Thursday, September 14, 2006

BLACK DICKS WHITE MASKS

If you want to begrudge me my pseudo-intellectualism, you can call me Frantz FuckOn. But in England living the Kenyan- bugger flippin’-buck chasin’-illegal immigrant-Vumilia Diaspora- dream, they called me some’ else. I was Kabaka Shaka Zulu Asantehene III. (Please note that there is no Chief Someshit or other; the heck, all those hustler Naija Brodas is Chief this or that giving African Royalty a scummy sceptre.)

Anyway, people had to get my name right; after all, you would be screaming it out loud all night. Yeah, louder than my Bob Marley CD in your- garage/ drum ‘n’ bass- battered sound system.
I used to tell them that ogashala is the Bantu word for: I am coming...! I don’t know what the fuck Bantu is but it has that Old Africa primitivism ring to it, innit? Exotic.

You know, the only thing that is better than new sex is exotic sex; the sound of a fuckee grunting in a Star-Warish dialect.

Yeah, so sometimes I’d be there moaning: obamanashantashantai, which is something I had a jet-set pastor say just before he took my 50 Grand in exchange for an invitation to a sham convention in the UK. (Visa Tip Kenyans... au sio?)

Ala... si now they remembered my name. It was the reason they woke up with a sore throat in the morning. Eish, si you know the occupational hazard of sleeping with Africans is that you always pick some infection or other; why would this Mandingo Warrior disappoint? Yeah, Kabaka Shaka Zulu Asantehene III was the human carrier of a strange strain of sore throat that hit the British Isles a while back. I cannot quite recall but I think the outbreak made the BBC Newsnight.

Well, that was payback for catching Jungle Fever, but where did it all begin? Let me take you back... Back to Ancien Regime Nairobi:

If Helen of Troy was an insurmountable beauty, then Helena G__ was her progeny. I thrust the gates of my life open for her but she was a Trojan horse with a nymphet inside. She taught me how to prostate myself before the temple of Diana; Gaia; the entire gynocentric pantheon. The Yonic Deities!

Helena was a Greek goddess and her temple was her Vagina; there I took my burnt-rubber offering. Dude, a Trust condom can wrap a gift fit for a goddess!

On the first day I introduced her to Dakimu- that is my male member- the look on her face was that of a New York girl before the baboon cage at the Bronx Zoo. Eish, Dakimu gave her mad vaginismus, but I was willing to wait till Christmas. That would be in two weeks. Wapi...! On Christmas day she gave me a hand-job and dragged me off to church. I was miffed. But then again she was Greek; she could reconcile herself to the idea of a pantheon: God, Dick, Man. Holy Trinity? Who knows... but the next day she took my virginity!

Then there was the French girl. She had a name like a mzungu dinner and wore nothing but pheromones. Frenchie had a butterfly tattoo on her pubis. I kissed it. ‘Chouchou,’ I cooed, ‘Samburu is the Samburu word for butterfly...’ Later on as she mezad Strepsils, I explained to her that The White Masai was not a Masai but a Samburu. Samburu is the cousin of Masai but it is Masai you need to fuck to get a movie deal.

Now the other day I heard that she was writing a book about me; trouble is, my name has been changed to Ole Kende Mbili. Eish, baba... ebu try saying that when you are coming... tut tut!

But things change and mad dicks rearrange... In came the Jewish girl from Upstate New York. She had no number tattooed on her arm like I had thought all Jews do and she had never been to a Kibbutz.

I took her down to my ‘hood. Shit flew out of windows towards the communal toilet. Communal towels; Communal garbage; Communal intercourse. The only thing that you couldn’t share was a condom because there was none.

Scrawny children and mangy dogs crisscrossed the alleys in their uniform of mud streaked deprivation you couldn’t tell them apart. Was this the look of despondency? Wasn’t this not the kind of hapless fear and resignation that her granny saw before her Escape from Sobibor? Auschwitz-Birkenau. Bergen Belsen. Jasenovac. European ghettos. Maybe she wasn’t Alex Haley but she could feel an immutable bond with this place.

At the corner we exchanged something meaningful, something worth more, to her, than the business cards she exchanged on Madison Avenue- body fluids. But even as she leaned against the mud and wattle wall, moaning, the chants of the slum children reached for her neck and scathingly marked her as an outsider. As I grabbed her taut buttocks and sent Negroid chaff coursing through her wheat fields in a microcosm of desegregation, their chants wrenched out her soul and with the branding rod of prejudice tattooed: Mzungu! Mzungu!

Tuendelee ama tusiendelee....?

A Swedish girl from... wherever Swedish girls come from taught me how to smoke and not choke. I brought her a stone and a boti of something that wasn’t Absolut Vodka then told her the theory that I learnt from my Mutiri. Many years ago, as he rubbed my bloodied dick, my mutiri told me that Europeans spend one hour on foreplay and one minute on intercourse; but miros... eish, one minute foreplay and one hour of coitus non interuptus.

So I took her to my Weapon Testing Facility. She couldn’t even last through the Boot Camp. But the main reason I remember her is because in the morning instead of a hickie, she had a thick red line of bed bug bites...

***

But all that was a long time ago. I got tired of running away from the Home Office goons while working sixteen hour double shifts. And the flesh was getting tepid while the weather went on drizzly cold as though Global Warming was just another Donor Funded phrase. I wanted to return home. Yeah, the government at home sucked and the girls didn’t but what the hell; it would still be nice to Come in Bantu: ‘... sssssss... ai... ai... ngai! ngai! ngai!’

In Nairobi I have learnt that Jungle Fever is a poor man’s disease like HIV/ AIDS, cholera and dysentery. Yeah, with my dreads and battle hardened Levi’s 501s, Jungle Fever would make me look like a Nairobi Beach Boy. You know the type, don’t you? They hang around __ on Kenyatta Avenue; sometimes they catch a jave to Carnie on Wednesday night.

Boy I am a hustler lakini.... eish, dadi, I am not horizontally inclined. I prefer to make my money on my two feet. Yes, I do; but those fellows make a living by coming in German, invariably, and a motley bunch of other fringe Non- UN, European languages.

So we got Dakimu an antidote; a nice African pussy...

... and he was laid happily ever after!!!

27 comments:

egm said...

This is a very interesting write-up. I see Dakimu is well travelled, but knows where his roots are.

spicebear said...

okay, i have read this twice today and i have laughed so hard i woke people up. now that i have caught my breath, i have only one question to ask you ... can i be your groupie? *insert tossing of hair and fluttering of eyelashes*

seriously though, this was an awesome read.

POTASH said...

lol at egm, home is where the P- is.

Spicebear; thanks. Oh you want to join the hordes of scalp hunters... ish try and get the plastic surgery first...eyes blue- that is a start.

gishungwa said...

all i can say is tut tut right back at you . Though i love nice to Come in Bantu: ‘... sssssss... ai... ai... ngai! ngai! ngai!’ ;)

POTASH said...

Supreme GREAM: Sorry comment moderation ate your comment... my fault actually but i read it.

Gish: Ngai...tut tut..eh? sawa. By the way someone in a bar mentioned you.

Amber said...

This is really, really good writing. I am not even going to ask whether I can be your groupie. I am personally, and on my own time and initiative started The P fan club.

POTASH said...

Amber: Ish, for one moment there I had to check my site meter. This post has brought many defections from the Potash fan club.

Thanks... yeah so when do I start collecting royalties... I don't wanna die a burger-flippin' coulda been writer...lol

AfroM said...

"Yeah, with my dreads and battle hardened Levi’s 501s" uh hum. wacha tu.

You are deliciously entertaining! Am with spicey on this one...she will do the batting of the lashes i will draw the shape of Africa on the dirt with my big toe as we gush...*sigh*

jke said...

LOL! Strongly reminds me of Bukowski :-)

Njoki said...

DAKIMU?...OLE KENDE MBILI?happy for the written introduction. Have you had the mind to dick conversation about blood-flow constraints, and who has priority?Hope Dick wins hands-fisted-down!And on a not-coy-note, Bantu girls do suck. And swallow. With relish.As always a fine read.

POTASH said...

@Jke,
uhm comparing me to a dead white guy isn't much of a compliment; but I kinda like his The Slob poem, coz I am that- waking up in the morning with a beer, maybe a woman...But I suppose you meant his book 'Women'

But what I like is the Modest Mouse song; Bukowski:

Went to bed and didn't see
why every day turns out to be
a little bit more like Bukowski.
And yeah, I know he's a pretty good read.
But God who'd wanna be?
God who'd wanna be such an asshole?

@ AfroM
Danke, But I think with all that drawing of maps with toes I should reply in Bantu: Naiseyma ahsanta kwa kuiteika kuwa groupie layangyu...!

@Njoki, talking of groupies... you are up there, au sio? And then with the Bantu name; I like.

Uhm, if I can write junk like this then you can tell who wins between dick and mind; what it is I use to think with.

ooh..Bantu girls they doing it now? What the hell has the world come to- ama it is Womens Lib?

Amber said...

Bantu girls have been doing it for a long time now. Ever since Bantu guys who love it agreed to teach us how to do it properly, breathe right, when to inhale, exhale and swallow, without letting the teeth get in the way.

POTASH said...

Oh, so Amber is bantu... there was a scare there that you wouldn't understand. Every person I know who is called that is uhm... well, yeah... But I insist that they are not part of this story. This story isn't about them.

Anyway, Amber... i really want you in my fan club, seems I can get interesting perks if you I let you start it.

Marazzmatazz said...

dadi, did u breathe twice on this roll? Nice post..... deep like Afrohills.

Kenyanchick said...

I've been lurking/cyberstalking you for a while, but never commented.

This post, however...

Let me just clarify that I'm not sure I even understand the whole post (because it makes me feel like I ingested one of nature's little freebies) but it cracked me the hell up.

"Samburu is the cousin of Masai but it is Masai you need to fuck to get a movie deal."

Kenyans are mad.

POTASH said...

At Marazz... word mate!

@KC... Wittgenstain once said that if Potash were to speak you wouldn't understand him...

oh.. stop calling kenyans names...lol.

gishungwa said...

came back to see if the groupie was done being formed. And yes i do know him that spoke of me in the pub and he did speak of you too yeah and others tut tut...
As always a pleasure reading your blog, was back for more... not just yet huh! ok off back later...

POTASH said...

Uhm, I kinda get used to Potash coming up in bars; It is the occupational hazard of being barroom furniture.

I have vibe jumping out of my head all the time, the trouble is getting it typed out... maybe kesho the first thing on my mind I will blog.

Plus Ultra said...

Thanks for dropping by and you have a mighty interesting blog here, I will return

Stephen Bess said...

This is definitely raw and uncut! :)I'll be checking you out.

Brother Jero (BJ) said...

Potash - You got me on this one, wow.. even choked while sipping my coffee.. great script, what a writer.. you have just transcended to a serious contender and will be checking you out later...

Ati mutiri?? wow, that was funny dawg...

POTASH said...

@Ultra, Bess, BJ: Thanks y'all for popping by.
Jero, what do you mean just transcended, I am the finest of this degeneration...!

gishungwa said...

still...ok *shrugs as she walks away*...

mshairi said...

What a fantastic read, Potash! When you get published, can I get your autograph...

SaHaRa said...

Lol, Potash! I'm late in catching up, but I will. The little that I have so far read is very interesting. I want some of whatever it is that you smoke. Lol. You're a hoot.

Girl next door said...

(joining the groupie line)
I was here too! This is hilarious! Your writing is in a class of its own.

P.S. I'm currently reading Fanon's "Wretched" when I'm done I'll be moving on to his other works.

---Supreme-G.R.E.A.M--- said...

Potash! U ill.