I hate hosting parties. I’m a good organizer though, you could be having a bash at yours and I’ll help out with brewing some lethal punch, marinating and grilling the nyakez and chicken and all that, as long as I’m not DJing coz my playlists will send people away faster than they arrived. But that’s about it. Hosting? Hapana. I’m a highly irritable person and petty bullshit is bound to tick me off, that added to a very short temper can only lead to fracas. The last time we had a bash in the digz was in Dec 2003, where there were guys shagging all over the place, others randomly looking for Mwaura, some idiot was lighting up a blunt in a room somewhere, some stuff got broken and all that. I decided then that there will be no more bashes in the digz.

The other weekend I found myself hosting a bash. Reluctantly. OK not really, as long as I was going to have my liquor, some music and a good woman, I was good to go. Many of my pals are back in the country on holiday from all over the world and we were initially having a ka-small drinks plan at my digz. Just a few friends, four or five bottles, some music, then after that perhaps we’d hit the hanye. But it being Friday, everyone’s phone was ringing continuously with plans being sought and arranged, so my pals suggested that we invite a few mamas over. I ended up having 9 mamas (8 of whom were fly – 1 was injured thoroughly) and no idea of what to do with all of them.

Thing is, most such plans end up being sausage fests. If you thought sausage fests were bad, think again. At least a bunch of jamaas can sit together over a pint and discuss important stuff, throw in a bit of very general loose vibes (aka gossip) but the percentage would be something like 80% politics, football, cars, business, and 20% gossip. Which as I said is very general, guys don’t go into too much detail.

A: Word has it that you kwachuad Alice very seriously last weekend, how are the strokes?

B: either of  

  1. The strokes were on point kabisa, the chic has some mad skills. Definitely worth hitting again, several times over.
  2. Ish ish. Nothing spectacular. Super average.
  3. Totally wack. She’s a hopeless lay. It was like throwing a sausage down a corridor (Aco 2006)

But with chics on the other hand, it’s 70% very detailed gossip, 10% important stuff and 20% assorted nonsense (read fashion and other crap) all wrapped in a lot of coded messages/parables and innuendo that quickly eliminate anyone who wasn’t meant to be part of that conversation.

So the ratio had to be stabilized immediately and the SOS was sent out.

Another interesting thing about Kenyans is that we seem to have inbuilt liquor sensors. Just mention the words “bash+alcohol+women” and dudes will show up in less than 5 minutes. And that’s when the drama began.

That turned out to be a very frustrating night for me coz I kept running up and down organizing drinks, ice cubes, dashing off to the local to get more supplies, mopping muddy footprints from the floor tiles, making sure that people hadn’t wandered off to areas they were not supposed to be in and all that. The initial idea was to have this bash outdoors, but it had rained heavily on Friday so the backyard was quite muddy and cold. The only solution was to allocate a small section of the digz to the bash. The chap who built this digz knew what he was doing coz he designed it in such a way that you can actually shut it down in half, thus keeping the important places away from prying eyes and itchy fingers.

But I got to witness some bullshit that made me really wonder whether some Kenyans are sane. How in heaven’s name do you, as an invited guest, invite more people (like 6 or 7) to a bash without the host’s consent? How the hell kedo 40 peeps found themselves to my digz….aki sijui. I found a car load of some very suspect looking chaps who quickly made themselves cosy, privatized the alcohol, started smoking inside the digz (??????!!!!!!!!) WTF surely? I’m a smoker but even I don’t smoke in the house! Well, I smoke in my bathroom when I’m chairing the early morning/late night UN General Assembly meeting, but not even in my room! So how the hell some idiot thought he could smoke in the digz, without having the courtesy to ask the host, is beyond me!

Then they took over the sound equipment with their “Ay Bay Bay” and “Soulja Boy” and all that Lil Shiznit lean back crunk nonsense. Young’ns, mnanichekesha kweli. Kwanza washana na Soulja Boy, there’s actually a “Soulja Girl” version, believe it or not. Ati “you gotta step like this is you wanna be a sooouuuuulja guuuuurl….YOOOOU!! You gotta move like that if you wanna be a soooouuulja guuuuurl….YOOOOU!!” (I saw it on The Beat last week, coz enyewe what’s there to do when there’s Tyra Banks on both KBC and KTN having a celebrity baby shower?) And you thought soulja boy was crap?

At some point there were no women to be found, they’d all congregated in a bathroom somewhere under the guise of having a smoke, but in reality some sub 5 foot midget had gone psycho and started stalking them all over the place. At that point I wanted to kick out those hoodrats but someone reminded me that I’ve crashed into quite a few bashes myself and it’s be quite unfair not to allow these young’ns the same opportunity. Karma would catch up with them eventually (one day when they’re older and crunk is the new old school)

So is this MY karma? Damn! She’s a bitch!!!!

If I thought the soulja boys were bad, you didn’t see what I saw with the chics!! Woi Njiiisas!

Now, I’d allocated one bathroom to the guys and another to the chics. Some chic actually unleashed some nuclear arse-nal over Baghdad and USED A NEWSPAPER!!!! I couldn’t believe it. Surely, couldn’t she at least ask for toilet paper if the roll in there had run out? She didn’t even tear up the gazeti into “manageable proportions” but used a whole 2 page sheet! She must have a very tough rear end that one, and I also don’t want to imagine the skidmarks on her ngothaz. (I met her on the hanye three days ago, all I could see was skidmarks, which is so sad considering that she’s actually quite hot)

And how the hell was that Daily Nation supposed to flush down the loo? So I cordoned off the disaster area as I went to call the shamba boy to come remove the newspaper manually (don’t look at me like that, someone had to do it) but by the time we came back, another idiot had rained over said disaster area thus making manual retrieval impossible. The poor chap spent half of the next morning trying to flush the loo. I think it’s still blocked as we speak.

Another one mwaurad behind a door and instead of cleaning it up (the mop was just there, si I’d been cleaning away the muddy footprints?) she went to the bathroom to re-apply her make up, gurgled some Listerine mouthwash and she was good to go. A third one decided to change her “bullet” but forgot to dispose of the used one and left it lying somewhere.

Look, I’m a dude, and I don’t have sisters. These are things some of us only learnt in a rushed session of home science in primary school. Don’t shock me like this, I can have nightmares for the rest of my life.

I’ve always believed that a lady should carry herself in a respectable manner. Hygiene wise especially. She should always look after herself, if you get my drift. The thought of an unhygienic mama is something that nothing else in this world compares to. Now, these mamas presented themselves as being very classy and sophisticated, from accents to jewellery, make up and all, kumbe that was just a facade to hide their villager mannerisms. I lost all syke of getting any from any of them, and for the dudes who managed to beba take away and chwado something, I only wish they saw what I saw.

At about 3am, people decided, much to my relief, to make themselves scarce. I was glad to see the soulja boys leave. But they didn’t leave empty handed!! They stole TWO BLOODY REMOTES!!! One for the TV and the other for the DVD player.

SERIOUSLY, REMOTES?? HOW NOW??!!

Since then, I’ve called everyone who was at the bash to ask for the soulja boys contacts, but apparently no one has them! No one knows them! How the hell they even found themselves at the bash is another mystery coz my digz is located in a very hidden cul de sac after a maze of roads so it’s virtually inpossible that anyone could have accidentally been in the vicinity, stumbled onto the bash and made himself welcome.

Then (this one takes the cake) I met one of the villagers chics, who was on my list of prime suspects behind the Baghdad bombing (that chic must be related to Chemical Ali), attempting to privatize, from my bedroom wall, an poster-size drawing of a samurai that my supremely talented ex girlfriend (ask Xs, Aegeus or Bants, they’ve seen her work) drew for me a few months ago. She’d rolled it up and was getting into a car when I saw her and I asked her where the hell she was going with my poster.

 

“But it’s mine!”

 

Um… so how comes it has my name on it?

 

“OK it’s yours but I really like it, can I keep it?”

 

Are you nucking futs? Give it back! Kondoo wewe!

What a terrible night. Never again am I hosting another bash. The only highlight was when my pal showed up in a brand new Toyota Duet and he got dissed the whole night mpaka he had to go park it outside the compound. He’s never driven it again.

*update*

Later in the week it turns out that the villager chic who I caught privatizing my poster had “accidentally” carried the DVD remote. She only fessed up under threats of violence.

Then, this past weekend I ran into them soulja boys on the hanye and of course I wasn’t smiling with them.

 

Nyinyi usiresi k*mathez fogothari braddy PNU youth wingers! where’s my TV remote?!

 

“It’s in the car. Aki we found it in the boot the next morning, we don’t even know how it got there! I swear!!”

Surely, that was more than 10 days ago, why couldn’t you idiots have called me or even brought it back to my digz? Highlanders.

What’s on my Playlist?

Raphael Saadiq – Tick Tock

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