MALKIA WA MSANII

“Wah!” She began. “My sister and I attended a house party in Runda. You know my sister has connections because of the nature of her work in the cooperate world.”  
                                         ****
I glared at her light complexion as it competed with the sun. The weight of confidence in her voice was enough to carry the day. She waved her fingers like a flag from time to time as she spoke. I couldn’t help but notice how well she had done her nails. God bless ladies who do their nails well. The next type of ladies He should bless are those who do their eyebrows neatly. That reminds me, the previous weekend Annasper complimented my eyebrows. So I’m a man with cute eyebrows. I bet my beards felt jealous. 
A friend of mine once mentioned that he has a friend who had started rubbing shoulders with celebrities. I took it upon myself to find out whether shoulders were the only thing being rubbed. That road led me to a bench under a tree within the premises of CUEA, the university. 
She thought I was joking about interviewing her for my next series. Squeezing in between both our schedules to sit on a lonely bench was sign enough that Mjango means business. 
“So what do you wanna know?” That’s the first thing she asked me after we got acquainted. 
“Everything.” I said while laughing. 
“Even how and when I got my first kiss ama?” 
I love her sense of humour already.
“Well if it is relevant to the story I heard from our mutual friend, then yes.” I said. “Anyway, for the past two months you have been relating with people not every Njeri, Beatrice and Akinyi of your age, second year, gets a chance to even meet in their lifetime.” 
She giggled and exclaimed, “Wah!” And that’s how her story began.
                                       ****
House parties are not new to our ears in this present age. In fact, what would mjangos in this era be without house parties? Perhaps they’d still be meeting in discos, some wearing trousers that turn into bells  towards the ankles. They called them bell bottoms. Under that are shoes with soles as high as a tower. On their faces are round shaped glasses that everyone is competing to wear again these days. Instead of rugged hair styles, they’d have afros that touch the ceiling. One of them would be carrying an old school radio by the shoulder in case the DJ gets a little tipsy or whatever the hell used to happen to Djs those days. They would dance the night away barely touching each other. Lady and gentleman would dance adjacent or opposite each other. Today, the touching is the dancing.
Fast forward the times. I walk into a house, now not a disco. Every house in Runda is a mansion. On one hand is a purse carrying nothing less than lipstick or lipgloss, wet wipes, the essential make up items including a mirror, chewing gum, sunglasses, a satchet labelled Durex and my phone. Little emphasis on the Durex because I didn’t put it there. My elder sister did. So I didn’t have in mind it’s really there. 
On the other hand is my sister’s hand, holding her tightly as a sign of assurance that everything’s going to be just fine. That there was nothing to be nervous about. “Just think about having fun, nothing else.” My sister said. 
“I’m really trying Sasha. I know I’m going to be fine after I settle in the environment.” I said. 
Again, unlike the good old 90s and 80s, the only high shoes walking in to the vicinity were high heels and only ladies wore high shoes. The men, who we may need to debate whether they are gentle or not these days; sported sneakers and other expensive kicks. If you want to know it’s a rich people’s party, look at their shoes and the kind of music they play in there. 
For the ladies, the ankles nowadays are not a private matter and neither are the calves and thighs. In this party, after the shoes, meet the first piece of fabric along the thighs. Just try not to stare. If you’re a guy who is new to such parties, assume you’re used to seeing these things even when the closest you’ve ever come to that is on Instagram or your browser in the incognito window. 
A guy with an ear ring on one ear and baseball cap with a few locs drooping out of it was at the door welcoming patrons. He had slurred speech but he wasn’t at the door for nothing. He talked a lot and said funny stuff as he gave those who entered party cups. 
As he handed me a party cup, “Hey beautiful.”
“Hi.”
“There is a jacuzzi. I can show you where it is if you like.” 
“Thanks. But sorry I didn’t come with my bikini.”
“Oh people don’t get into hot jacuzzi’s here with clothes dear.”
Everyone around there laughed and I just paced while laughing at myself. Me? Get into a jacuzzi naked? Thanks but no thanks. I later realised that his statement was partly true and partly a joke. Meaning some did bikinis while others, well, did little to nothing at all. 
The air in the house smelled rich. Nobody was carrying a radio on the shoulder by the way. All what was carried is nothing less than a red party cup the size of your hand with a drink and ice cubes and nothing more than a beautiful damsel if you were lucky enough. 
Sasha went around saying hello to people she knew. Others came to her. I tagged along because, hey, fame doesn’t look for you. Walk around until they say you look familiar. Okay not that I was there to look for fame. I was there to have a good time just like any millennial girl would want. She introduced me as her sister. 
Some of those she introduced me to were Indians. In my mind I was saying, so these are the guys who disturb us on our Facebook inboxes with weird pictures of themselves. I ain’t giving my number to any of them if they ask. One of them winked at me. I can’t remember what I did in response but he sure didn’t come looking for me later. Even the thought that his pocket may be loaded wasn’t enough to convince myself to overlook his face that definitely wasn’t fun to look at. 
I later went to chill at the balcony. Sasha said she’d come to check up on me. A clique of dudes and chics was chilling there. But not just chilling, they were playing truth or dare. I didn’t know at first when I sat there. I found them cheering over a guy and a chic making out. I thought they were ‘couple goals’ just showing the world how to make out in public. They sure did kiss like a couple. It was passionate and long. Both passionate and long enough to turn you on if you were watching. 
A guy seated next to crossed his legs at some point and said, “Hii mimi siwezi ona tena. Tukiendelea hivi…” I didn’t hear the rest but people around laughed and told him, “Utakuwa wa kwanza.” Upon looking closely, the guy dared to make out was the guy who was at the door. There and then, I knew I had to make sure he didn’t see me fearing that he would make me his next target incase the dare lands on him again. 
“That’s enough eish!” People shouted as others separated them. They had to be. I know how these things go. Even you mjango, you do know. 
“I’m still not done with you shawty,” The guy said as he rubbed her chin. She replied, “Look for me,” and the clique went in an uproar. At that moment, a chic with a black bandana tied around her head stood and took his hand off the chic he had just made out with. Like a sign of possession. There was another cheer for that. We all know what that meant.
The bottle was spined. I stood at the corner of the balcony in a disputable position if at all the bottle would point towards my direction. Well, sadly, when you try too hard to avoid something, it happens right before your face. No the bottle didn’t point at me, alright. But it did point at the guy next to me. The one crossing his legs. I told myself that he looks like the kind of guy who would pour his peanuts in two minutes. His legs were still crossed. 
He was asked, “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” He said. Then he quickly added, “Naweza uliza mtu ukweli au ni mimi naulizwa?” 
He had a Tanzanian accent. 
“Wewe jibu kwanza alafu you can ask another then.” 
He agreed. 
“Okay choose someone to ask you,” Some dude with a T-shirt hanging on his shoulder who seemed to run the game said. I must say he has a sexy chest. So guys out there, workout to have adorable chests.
The guy with a TZ accent chose the chic seated directly opposite him without hesitation. She had crossed her legs too but her tight skirt had something against length. So her thighs was his and everyone else’s to behold. 
“Truth, right?” She asked. She sounded like a no nonsense kind of a girl. And for sure, she had no apologies for her attitude.
She asked, “Are you having a hard on right now?” 
People started giggling as others exclaimed in amusement. The guy didn’t seem to get her question. I mean TZ guys with English sometimes, you know? So he was told to stand. His refusal to do so was already suspicious so he was made to stand up and boy oh boy, it was worse since he had worn sweat pants. That’s when he understood what her question was and he quickly sat down as everyone went in stitches. We all got to know that her thighs were killing him slowly. 
His turn to ask came and he chose me. Yes,  damn it, right? All eyes were on me. He asked, “Body count yako ni ngapi?” 
I felt like I’d jump over the balcony. They started clearing their throats in a manner to say, we want to hear this one. 
“Three!” I said without blinking. 
Then came reactions, “Eish holy Mary.” “Mtoto wa mummy.” “Woi girl child.” “You have a long way to go sister.” “Seventeen more to go,” “Then you will find your husband.” 
At 10PM, I left for somewhere else after I had seen how nasty the game could get. My sister actually texted saying, “Babes. Where you? Come downstairs there’s somewhere I know you’ll love.” 
The place she was talking about was a large room upstairs. The house had so many rooms. We passed some rooms that had doors wide open as mjangos went on with all what sensuality is about. 
We entered. It didn’t take me long to figure out what was about to happen. There were more ladies than dudes in there. Just after we made ourselves comfortable, the show began. The sign of the beginning was screams from ladies. What were they screaming at? Strippers! Male strippers for that matter. Why they chose to have male strippers for the party, I know not. And I didn’t care. I saw what had to be seen which I must say was fun to see – and felt like I needed a drink and a quiet place. I left Sasha screaming as a tall European guy carried around her girl friend in his arms. Well, the rest is history.
I went around looking for the place where drinks are ordered. After snubbing several guys along the way, I found a small bar at the back yard facing the pool. I sat at the counter. Thinking about what’s left of the night. Well I thought I might as well drink the night away. If all goes wrong, I will take off my clothes and take a swim. And if all goes well, I will just sit by the pool with a drink in my hand and deep my feet in the water. 
The guy serving drinks had plaited hair. He is a mixologist. I admired his skills as he mixed vodka, tequila and juice for me along with how cute he looked with his plaited hair. Before long, he served me like the queen he treats all his female customers. My taste buds were blown away by the perfect mix. 
“Hi,” Said a male voice. Now who dares to interrupt my moment with the mix I’ve never had. Who is man enough to do that? In fact, are you even a gentle…
I raised my head.
He was wearing a cap that partly covered his face. He had worn a jacket that I’ve never seen regular guys with and gosh! The shoes! He doesn’t know that I looked at him from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet that fast before replying with,
“Hello.”
“Naona wakaa pekeako. Hupendi umati ama?” 
In my head I say, what’s up with all the Swahili! 
“Nah! Kutulia tu,” I said while slightly waving my drink. 
“Ah basi si napenda akina dada walotulia kama wewe. Waitwa nani mrembo?” 
“Lynne.” 
“Aha Lynne,” He said. 
“Na wewe?” I asked. 
He pauses. Looks at me as if he expects something. 
He chuckles, “Ah? Uko sure haunijui ama wanichezea?” 
Now how am I supposed to know you, dude? Is it written somewhere? 
I look away and take a sip, “No I don’t.” 
“Ninaitwa Chris. With time maybe you’ll know why I asked you that. Pole kama nimekukera.” 
                                     ****
“Help me understand Lynne,” I cut her short. 
“Yes?” 
“What was so special about this Chris guy?” 
(And note, Chris is not his real name.)
She laughed, stared at the branches above us and asked, “You still can’t tell? He is the celebrity. A Tanzanian celebrity. He had the cap on for people not to quickly recognize him. When I asked his name he reacted like that because he was surprised I didn’t know who he is, or rather I couldn’t tell.” 
“Whoa! No kidding!” I said. 
“Yeap! No kidding Mjango!” 
To be continued…