Friday, December 22, 2006

December Madness

Kamikaze decides he is to fall ill the following day and not report to work. The symptoms of the illness are copious amounts of beer and curvaceous women in scant dresses. The place is MadHouse, the time is 3 AM at night (morning starts when I see the sun). 0.5 is working on said morning. The doc asks how we are able to do it. Drink till 4, show up at work at 8.

I have no answer to that question.

A meeting I was supposed to manage has just tanked. The main protagonist did not show up. Probably had a rough night too. Strike that. Didn't have a night at all. I am making the usual noises about how careless people have become. Righteous indignation left, right and centre. Secretly, I am glad. I didn't have s*t to present. I get to blame the guy and come up as the good guy.

Where was I? Ahh yes...MadHouse. A woman passes by and rubs her butt on my hand as she wiggles to the counter. I pull my hand away...hi hi are you crazy? My hand stays firmly in place. She is not wearing underwear. This is lovely stuff! She stops moving and starts talking to another girl. I can still feel the smooth skin under the cotton skirt. This is some of the smoothest hustling I have ever seen. Cool, calm, collected, totally transparent, like some sort of happy accident.

I dont say anything. She moves upstream.

Oloibon spots Kamikaze. it was true. Questions still remain. Does she work here or does she work here. Figure it out. But Oloibon fades into the background real quick.
It was at this same spot that a famous female radio personality spat back at me: Ati you know my ass? My first impression was: Ai boss. She is very short. She looks very tall in the papers and magazines. But how? Anyway, my grabbing "celebrities" arms ended with that encounter.

aJamaa shows up from Crooked Q with two of his buddies. Actually we all were in Crooked Q. The place looks like a glorified cow pen with robotized dolls dancing to stupid music. Where is the space? There are pubs in Nairobi whose washrooms are as big as Crooked Q. Where to sit? Who do we send for a beer? I call a guy who is manning the pool tables and politely ask if I can send him for a pint. He replies in high-pitched, sneering singsong: Actually, there are waiters and waitresses here, you can send them. Then he storms off. Unbelievable.

There are children in sagging shorts, 5 earrings on each ear and gum. There are egotistical men playing pool as if it was chess. Abundant display of muscles. Some 18 year old guy pools out a packet of cheroots or something like that. He takes his sweet time in removing and lighting one, to the delight of his buddies. Does a round, nodding his head. Must have watched too many snoop videos and started to imagine he is like him. Grown men who should be ferrying kids to Form 1 next year are moving about: hi five, loud splat as open palms meet, hug: Hey 'sup dude? Haw ya doin?

Jon Crunky or skunky is playing. This is the new music now? I must be really old. But then again my old man would surprised as such when Tupac or Biggie played and you bobbed your head. Pause for one moment and think: How will music (and by extension movies and other entertainment) be in 5 years? I get a headache when I think about.

Luckily, we are on our way.

Who knows. Today? I have only slept a total of 7-8 hours in 3 days. One Samborera is hiding deep under. Today is Reggae at MadHouse. Mmmmh.....

I am beginning to nod off. I ferry this rag of a machine home and then nap. circa 7:00 pm (ref future), stuff might start happening again. I just run you a line of cr#p, anyways baadaye.


Blogger Princess said...

Sounds like your holiday season ahs gotten off to a great start. Happy Holidays!!

Friday, December 22, 2006 9:50:00 PM  
Blogger aJamaa said...

Before this evening I had not been to Crooked Q since 1999. I know remember why I stopped going. The place has no character. There are very few good pubs left in Nairobi.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007 7:34:00 AM  

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