a past with ice cream. I look outside and I’ve no idea where we are going but then he’d said we’ll do a quick dinner before he drops me home. He makes a series of turns and stops at a huge black gate. The gate is opened by a tall uniformed gentleman whose face I can’t make out due to the cap he’s putting on revealing a finely built residential complex. Must be one of his friends. I think to myself. The compound is very quiet and serene with crickets whistling in the distance. Feels homely. Once we enter the place, I sense it’s deserted. We walk through the hallway into a spacious and brightly lit living room playing some soft jazz. I start scanning the portraits and wall hangings when a beautiful African woman with a polished accent greets and hugs Sam. I’m confused. So he’s married? He responds to the embrace and when they are done the lady looks at Sam expectantly waiting for him to introduce his guest. “Mum, this is my friend Cole.”  He says.

My mind is now as alert as morning wood. Fuck! 

 Peace Out. XOXO

 

Cole Mutahi.