10 characters in a club 

I’m first going on record that I don’t partake, or should I say, ‘actively partake’?. What happened last Saturday was just a ….(fill it for yourself). I’m the boring person that likes to spend his weekend nights in the crib writing such juicy tales that  may or may not be fictional and streaming movies. This I do while cuddling an imaginary beauty that has taken the form of my pillow. Clubbing is one of the last things to fit in my weekend plans.

It all started when these great guys from Atlassian User Group Nairobi came to facilitate a workshop. A pack of three dudes. The trio looked jut like any other complete clique. Mike due to his big body was the alpha and the muscles should they run into Marwa’s enemies but he needs to hit the gym once in a while to convert the fats to muscles. 

Arthur was the brains. A Luo by all means. Who else can have a black suit in Mombasa, complete black suit. White shirt and I’m sure I saw the shape of a vest beneath, a black tie, the shit we call half jackets, a black coat having logos of the Italian who did the job on the bottom part of the left sleeve, black trousers and an accompanying black pair of leather shoes that were frequently polished lest it becomes a taboo should he not see his reflection when he stares down at them. He dressed to assassinate I tell you. The last of the pack is Shadrack Winter, aka Shaddy. As his name suggests, he’s the cool guy. Though soft spoken, he got swag. Should a lady enter a room where they are all seated, he would be the pick. He has an afro I’m sure he values more than my late Grandpa valued his Peugeot 504. It was blow-dried (I have sisters, I know how a blow-dried hair looks like) and some sort of hair treatment added to it. Rumour has it that he’s also a producer.After the event, they invite me to a gentleman’s night out and Sky lounge in Bamburi was the venue. I get there a couple of minutes after them and some lady standing next to the security guys ask me to buy two bottles of Guinness at 200/ each. You know the look the bouncers give at the entrance? So I couldn’t not just refuse, considering our body ratios was 1:4. 

This night, I got to see different characters available in a club. The ones that observing them was more fun than the concoction people sip in such settings.  To summarize, here they are.

1. Tycoon 

This is the cheque book of the group. Always calling the shots at the roundtable and he’s worshipped. You don’t say anything that would piss him off or else you will foot your own bill. Most if the time, he’s dressed like our friend Arthur, a suit and has a “big phone” that the whole universe has to see and the length of calls he makes would make you think he bribed Collymore.

2. The chat box 

He keeps the conversation going on. Has his way and charms over the others. He can’t wait to show his prowess on sweet talking the ladies, who are mostly waitresses as he can’t handle the independent ones that have come prepared to pay there own bills. However, he has to be careful not to be funnier or crowd moving than the tycoon or else he be kicked off the table. In some instances, the tycoon doubles as the chief emcee, and the men have to laugh at his lame jokes just to please him.

3. The Professors

These after downing two or three bottles of the Senator keg brought directly from the brewery his Excellency opened in Kisumu, they know everything about anything. They will analyze the politics of the country in a manner that Barrack Muluka would be envious. This is the time when English is at its best, and phrases such as “obnoxious” appear here and there. Most of them are in their 40s or so.

4. Bill Cosby

They got the lamest pick-up lines and get snobbed by even the ugliest of the girls. They are rather shy, but tend to mask it. They can be seen dashing somewhere as if they have forgotten something somewhere and coming back. Most operate singly or in a pack not exceeding three. If given a chance, they will slip “mchele” into an unsuspecting lady’s drinks just to enjoy the forbidden fruit.

5. Dancer 

When people are drunk, they do the funniest of things, and dancing is not an exception. Like there was this big fat black niga that thought he was the lead  actor in a Step up Revolution movie . He made moves that he thought were the greatest ever. If by chance he sees the video of himself as he was carried away by Wa Maria’s  fundamentals , he would call a crisis meeting with his conscience. The way he grabbed some lady’s ass as the she twerked along would beat RDX’s moves when they got banned the last time they were within our republic’s borders. The cheers of the amused crowd was all that he needed to keep him going.

6. The foolish virgins

The biblical parable of the virgins advices us to be prepared. But here I came across some vagabonds who couldn’t go for their oil before the bride arrives. The ones that come without cash and expect others to pay. They however consume the most. There arms always stretched out asking to be given this and that.

And there was also this one nigga near the gents that called me aside after I had done my thing. He tells me that I loan him 100/= so that he can get back home. He first starts by giving me his background…his job, age, residence etc. These are the 1st signs of a conman, arousing sympathy by baseless stories. I simply told him I was flat, and I was here on invitation, which was somehow true. In the current economy with this rate of inflation, I just have to be mean with that ‘mulla‘. In fact after the lady at the entrance”robbed” me my hard saved 400/= , the only expense I was going to make was on my fare back home, not on a charity.

It’s here that I give folks a word of advice. Even if you are invited for drinks, carry your own cash should things go south. Thank me later.

7. The whimp

He doesn’t know his limits. He drinks till he blacks out and becomes a burden to the team. Don’t be surprised when he announces his dirtiest secrets such as he’s a wanker, she comes from a lineage of night runners among others. He/she will vomit and the whole world will know his/her last meal was Githeri laced with avocados. He sucks but according to the third chapter, second amendment of the revised bro-code Constitution, you are never to leave anyone behind. Together you came, together you shall leave. This and many other bylaws make it impossible for him to sleep on a cold floor or on the bar table so that he can learn his manners . The team must drag the 70kg plus potato sack while they themselves not being in their best state of mind. Last man standing always suffers the most because he’s the only reasoning processor.

8. Michael Tyson 

He’s a weakling but because the blessed water gives false confidence, he thinks he can box everyone. He’s the sole cause of commotion and normally ends up having a date with the muscular men in black t-shirts ( bouncers) in the deserted area behind the club.

9. Jaw-breaker

There is this group that don’t know the difference between a club and a cafe. They will order all sorts of meals but no drink. Chips-kuku is there favorite. I’ll soon be moving a motion in the keroro Parliament to have bars only cook nyamchom, mtura and orenge soup. These are the only things required to smoothen the stomach before a strong drink. The rest should be taken to the café on the opposite street.

10. Tee-toller

Not everyone who goes into the club sips a cold tusker ( this legendary brew should be a made a sign of national unity. It represents all it takes to be Kenyan). Some, including yours truly here, don’t taste the shit. Don’t curse us yet. We come in handy to carry your gadgets when you want to gift it to the curvetious waiter when you feel she does a better service than what your mother did with a calabash of gruel (what we Kenyans call porridge). We hold the answers the following day in case there are gaps that need to be filled. However, the problem with us is that we can take advantage of this godsend opportunity and have an escapade with your girl or even steal some of your belongings. So before you bring your sober companion along, make sure you have done a thorough background check.

                       *******

So back to our high table, a Cellar Cask, Johannisberger red, which Mike had ordered prior to my arrival was served. From a distance, it looks like passion or grape juice, whichever looks dark red. Now I know shadrack Landi and Ian Duncan are spitting on the ground, cursing. “Pthooh! How do you drink a child’s cocktail in a club and still say you are endowed with a massive sausage between your thighs ?” I can imagine them lamenting. To them, it’s either Tusker, whiskey or a Russian Vodka… undiluted. If things get bad, Heineken is excusable. But  wine? Unheard of. And if I say I had thoughts of requesting for a sweetener, they will have me do an internship at Keroche breweries before being re-admitted in the table of men. 

With those description I gave, I think you can fix for yourselves who is who… Mike, Arthur and Shaddy…in the pics.

Nice week, drink responsibly and pray so that we have a credible peaceful elections.

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