The first joint I was carted to when I joined campus was Sabinajoy. Mehn! Them days I was loaded like a gun with harambee money overwhelming my pockets and HELB loan quarantined in my bank account like a COVID-19 patient in ICU.
I remember my tour guide Kiunjuri, a notorious buffoon who had stayed in the university longer than the political marriage between Uhuru and Ruto, asking me if I had ever seen “the thing” being hawked like cows from Nyatike. I responded in the negative. By then I was talking too much English thinking that’s what one should do in university but more importantly in the city. I only came to learn later that in the university you are supposed to speak your mother tongue with your tribe mates while you chew sheng like big G with enemy tribes. “Twende nikushow”, he roared.
We embarked on the journey and my tour guide seemed to understand Nairobi panya routes better than the rats in our village know the way to my grandmother’s kitchen. My trouble began at the entrance and worsened on the poorly-lit stairs. Talk of jumping from the frying pan into the fire. The maidens sat on the stairs like Angel’s of death welcoming me to hell. “Holy shit!” I whispered as I stood still bamboozled by what I was seeing.
‘Sweetie kuja nikupe’, they hissed in unison. I was confused whether to continue with the journey upstairs or end it there. I was on demand, just like a celebrity would be flocked by fans demanding for autograph or handshake (na sio ile baba na Uhunye). “Kwani iko nini! Kama ni dough ninayo na ikiisha HELB is begging for my attention in the bank. Nyathiwa bank otuch. Of course a broke Luo is a pretender”.
What tantalized me most was their courage to display their tools of trade with reckless abandon. The devil in me was telling me to do something but that will be a story for another day.
I’m told the owner of the club is death at 111 years. If its true may he be given 21 virgins in heaven.
Adapted from Jim Bonnie FB post