Friday Night

We check in late. Coming early to a bash, unless you are a close friend of the host, could mean that you are just there for the free alcohol, which is not our intention. We call to ask the venue. Hostess, who is sounding a little tipsy, tells us to find her at the gate. Sure enough, the party has spilled outside, and by the dark patch where the security lights don’t reach, I can see Dude X emptying his bladder. I wonder if there is a bathroom at the venue.

Hostess says hi, and ushers us in. In the tiny kitchen, B is the bartender. He serves us this punch, but he refuses to tell us what is in it. I can tell the passion juice though. Later, actually the following morning, I will be told there was rats (short for muratina-a traditional brew), Kenya King, Safari Cane, Smirnoff Vodka and Passion juice. I know, semi-lethal brews, all mixed up. Holding plastic tumblers, we go our separate ways to check out the party.

Here is KL, I had thought he was on holiday? I smile and chat up with him. His hug is lingering, but am sure not encouraging it. He is already halfway past drunk, as is almost everyone else. This concoction is working wonders. The small two bed roomed apartment is teeming with people. I see very few familiar faces. The music is loud as usual, I wonder how the neighbours are coping. Hostess’ immediate neighbor is a family with school going kids. Time for a refill, so long KL.

B is his usual flirty self. He still isn’t telling me what’s in this yellow juice. He turns to argue with some guys and I wander back into the party. I am one of those people will stand at a corner observing. On the dance floor are these two chicks outdoing each other in shaking “whatcha your momma gave yer”. The dance floor is this area of the sitting room that has been cleared of furniture. The pal I had come with is sitting on a table somewhere. I go to ask her how it’s going.

This guy is seated next to her and has refused to budge, saying “ Nataka kuwa kama sadwish.” He wants to be like a sandwich, LOL. We let him be, and he keeps calling us, “baby you are fine.” It’s making me smile. The chicks on the dance floor are now removing their sweaters, it’s getting hot in here. And am thirsty too, time for another refill.

The playlist is mostly ragga and dancehall. Beanie man with some ass shaking track or other. Some guys have joined the floor and my space on the table is gone. I find some space on the settee after some little jig on the floor, and find myself next to a strange face. Most people here are actually not from this campus, and the few that are; I haven’t seen before. I am chatting up with some girl who is supposed to be studying somewhere, according to her mother. Here she is..she mentions something about J. uh-huh, I had heard J had a new wife. So this is her, hmm…

It’s not getting any cooler in here, so I get my third refill on the way out. I meet J’s brother. He tells me the story of how he quit the grass for good. He says in shagz, the people grow their own grass, and he confirms it’s first rate stuff. And it’s cheap too. So this guy gave them a bundle (Hata ya kukuongeza juu wewe ni customer wagu..) and some additional because they are good customers. So they smoked so much, and it made him so hungry he went home and had three plates of githeri. He then topped it up with 5 ears of corn(check out 3TOC’s story (or should I say 5 maize cobs of ‘young’ boiled maize.) He tells me his stomach has never pained him so.

I talk a little longer with J’s bro. Some guys are leaving now but am staying, it’s still early. My plastic cup is empty again. I get my nth refill and find myself ‘sadwished’ next to this guy and one of the dancer chicks. I say hi and introduce myself.

Dancer chick (D.C) leaves, and I introduce myself to GoodLooker. Reason am calling him GooldLooker (GL) is because I recognize a potential flirt-mate when I see one.

I can tell GL is a smoker. But he has a nice voice, what was his name again? He just introduced himself. I tend to forget names very quickly, in fact most times, immediately they are said. I ask him again anyway, he says he understands. But he hasn’t forgotten mine. D.C is shaking in our faces. The other guy on the right asks me:

“Ngai, hata wewe unasorora?” You can’t be ogling her too?

“Shouldn’t I? Kwani kuna shida?”

“Wewe ni dame.” You are a fellow girl.

I don’t want to get into an argument on whether chicks are supposed to look at fellow chicks dancing, or the definition of ogling and other opinions. I turn my attention back to GL. We are making small talk now, but there is an undercurrent that am immensely enjoying. Of course this is going nowhere, I decided that a long time ago. But I can enjoy the moment just before nowhere arrives.

Hostess comes back to cut the cake, it’s her birthday bash. We sing at our hoarsest and uncoordinated-most. We munch cake and wash down with the semi-lethal brew.

GL wants to go out for a smoke. I accompany him. At the gate, there are still party goers in various stages of drunken induced acts. Ludacris, a guy with cornrows-what we just call lines, is washing the fence. I confirmed there was a clean bathroom inside and am asking GL just why guys are avoiding using it. He says, “Maybe there is more freedom outside.”

GL and his crew are leaving now. He gives me his number. Am not sure I’ll ever call but I save it all the same. Now that he is gone, am getting bored. I can’t imagine going back inside, and besides, am feeling sleepy. It’s now 3 a.m.

I find the owner of the house outside near the hanging lines chatting with his friends, who are bare feet. They can’t locate their shoes, and I can’t get their explanations of how they came to misplace them. Owner is supposed to be asleep by now since he has to go to work by 8.30, he told me this 3 hours ago when he was locking himself in his bedroom. I ask him how come he is still awake, he tells me he lost the key, I wonder if he’ll make it to work tomorrow. He says he’s fine.
I ask for they key to Hostess’ place and she sets out a place for me. I gratefully sink into sleep.

My alarm goes off at six, and I switch it off. I finally get up around 9. Hostess and the others are stirring. This guy comes staggering in, he says, “Hii ni gauge gani, sijawahi amka ka bado nimelewa!” (What kind of alcohol was that? I’ve never woken up drunk before.) that is when Hostess reveals what was in the mixture, while pulling out some remaining Smirnoff. She asks us if we’ll take good morning shots. Ah, well, what the heck, if it will help me wake up (some logic here?)..

And that is a typical bash in campus for you.

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16 Responses

  1. Did you enjoy it? I can’t really tell from the story if the bash was a win or fail 🙂

    I was more of an observer…does that tell you anything?

  2. He he. Eish, this one also got me laughing. CMYS!!! (LMAO in Kiswahili. Cheka Matanye Yakigaragaza Sakafuni!)

    They actually call that brew Rats! I can picture someone saying: I love Rats. People will think you are related to the Metropolitan Minister!

    I think ogling at anaa gal dancing is not an offense! But always remeber that song ‘Sometimes dancing, can make you fall in love…. the way your body moves before my eyes….’

    I guess that was the worry of the guy saying ‘kusorora!’. LOL at Sadwish! It would be a happy wish if he got sandwiched!!!

    he did get his sadwish wish. for the time being.
    At the said ‘ogling’ time, my mind was light years away…but falling in love? Halafu these Kiswahili translations have me CMYS!

  3. Seems like you had a yourself a good weekend there! Enjoy it while it lasts.

    I usually do this knowing there shall come a time when I’ll stop..when I leave campus, it wont be the same again.

  4. Tsk…tsk..vijana wa siku hizi…no words. The morality of our great nation is at risk, ashindwe kabisa! (Savvy mbona you didn’t invite me to the bash?)

  5. I never drank any of those drinks. Having participated in mixing many of those punches, I know it’s not wise to partake in any of that sh8t. Seems you had fun 🙂

  6. you must have had a blast, lakini the rats cocktail is one to avoid

  7. aaaaaaaaahhhhhh (Nostalgic sigh) memories memories…campus life was mad crazy!
    I remember some punch that was so potent guys were not allowed to smoke in the room….it was VOLATILE

    PS: Me thinks u are too analytical 🙂 ..tis a nice thing…sort of….

  8. u can still indulge and observe.

    true dat.

  9. random campus nites..seems interesting kwanza the sadwish. Rats aka rattish…wonder how the concotion tasted afterall.

    concotion tasted sweet, or is it my jaded tongue?

  10. I brewed many a punch in my campus days so my advice is KEEP OFF the punch!!!!!

    easier said than done, but I will try to follow your advice, Montainous.

  11. @Eclipse…

    From what I remember, the stuff that had to be consumed in a smoke free room because it evaporated was no punch. It was the kind of beverage that you best drunk with two rubber bands tightly holding the base of your trouser legs lest you can’t safely get to the – shall we say, acceptable point of relief. It was too potent and most folks’ bowels gave way voluntarily hence the rubber bands to hold the contents within.

    Maybe I’m old, but I doubt if its called punch these days.

    Punch is any mixture with alcohol in it…LOL at two rubber bands to hold trouser legs, are you for real?

  12. The sweet campus life

  13. nice bash that was. rats give a sleep effect n u dont realize as it knocks u out. lol @ourkid u alwayz get words.

    Must be true..I was wondering why I was not feeling anything except sleep..

  14. The hustlers campus life….

  15. i remember this one

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