HETERO-NOMAD

1200hrs, Thursday May 31.

What I have been doing for the last 16 hours is drinking. Now I am wandering about- my autopilot engaged against any inclination to do a KQ 507 into the nearest bush- in search of a place to crash.

I stagger past Mama Hannah’s simu ya jamii

“Wee Malaya ya mwanaume, leta pesa yangu!” Yells she

“Kubaff!” Exclaims I

What I owe her is a mere sixteen shillings for a call I received last year, but you would think I owe her a Kay for using her vagina to masturbate.

I empty all the change in my pocket into her leprous palms. It all comes up to the grand total of Kshs 23/-

Oh, I need a matchbox. I grab back three shillings and buy a box of counterfeit Rhino Kubwas from Jamo wa Veve in the next stall.

“We umbwa hii, Kwani umefilisika tena?” Mama Hannah anzias me again. I reach into my shirt pocket produce a fresh pack of premium band gaffs. I light up slow and easy like as though Potash was James Bond’s middle name.

Pulling out my gaffs a piece of paper drops out of my pocket. Oh, shit, a bus ticket. I am meant to be catching a 1300hr bus to Somewhere. Damn I must have forgotten.

“Shika hii ununulie mzee suruali ya ndani” I tell Mama Hannah and throw a fifty bob at her and jump into a passing matatu.

Moja moja mpaka tao. I patia the kange a soc and tell him to keep change. You know how we do when we have a little change: share it all around.

1345hrs

The bus is late but so what; this is Africa- the bus leaves when it leaves. I am on seat number er… “wee kaa chini, Kwani Michuki ni baba yako… hapa tunabeba pesa; watu wanapanda ndege!”

I look for a free seat but cannot find one. I squeeze myself in between two enormous mounds of luo femininity. Two pungent strands reach out from beneath their armpits and grasp me firmly by the olfactory nerve. I pass out.

2130hrs

I am jolted awake by the bus crew: “Wee Kwani unafikiri hii ni lodging?”

Strange sounds all around me; new smells assail me. The air is humid- like in a seaside town. Maybe there is a lake nearby… maybe.

I step out of the bus. It downs on me that I am drunk. The only two brain cells still alive in my head are telling me that it has been sixteen years since I got laid. Sixteen, for God’s sake! I need a brain transplant.

Some tall dark guy waves at me: “taxi… taxi!”

I am not sure even why I am here. No wait a minute; I am not even sure where I am.

“Potas?” the guy asks.

Oh la la, I think to myself. Wherever I am at least there is a reception committee.

“Gari iko upande huu baba.” He continues.

I follow him thinking: Whoever it is that I am here to see must give me the full God treatment- I am that and a rib of goat.

The Chariot I would hope for is no where to be seen. The tall dark guy ushers me into a rickety tuk tuk.

Fuck. Even Cinderella got to dream till midnight!

2156hrs

The tuk tuk hits a pothole and grinds to a halt. All around me I see shadows coming alive. They could be anything, mungiki, Five-o, or a horde of other windmills that my inebriate imagination tilts at.

A door opens somewhere and lights up a section of the pothole and, with it, silhouettes

like a moonbeam through a shapely pair of legs. And maybe there is a pair of legs but I do not see them yet because I stagger into a warm and receptive bosom and even as its flagrance tugs at my gonads I am dragged into the embrace of a lavishly furnished room.

Dinner is served. Prepared with love I would serve but certainly not with my savage palate in mind. I cut to the nice part. Not sex silly… the booze.

Damn, it is Malibu and coke for fucks sake. What a waste- I was weaned on Napshizzle, you know.

2230hrs

A bottle of vodka has materialized from the ether. I am lying on clean white linen with a cold drink on one hand and a warm breast on the other. I am in heaven. In the next building some fucker gets sent to hell. Why the fuck do people keep beheaded everywhere I go?

***

Okay, I am tired after a long weekend on the road and I just might not get to tell you about how I ended up with a pack of condoms, lubricant and an anal sex manual. Oh and then there is the lesbian chick who, even though she has enough personality to feature on my blog, doesn’t appear on the scene till Sunday night. In a sense then the full story of the Hetero Nomad will remain untold unless someone buys me a bunch of beers tonight and I get to write about my long weekend by two lakes.

It would be nice to mention two things about the Lesbian: We hang out, drinking, till 0100hrs when we realized that we were useless to each other. So we parted ways everyone retiring to a lonely night of self abuse. (Well, at least that is me speaking for myself.)

The other thing about her is that we hang out in a dusty Nairobi bound bus on Tuesday. And guess what, if you thought that you had to go to the Island of Patmos or some mountain to find revelation then you haven’t had anything yet. This chick and I hang out for, as she put it seeing that I was too drank to count, seventy two hours before we found out that we had one thing in common: We both love breasts!