Last Wednesday evening about 6:30pm, a pal of mine (Phil) calls me up and says he’s in my vicinity. I was in an extremely boring lecture at the time, so a distraction was something to look forward to. It ended at 7pm and I headed off to the pub to meet up with him. We got our own table, na Tusker mbili mbili zikaletwa. We chatted for a few minutes, then another pal, Jim, came over to join us. Jim is a talkative, eccentric guy with a habit of mixing up strange cocktails. On this night in particular, he had a double vodka, topped up with freshly diced pineapples and Sprite.
Shortly afterwards, a random chic walked up to our table and planted her Guinness Kubwa (and I mean the BIG one). “It’s so lonely drinking alone, can I join you guys?” Phil and I exchange looks, subconsciously communicating “why the hell not? Enyewe she’s kinda fly!” So we ushered her to sit. She excused herself to go to the little girls room.
Me: Jim, who’s this chic?
Jim: She’s just some chic. Her name’s Jane. She’s hot but she’s not very bright. One of the dumbest girls I’ve ever met. Just be careful with her.
Not much of a description, no? What exactly does “just be careful with her” mean? Phil and I thought perhaps we should just keep the conversation simple to avoid overworking her one and a half brain cells. The moment Jane returned from the little girls’ room, we were fully exposed to her daft-itis. She’s very pretty but doesn’t look Kenyan, prompting me to ask her where she’s from.
Jane: I’m just from over there, behind the counter.
Phil: No, dumbass, where do you come from. Yaani ocha kwenu iko wapi? Ama mnaishi wapi?
Me: Yaani, are you Kenyan?
Jane: Yes, but I grew up in eastern United States. That’s why I have such light skin, coz the sun doesn’t shine much over there.
We enjoyed our drinks, with Jane explaining her choice of drink. We had a really hard time keeping the conversation simple coz each time she lowered the bar. A tweep called even suggested that I ask her whether she knows that Kenya Airways has Concordes.
Jane: The one shaped like a pencil with erectile dysfunction? Yeah, I’ve seen those. I think I flew one to Mombasa.
Later on we spotted a couple of pretty chics on the next table (who we came to realize are Rwandese. Damn that country has beautiful women!) and we asked them to join us. Drinks flowed, good humour and banter and as the rain began to pour, we were guaranteed to have the pleasure of their company for another coupla hours at best.
As it got to about 11pm, the barman informed us that he would be closing the pub in the next 20 minutes so we had to finish up our drinks and scatter. Which was a good idea coz I was out of cash by then, and having a hangover at work is not a good idea. What happens if I’m summoned for an impromptu meeting with the boss the next morning?
Jim went his own way, the Rwandese girls went the other way, leaving Phil to drop me off at my place then he’d proceed on his way home. As we walked to Phil’s car, Jane appeared.
Jane: Where are you guys going? I want more alcohol!
Me: Chic, can’t you see the bar is closed? I’m going home to sleep coz I’ve got a long day tomorrow.
Then I spotted one of my lecturer’s stranded a few metres away at the entrance to the university. I approached him and asked if he needed a lift to the main road, and he said that he could do with one. So I opened the back door and ushered him in. Jane appeared from nowhere still insisting that the night was young and she wanted to party.
Me: Look Jane, I’ve told you I’m going home!
Jane: Then let’s go to your house.
Me: To do what? Mi naenda kulala.
Jane: I’m sure we can find something to do at your house.
She said, making use of her luscious eyelashes and rubbing my chest seductively. Instant standing ovation in my trousers.
Yaani chips kajileta kwenye sahani! Maajabu ya Musa!
I won’t lie, at that precise moment in time, I did contemplate the idea. Ka fwyne chic begging to be chipod mara pap! This would be serious wood throwing if I didn’t agree to the idea. Before the blood could flow back into my brain from head #2, chic had already jumped into the back right of Phil’s car. With my lecturer.
Now, my lecturer is someone who I always try to be on good terms with coz I’ll need recommendations once I graduate. So I can’t afford to be acting a fool in his presence. Besides, apart from being part of the senior members of the faculty, he’s also in charge of the university’s AIDS prevention unit. You know, safe sex, demonstrations of how to use condoms properly, the hazards of unsafe sex, kubeba chips ovyo ovyo, VCT (Vaa Condom Twende) and all that. Now he’s seated in the back with this airhead who has insisted on being bebwad chips. How much more embarrassing can this get?
I just prayed that she would keep her mouth shut for a few minutes, but she had other ideas.
Jane: So what do you do, I’ve never seen you on campus before.
Lecturer: We must be in different faculties. But we must have had a session on sex education when you joined the university. Did you attend my talk?
Jane: Naaah, I skived that shit. I don’t need to be told how to use a condom. I know that shit already. Archer, do you have condoms at your house?
(Speaking of rubber, I was completely out of stock, so that was another reason not to take her crazy ass home with me)
Luckily the drive was short and within the longest four minutes of my life, we had arrived at the main road, where the lecturer was about to take a cab to his house. I got out and opened the door for him.
“Mishale, be careful with that one. She doesn’t look okay in the head.” Said the lecturer as he walked away, wagging his finger.
“You don’t say!” I thought as I got back in the car.
Me: Gee, thanks Jane. You just ruined my rep. So where can we drop you off?
Jane: I thought we’re going to your house?
Me: Look, I really need to sleep. Just tell us where we can drop you off, ok?
That’s when she threw the mother of all bitch-fits.
“I WANNA DRINK! LET’S GO TO A BAR! I WANNA GO TO YOUR HOUSE! I WANNA F***!!!”
Phil: Boss, you’re in serious problems!
Me: I’m not going anywhere with your crazy ass! And that’s final!
Jane let out an ear piercing scream that left Phil and I pressing our palms hard over our ears, while Phil’s right foot applied max’mum pressure on the brakes. Chic jumped out of the car while it was still moving!
Phil: wachana na huyo chizi. Ata jisort.
Me: boss, it’s midnight. This road isn’t safe. If anything happens to her, I’ll be in shit coz I was the last one to be seen with her. Sitaki case kesho.
Phil: fine then, run after your bitch.
So I jumped out the car and ran after her. Those who know me also know that “fit” is not an adjective that can be used in the same sentence as my name. I was soon out of breath and panting like a German Shepherd on a hot day. Jane outpaced me fair and square. That gave new meaning to playing hard to get.
Eventually I caught up with her and convinced her to get into the car and allow us to take her to her place. I told her it wasn’t safe to be out on this road at midnight and she finally saw my logic and decided to come back with us. Just as we got to the car, she asked again:
Jane: Can we still go to your house?
Me: Kuwa serious wewe!
Chic hurled a whole series of expletives and sprinted away…right into a nearby maize plantation.
Oh fuck. Not again!
Think about it, a girl screaming while running into a maize plantation in the dead of night with a dude in hot pursuit, with a car waiting by the side of the road. I’d look like a rapist, right? Or a kidnapper at best. I gave up right there and got into the car and told Phil to drive off. I looked back to see her yelling like a mad woman, covered in mud up to her shins.
I was quite relieved to find out the next day that she made it home in one piece. I called Jim and filled him in on the drama.
“Dude, that chic’s lunacy is legendary! Why d’you think she was drinking alone in the bar? Everyone knows that bitch is crazy. But I hear she’s a very good shag.”
NOW you tell me that she’s crazy? Why didn’t he just warn me properly the previous night and save me the whole escapade? (That’s the problem with boys, they wait for you to walk right into a hole, so they can have something to laugh about later.) She may be a good lay as he says, but the fact that her sexual rep is out there means that she must be more than generous with the goods and I don’t want to be just another statistic. (I later found out that I know 11 guys who’ve been with her, out of a total 17 known “victims”) Dangerous stuff. Besides, I’ve dated a couple of nymphomaniacs and other sexual sadists (and I do mean SADISTS) in the past, so I don’t need that any of that crazy shit. I prefer to keep things very, very sane these days.
I think I need to change pubs. Again.
What’s on my Playlist?
Basement Jaxx – Crazy Girl
“When I met you/
you were sexy/
you were freaky/
I thought my luck was in/
then I noticed/you were CRAZY!
Did not know what to do…/
Crazy girl….crazy girl…”