Monday, April 16, 2012

How to Train an Assmatic Dragon: The Sabina Joy Chronicles

by @french_freddy, ft. @chrisorwa & @iammugendi.

|A MAVI Initiative|
Once upon a time, in a little town called Downtown-kinda-meets-Uptown, there lived three boys. They were not made up, they were not a figment of thigh active imaginations; they even had four squares and twitting bluebirds to back up their accusations.

So @french_freddy decides to pull anotherrandom SJ reconnaissance, all in the name of Science: call it the Anatomy of Chemistry. Unwittingly, @chrisorwa and @iammugendi tag along for Furahi Day at Sen-traal; which of course made absolutely no sense when they headed away from Nakumatt Lifestyle, trekked all the way down Hilton Lane and checked into Eureka-I-Found-It-Land, henceforth referred to only as Joy-ride, opposite Kencom House.

Past the red-eyed beast guarding the entrance, the three musketeers – their muskets at full mast – wind up the stairs into the sensual lionesses’ lair. Sabina does have her joys. On the one hand is Chris, his schoolboy eyeballs cocked and ready to blow; on the other is the wiser Mugendi, braincogs geared on overdrive; then we had yours truly, the purveyor of all joy-ridden things…frankly heading PURELY for the Joy-riders' urinal.

A careless grope, hushed smoke and rushed drink later, and a blogpost emerges: three different perspectives, three different sets of eyes, three bloggers drumming up one post. Subject? The screw-driven power sockets in Nairobi’s oldest brothel.

The Art of the Bargain; by Yule Mbois Mndialala aka @french_freddy

So we do a quick round in the corridors; window-shopping if you like. Technically it’s more like an inventory of the available massandise. From the wide array of bad weaves, to the black negligees with lush, supple nipples, bottle-green grass sorta brassieres peeking. Only brassieres, unfortunately.

Seats, brandy, 3 glasses et voilà…Mugendi’s already being propositioned! As far as let’s-weigh-our-balls goes, nucca’s already filled his quota. Not one to fall into the blueballs quota, I grab the first Mamma I see. Zilch…nada…bilaz! She leaves a trail of dust, and Mugendi’s smug mug of a grin in my face, clearly thinking “Three dudes?” At least I kinda hit the tri-factor try-f#&ked-her.

The next lass wasn't as lucky. In a drunken bid to outwit me mateys, I pulled out all the stops. Not that it mattered, coz I had her at 'Twende room?'

2 fayfteh shot na nitakupatia hata bj, kira kitu...

Damn! Must be my good cologne...the suit and tie probably helped.

So I get her name - incidentally, not as fancy as a stripper name, but isn't Mary like the official hookers' anthem name? - and number just in case "one of these days I wanna call you up when you're off duty for a siesta fiesta..." The second she heard 2000 bob and a mention of the free cold beer I was gonna buy her, she was sold. Check into the bar, grab two drinks and pull up a stick. The choke-my-lungs kinda stick, not the stick that sticks get the picture.

Then she goes, "so reo hatumagani?" I'm not so much into strange beds, or fancy Kyabu accents, comes the excuse, and after a rushed "haki nisaidie at least fare?", I gracefully excuse her from the table to go market her FMCGs (Fast Moving Consumer Goods).


Down the Rabbit Hole by @iammugendi

Now I know what Alice must have felt going down the rabbit hole, only this time it was up a bunch of stairs... Into a world where your value was determined by how much you exercised your haggling skills...

So on a random Friday night, 3 men wander into an establishment that may have well been The Land of the Lotus Eaters, where women declared their interest by a tap on the elbow... Cue some Dutch courage and a pact to draw the most interesting stories out of the bangable - by profession - ladies of Sabina Joy...

First things first; find someone of interest. Granted, the place
had quite a number of interesting characters; the woman with the visible bra from across the room, the other who seemed rather interested in out-shouting the music... But I digress.

Like the Linda Nchi defense forces, we had to find a base from whence to launch our offensive. The area outside the bathrooms seemed rather promising, and soon I had my first
conversation going.

Cate - which I know is not the name Her mamma gave her - taps my elbow, and I, feigning drunkenness, ask her what the going rate is. She starts at 500, which I thought was rather low - editor's note: clearly you don't read Nairobi Nights - so I ask her why it's so low...

Apparently, despite my shirt-and-sweater getup, I still look like a broke-ass opportunist. It hurt, and I told her it did. She offers to up the rate, but I walk away, making a lap through the crowded bar area. It takes a while to get elbow-tapped again. Perhaps Cate had spread the word - editor's note: you think? -, or maybe my lurking was raising suspicions... I had to move.

Another lap, and this time I get lucky again. Now I had to make it interesting. After asking how much it would be, I proceed to ask for a discount, claiming my junk was on the smaller side... Bingo! The woman was so bloody intrigued. Apparently she'd never heard a man claim to be small; only as unfathomably large as their egos. That said, she had some advice for
'enlargement' that she would share at a fee...

Interested as I was, I had to duck. My 15 minutes were almost up. One more lap. This time, I had to politely shake my head and decline the elbow taps - editor's note: I thought usually it's the dude that gets to tap that? It's a brave new world :)

One particularly daring girl grabs me by the junk, giving me what I can only assume was a come-hither look (I may have been a tad tipsy), and I was left speechless for a bit... That was my cue to leave. Any longer and the women would have had my head; the one above my shoulders, that is.

And so, with blood rushing through my veins and two heads full of rushing blood, I join my boys and we head out into the night, when the coast was clear, with stories to pen...

                                    The Social Experiment by @chrisorwa

If cars are pussy magnets then alcohol must be a pussy repellant - editor's note: no, nucca, just you. After several shots of Richot brandy, all the “ladies” seemed disinterested. Or maybe just didn't realize what I thought shoulda happened. The crazy part's that 10 minutes before this escapade, we was all homeward bound from a Rotaract meeting, till @french_freddy went like... “Gotta take a pee."

                     The rest was history.

I strolled through the dingy alley filled with cigarette smoke and ammonia, a combination that gave off a distinct aura of cheapness. Someone once said that the pee headquarters of Nairobi are at SJ. The feeling of relieving oneself while "ladies” lurk in hover-crafts behind you IS indeed somewhat magical; all of them waiting to relieve a relieved man. I trolled on the dungeon path but surprisingly garnered no attention - editor's note: Surprisingly? Have you met you?

*Double checks* did I pee on myself or something? Done with the alley, I was headed for the bar when a hand touched my shoulder, “Sasa Blackie, si twende” - editor's note: and it was thus that @chrisorwa's Twitter handle changed to @blackorwa.

My thinking cap was clearly off as I came back with a, “Twende wapi?...then quickly caught myself:

Me: Ni pesa ngapi?
Her: Mia nne.
Me: Mimi nina soh moja.
Her: Uko na ya Room?
Me: Iko.
Her: Twende.
Me: Ngojea nitafute change.
Her: Leta nikutafutie.
Me: Hapana, mimi sitrust watu ka nyinyi na pesa zangu.

That’s how I pulled an MIA to rendezvous with my “partners in crime”. Walk through the bar and none of them's in sight. I’ve just been punk’d!

Look right, look left, and look right again, if it’s clear start the process all-over.

That train of "looks", however, collided with Essy, a beauty bound to no soul.  She noticed me noticing her and yanked her 40 inch plus body on me face. This was not part of the script. Without giving it a thought I backed her into the wall, her characteristic sexy voice pushing my mind straight to auto-pilot mode, “Sasa Essy vile wewe mzuri hivi unafanya nini hapa?” - editor's note: left to your own devices you could c*ck-block yourself, dude!

Three seconds later she was ten meters away, her voluminous gadgets running after her. Luckily I spot @iammugendi at the far end of the bar staring at something that didn't quite seem human.

It was time to compile the findings, but @french_freddy seemed determinedly if undecidedly at large. A thought raced through my mind to check him in the rooms but before the thought could mature I spotted him “gathering data”. The alcohol was beginning to wear off and as we went through the first exit, I spotted Essy. I could feel my mind updating to settle-a-score status, so I excused myself, rushed to her and straight to her face, asked “Do you do anal?”. "Yes. At 1,000 bob."

That’s my transport expenditure for a whole two weeks! Sayonara!!


For a female perspective , see @savvykenya's Sojourn to Sabina Joy

No comments:

Post a Comment

Your comments are highly appreciated.