NAIRO-BAE CITY

Know I was born in Nairobi, brought up in Nairobi, everything in Nairobi. Nairobi has done a lot for me. So Nairobi is bae. Though not my native home. My native home is ‘ingo’; for the luhyas in the house. But she is still home. Eastlando especially. I miss the days in Umoja one and two. Ever full of maform. Mama taking us for cloth shopping in Garissa and Eastleigh. That made us acknowledge that she was the coolest mum. (Mum’s are cool. See:  https://themjangoseries.wordpress.com/2017/05/15/when-mama-cries/ ) My pops (we call him Mzae) worked in West-lands of Nai. So almost every weekend was spent there. Now when I became a ‘big-boy’, my eldest brother (informally called Ras) showed me around the city. Well, he just had to, after he was tired of the ‘baby-sitting’ assignments whenever I had to be in town. The city has all kinds of drama, both good and bad. So Ras is a good brother. Alinichanua kweli kweli.
So through my personal experience around the city, I developed a natural affection for her. One inexplicable affection. You know that kind of bond that is birthed when you realise that your crush is also into you? That’s the same bond the city and I have. I cannot live without the city. I bet she cannot live without me too. Well, I’m not so sure about that, but I have my reasons to believe that. They are mine alone. So here is why I love her.
She is so rich, ever doing business. I only need to spend time with her every day and at the end of each day, she gives me a tip. Just like that. So that the next day I’d be able to board one of her PSVs and spend another day with her. I won’t spill how much she gives me at the end of the month.
Mjango, you should also know that she is the best cook. I have been to a number of her kitchens. Pizza inn, Galitoz, Steers, Manhattan, Valley Restaurant, Sarova Stanley, just to name but a few. She is yet to take me to her latest, Hilton hotel in Upperhill. The best dishes I have ever had, were from her kitchens.
Sometimes she is too busy for me though. She is ever hosting events, sijui at KICC, Intercontinental hotel, August 7^th Memorial Park and the likes. But I understand. I have to.
I love her because she is fancy. I reckon that that is the reason why she insists I should shop at Mr Price, Jades collection, Scents: The perfume spot, Tru-star fashions… I keep telling her that those places are too expensive for nothing. Sometimes she helps me keep up though. I guess that is why she brings mitumba hawkers. Yes, mitumba, just to be specific. But I sneak to Gikomba when she is too busy to notice.
Did I tell you how much she loves having fun and revelling? Mjaango!! I’ve never told her the reason why I cannot rave with her even on a weekend. She mostly calls me to Tribeka. I should send someone there one of these fine days to find out for me what she might be calling me for over there. Though I think I already have an idea, through Instagram. Mjango just know she is a spoilt brat. One day we agreed to meet at Lebanon. Yes, her attempts to take me out at night had failed terribly. So she tried her luck by calling me over during the day. I was to go, until I heard the place is ever misty because of smoke (from shisha). I had to lie that I was sick on that day. Well, the truth is, my lungs are not chimneys. (Don’t tell her I said that.)
There is only one thing I have never liked about her. She harbours hookers and law breakers, sin and mischief. Well, who am I to preach to her yet it seems to be her way of life?  She is also a player. She is bae to other millions of people. She does good things for them, in fact better than she does for me. But I still love her. Love is blind you say?
So you can see why I missed the city when I was in that kavillage in the land of Magufuli a while back. Love beyond boundaries I say. Nairobae city indeed.
Mjango, here is the actual picture. The reason I had to write about her.
It just had to be a Friday night. Friday night is no ordinary night in the city and through the streets. You’d never see the real Nairobi city until its Friday night. It’s explicit. It’s the night the city undresses for every eye to see. What normally goes on indoors sneaks and happens outdoors. Unashamed. Of course we don’t expect her to be ashamed. Of what? So the show begins at 8pm. It does not look serious at that time though. Citizens rush out to rest for the weekend as members match in for a high introduction to the same weekend. Kutoa stress za wiki. This is primarily done by bowing down to the bottle. But wait until 9pm. The curtains roll back and there goes the foreplay. To invite the gods of the night and fire up the spirits of members. Well mjango, it’s best if you knew that if you happened to drop by the city at that time without  a ‘serious agenda’, you are more likely to get carried away by the 9pm foreplay. Besides, is there any other serious agenda to carry out in the city on a Friday night other than the obvious turn up and get high? High on anything. It could be weed, booze, opium, crime, lust or all of them put together.  I doubt.
The prime show mjango, goes down from 10pm, which will be a story on its own. Hehe.
I landed on Moi Avenue at the junction branching to Koja last Friday at 9.20pm. There was a snake of traffic along that avenue. I had spent the better part of that day with my missus and working on some writing projects in Ruaraka. I was therefore beat. Too exhausted to get tempted by the devil of the night. Too exhausted to get hypnotised by the already hatched foreplay. Besides, I would be stupid to fall for any of that. Had I done so, I’d be writing a tribute to my dignity lost on that night. With the little energy I had, I slowly trekked along Moi Avenue.
I crossed the junction, “Boss, si twende.” I turned. It was a bodaboda rider, looking desperate for my money, as if I had any to spare. I guess he must have realised I looked focused to get home unlike the members all over. So I was a potential customer. I signalled him quickly, “Nah, I’ll walk.”
The air accommodated noise without being complaisant. A mixture of uneven sounds. It was elating to see how lively the city was at night compared to daytime. As I strolled, I sequentially sold my attention to the sources of sounds renting the air. There they were, hawkers along the streets amplifying what they were giving away but for a price. Sincerely, they advertised them as if they were free.
To my left, “Pita na tops, Pita na tops na uniachie mia mbili.” Some ladies were trying them out while, complimenting, correcting and laughing at each other. I didn’t focus so much on them lest I hit my head on a pole. To my right, “Urembo ni heels, urembo ni heels sister.” There were pretty young things bending and supporting each other to try out the sexy feet appliances that drive me nuts whenever a mdada puts them on.
“Like la la la, ching a-a-lang-lang, chinga a-ling-a-lang-lang.
Jeans so tight I could see loose change
Do you’re your thang, thang girl
Do that thang like la la la.”
 
That’s the song that I heard playing in the club right above me. It sounded like Jason Derulo is it? Whatever. I don’t know. Just ahead on the opposite side was Club Dodge. Behind Nation house. Neon lights flickering and blinking in there. Hiphop playing so loud in a manner to call in the members for the night. From a distance, I peered into that floor. I could tell members were not in. Not just yet. Why? Mjango! It was only past 9pm. Come to think of it, where are these members? They were just around me. I saw them. They were young and vibrant. Some in pairs, others in cliques. I passed by a pair that had begun getting drunk in romance. I thought “Sasa nyinyi mukianza mapema hivi sahi, saa sita mutafanya nini? Na bado hata hamko maji. Anyway…”
Yea, it was their night. Ahead, around Game Masters, was a huge clique, boys and girls, dudes and dudettes, mjangoz and mjangosesses. Some playing around. Others mouthing and laughing. Probably chattering about how the night will turn out. Arguing on which club to go to. Probably budgeting for the night. You know, how many bottles for everyone, depending on the drinking experience each one has. Some could go to 8 or 10 bottles, others would just share a bottle. There was a small pretty chiq running around there. I bet she was the baby of the clique. She must be the one who could’nt finish a bottle on her own. I also bet they appointed her to be their watcher. While the others drink and dance themselves to the high world, she should remain sober in case of anything. You know things happen. Like one of their female members being high can be mysteriously lured by a stranger. Then the rest will be history. Yeea. So the sober one is there to make sure such stuff doesn’t occur. Am just saying. Hehe.
Mjango, I was not to forget to mention how members were dressed for the mother of all nights. Good Lord. It’s just that I go to church. I had to cross over to the other side, towards Nairobi sports house.  I was nearly miscalculating and risked a painful encounter with a Githurai bus. Perhaps my mind was still occupied with the sight of tempting- dressed members? I had seen nothing yet about the night dress codes until I saw this one. She was a thoroughly ’blessed ‘ mdada. Mjango just know that that dress she wore was no dress, it was a ‘kadress’. So do the math: of her excessive ’blessed body’, the ‘kadress’ [and the heels I love of course, hehe] and long hair? That equals to a distracted street with all eyes on her, mouths agape and twisted necks. Thank heavens my neck is still intact.
I passed by Manhattan Restaurant. It was quite packed but not compared to pizza inn/galitoz just ahead. Where were these members during the day while we ate? Ouw, they had to eat because I hear ‘maji’ does not go well with empty tummies.
Right there a kid tried to convince me to buy a chewing gum from him.
“Nilinunua jana na bado haijaisha.”
He still insisted,”Nunua ya kesho sasa.”
As I waited to cross the road over to Hilton Park, on my right was a mama selling oranges throwing abominable words at a street boy. I pitied the boy, until I heard her say he tried to steal one of her oranges.
Hilton Park was a park of romance. Wamekaa wawili wawili tu. The low lighting there sponsored the moments. I swallowed my envy and walked on. National Archives on the other side was lit with a crusade. I avoid passing there even during the day. The stories about the open park there are not fairy tales. Nai-robbery came from there.
Obliviously, I found myself in railways station, boarding a mathree that was as noisy as the clubs I had spotted. Three enchanting chiqs were just alighting at that time. Carefully not to trip on their six inch heels and stilettos lest they fall and have their mini dresses betray them to the eyes of mjangoz, not like me definitely. Besides, seeing would have been believing indeed.
I secretly inspected them as they cat walked into the arena of the night, though still focusing on boarding the ride. I overheard one say,
“You’ve seen that guy? Looks good but doesn’t know its Friday night. Kila mtu anashuka kuenda kujibamba na ye ndo anapanda.” Her friends giggled as they looked back to confirm the allegations. I sat in the mathree battling on whether I should go join them and prove them wrong ama?
Ah! Anyway. She just sounded like my bae, Nairobi city. Always making me feel like I don’t make her feel special by spending a night with her. She is still bae though. I am a loyal mjango… Don’t pretend, she is bae to you too mjango. We love her don’t we Nairobians?
Feature Image courtesy of google.
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