My beautiful Doris, I love you without knowing how I am doing it! I find myself loving you with every myogenic muscle of my heart… I do not know when I am loving you… I have no clue how not loving you feels… I do not fathom how these floods of emotions get to me! Honestly speaking… From the bottom of my heart… I have no clue how not to love you… Come to me and let me smother you with love!
I write to you because I have missed you… With every word I write I imagine the reaction engulfing your face with every word you read… I want you to get more and more excited with every single paragraph… To get excited to the point where you have to stop and catch your breath at some point… But a part of me tells me you didn’t even tear open the envelope!
I was thinking about what to write about this morning… And like most times, I had nothing! Until I remembered BOOTLEGGERS!
Bootleggers is a club in Kisumu. Can you already feel the adrenaline? Ok, maybe not! After driving around Kisumu one Thursday night we decided to try out Bootleggers before we completely gave up on the dead Thursday night scene Kisumu offers! It is quite evident ‘Bendover Thursdays’ didn’t spill out of Nairobi and to the shores of Nam Lolwe…
On that particular night, Kisumu was completely asleep… Except for the random guy riding his bicycle in the dead of the night carrying a large woman who had her hands round him like he had jut promised her the world… I know the woman was very close to the man. Ignoring completely the way she dangerously embraced the man, her left cheek was errorlessly laid upon the rider’s back! Like she was asleep… She finally gets to lay her head on her lover after a long day at the Oile Market! The mud guard of the bicycle written poetically, ‘Mapenzi bila jaso’ The perfect love story.
We get to Bootleggers and it felt like it was on a different time zone! The place was pregnant with human beings uncontrollably pouring out of the tiny entrance… Young slender girls wearing tiny white shorts and knee-high boots and cowboy hats had tequila bottles in holsters around their waists. I see these ones everywhere! Whose idea was this?
We get in and the place was wild…
Let me explain, Nairobi women dance… But Kisumu women GET DOWN!!! And it is alllll of them! It was like walking into a shoal of dancers! A few steps into the club and there, right there, on the floor, was a woman dancing on her hands, being wheelbarrowed by a dreadlocked man in red Timberland boots… Not too far from her was another woman atop the shoulders of another man… I am just trying to say that the place was a zoo…
The DJ was a wide Luo man definitely of Jamaican decent or wished so hard to be… He uttered meaningless words that got the crowd soooo pumped up! He would go like, “Anadi quagmaya, an di dimpling… And di boombooclat rasta… PWOOO PWOOO!” And the crowd would go like, “PWWWOO PWWOOO!”
All of us get a table right in the middle of all the conundrum. Every now and then an ass would hit my head… I wouldn’t complain though!
Totally out of topic: There is a breed of women in wielding big buttocks called ‘Socialites’. If whoever knighted them would by any chance travel to Nyanza, a huge ass percentage would automatically be knighted as such… See what I did there? huge ass percentage? Oh forget it!
Back to my tale!
I notice two women seated at the bar… One large and the other almost half her size. They were extremely conspicuous! Everyone was vigorously dancing, a calm should would stand out like the devil in a cloud of angels!
Let me explain my dilemma… I like big women but the small woman was wayyyy prettier! I am blind, so before I make a move I decide to take a wing-man with me.
We walk to the women and my wingman quickly picks the big girl, which I had no problem with… Let me explain why!
The big girl was ‘big’ which gave her like 44%. But that was it. She wore an avocado green blouse… I hate everything to do with avocados! She was wearing those denim pants with rips across the thighs. And because she was really big, she poured out of them. It didn’t look nice… I like neat and rips do not excite me! Then she could not shut the hell up… For a human being who speaks from the top of her lungs, it was the last trait I expected. Imagine a woman who talks REALLLY LOUD… NON STOP! Then last but definitely not least, she had a mole under her chin that could set off a metal detector!
The tiny one on the other hand was quiet… She wore a white vest and an Ankara pencil skirt… At least some art in her! She covered her shoulders with her black jacket… She hadn’t worn the jacket… She just placed it on her shoulders… So divine! She had her arms crossed which is a terrible sign…
I get her talking. In half an hour, I learn she is a farmer (WHICH WAS TOTAL BOLLOCKS BECAUSE HER EQUITY BANK NAME TAG WAS STILL ROUND HER EFIN NECK) But then again she might have been… She farms strawberries…. (TOTAL EFIN BOLLOCKS) or maybe she did! She is drinking white wine. Drinking white wine like it is Dextrosalt! She had 3 glasses in half an hour… Good thing is I got here laughing! Marilyn Monroe says, “If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything!”, so I go for the total clown… The harder she laughs the closer I am yes?
Wait! Did I mention I had chicken tikka for dinner on that day? And I am totally lactose intolerant? And chicken tikka has like loads of yoghurt? Well, if not then this here is the twist!
My tummy at this moment is rumbling out of control and it was getting hard to differentiate the need to pee and the dire need to shit! That is when you know shits hitting the fan!
I excuse myself… I am in the toilet… I have my projectile pointed at the urinal but I am scared to piss… Because I feel things move inside me withe the slightest release of my bladdular muscles! Taking a piss was risking way too much… So I decide to do it… Take a shit in the club… NEVER TAKE A SHIT IN THE CLUB!!!
I take like 5 minutes immaculately layering tissue paper on the toilet seat because no one knows what diseases lurk on that clay… You might catch a cold… Or worse, a cough!
I am seated doing my thing… Going through Instagram on my phone… My small bro comes to check on me because I told him I had a bad tummy…
Then guess what…
Wait: Did I mention the toilet doesn’t have a lock!? If not then here is a twist…
The door flung open almost sending it off its hinges and there stood The Strawberry Farmer! Looking straight into my innocent eyes… She stood there for a second, which is a second too long for this particular situation… And she got in right in the middle of a good push… My life, as I knew it then, was finished!
The farmer does not even apologise!
I stay food a bit longer… My almost full Heineken is erect next to her glass of wine… I was torn between getting that one and buying a new one…
Life as we know it, is really short… People have to take risks… So I go and take my beer… The farmer wouldn’t even look at me… Like instead of shitting, she coughs strawberries…
I think I really shocked her… But then again, what was she doing in the men’s? Oh shit… Was she a man?
I am sorry about the title. How else would I have gotten your attention?!
P.S: Have you voted for Dear Doris for Blog Awards Kenya today? Dear Doris was nominated for Best Creative Blog & Best Blog of the Year 2014. Please vote for me us here: http://www.blogawards.co.ke