Just get liver insurance if you are a parent and your daughter, who is between the ages of 19 and 35, lives in Eldoret. These Eldoret women can outdrink EABL’S production capacity. As though all of their locals are red carpet events, only Eldoret women go to the bar in sleepers and discuss their ka-'local' with a certain air of royalty. The highest ranking women who drink alone are Eldoret. They also sip rough, macho whiskeys. By the way, their males, dressed casually, consume the sissy green-bottled beers.
The headquarters of the chips-funga enterprise is in Annnex, which is essentially middle class. North of the River Limpompo, Annex has more chips-fungwad ladies than any other estate in an African metropolis. The young men there have the ability to funga any college girl from law school and Catholic University with their apartments, plasma TVs, silk carpets, and enormous freezers. They strive for those things in the home. In addition, more attractive women tend to congregate in Annex clubs than in any other Eldoret nightclub. Ratchets are drawn to Tamasha.
Now, when we grew tired of clubbing around school, some people took off to town. At that time, there was Timber and women were fondled on car hoods and weed was smoked late into the night. Those involved with cougars or sugar daddies typically frequented Tamasha. Meanwhile, folks like me headed to Poa Place. Back then, my friend Omosh would drive us, and we’d swing by for not-so-affordable drinks and pork (which everyone in Eldoret seems to do) before drinking. We would hit up at some joint. A cool, respectable spot that attracted quite a few lovely ladies. I remember my lawyer friend Nel, in his late 30s but well-maintained, hooking up with a young woman he had just met (she was possibly 21 and in uni). She was petite but stunning, and her figure was something a man would crave to enjoy. Her waist, hips, and backside were particularly remarkable, and she danced with an enchanting grace.
She was hanging out with another girl and a young guy who resembled a friendzoned fellow, who probably rubbed their feet and brought Mara Moja in the morning while the two ladies were dealing with a nasty hangover. Pato decided to make a move. He bought the guy two Pilsners (the drink favored by young men rebelling against the national favorite—Tusker). He also got the other girl either a Kingfisher some similarly short and stout beverage in an unattractive bottle. The point is, a woman who chooses Kingfisher a) a novice drinker, b) generally short, c) a college student, d) likely to share her fries with others, e) lacking sophistication, f) all of the above. The young attractive girl opted for Black Ice, a drink known to have helped men in this town hook up since 2002.
They didn’t refuse. When I stepped out and returned, Nel was kissing her passionately with his tongue deep in her mouth, and she clung to him as if he was giving her a kiss that could save her life. It was the most intense, sensual kiss I had ever witnessed in a club. I even noticed her toes curling. Nel firmly gripped her ample backside with surprising skill, massaging it delicately; I had to look away as other parts of me were becoming excited.
You know my buddy Omosh once introduced me to a woman I had brought along. However, since Omosh was the one driving and buying drinks, the woman switched her allegiance. I'm accustomed to this kind of behavior in this indulgent city. Then Vax appeared. It is a good club, spacious, but it showed up too late in the evening. And then there was the strip club. I once took a glance inside and saw a naked woman with a potbelly and sagging breasts. I was asked to pay Sh 500. Instead, I opted for fries and chicken at a nearby fast-food joint.
Yet throughout my clubbing experiences in Eldoret, we have purposely overlooked Timber XO. We passed by once or twice, but I never actually had a drink there. It IS always way too crowded, and half the people were acquaintances from college. Female classmates accompany unattractive men, whereas male classmates were always with lovely women. XO has an air of class.
I’m not sure of Banias. Last year , I went with my friend Max and the place was so packed that I could only find room for one leg. It was filled with college kids. You know, those young, energetic women fluttering around the club like atoms, clutching smartphones and chewing gum, along with smokies, samosas, and anything edible at a club. They are infuriatingly forward, overflowing with hormones and pheromones. The type that readily gives lap dances to their financially struggling college boyfriends while winking at the guy across the table, whom they discreetly hand their number to in the restroom, 43 minutes later. They meet him for coffee the following Tuesday, where she denies and renounces her boyfriend, just like Peter did when questioned about his connection to Jesus.
By Saturday, the man brings him to a bigger club where beers cost Sh 500, leaving no opportunity to encounter the college boyfriend, who is likely imbibing Kenya Cane in his room, pondering her whereabouts (she mentioned she would be visiting her aunt in shags), but he knows that’s just a little white lie. It goes without saying how the story concludes.
Two months ago, my friend Gesimba invited me to join him at XO. He was accompanied by his girlfriend, one of the most attractive women in Kenya, along with a stunning girl from Central Kenya who had a body from Nyanza. Her figure was so exceptionally curvy, she must have had a Luo parent. So, off we went to XO.
At precisely 9:47 pm, we arrived. Right from the start, the place felt incredibly dull, and it struck me that despite their recent renovations, the club was lifeless. Even if Beyoncé performed there in the nude, it would never regain its former glory. Its prime days are long gone. Kenyans have moved on and are quite relentless; once they decide to move on, they don’t look back. Their renovations and upgrades are impressive (the décor is top-notch), with stunning counter lighting and shiny glass elements (I’m not sure what they’re called), lending the club a hint of elegance. Yet, it still bored me.
You can identify a club on its last legs by observing the expressions of its waitstaff. If they look fatigued, disenchanted, and sad, it’s because they are acutely aware of the precariousness of their jobs. A few patrons had just purchased their initial drinks and quickly realized the club was not going to liven up.
As usual, I felt too stiff and shy to dance, so I opted to observe the crowd in the club. There was a couple seated across from us at a high table. The girl was beautiful, dark-skinned, and of average height, donning a floral top and dark jeans. She was moderately attractive with a shapely figure. Her natural hair was short and secured at the back with a band or string, and she wore simple shoes. Her partner appeared to be the nerdy type, with a chocolate complexion, sporting small, professional glasses, and fiddling with a thin, elongated smartphone even as she tried to draw his attention with her chest. They both seemed to be in their 20s.
The chick appeared incredibly eager to win the boy's approval. Meanwhile, the boy seemed intent on not returning the sentiment. Perhaps she had betrayed him, and he couldn't find it within himself to forgive her, or maybe he was simply foolish. His nonchalant disinterest was so pronounced that she even attempted to kiss him, but he turned his head away, making her kiss nothing but air. There was a moment when she tried to rub her bottom against him, yet he faced away entirely. I have witnessed sheep act with more grace. She even forced several selfies with him, and he complied, though it was clear he was less than enthusiastic. He could either be a jerk, a sterile man, or an unfeeling bastard. Or perhaps the girl had committed a serious wrongdoing; could it be an abortion?
They remained there until 1:03 am. Around 1:20 am, the club started to get busier. A group of Nigerians entered, exuding over-the-top confidence. One of them was clad entirely in white, which usually suggests those who wear all-white clothing or white trousers are either narcotics traffickers or human smugglers. What caught my eye, however, was the woman accompanying them. She was tall, dark-skinned, slender, and had long legs (with just enough curves to captivate). She was attractive, though not extraordinarily so. Her braids were stylishly arranged on her head. She resembled one of those girls who excel academically and study demanding subjects like Engineering or Bio-Chemistry at Moi. Her dress was the shortest black one I had seen in what felt like a year. It hardly covered her backside and left only a couple of inches of her thighs exposed at the front. The kind of dress you'd pull off or push up once you get home, intoxicated and ready for action. Without a doubt, she was planning to get lucky that night, regardless of the facade of sophistication she maintained. As men, our shared fascination lies in the sight of a girl who appears so accomplished and composed brought down to a more primal level. It gives us hope that there's at least one man out there who experiences it unprotected. It only seems just.
The Nigerians danced as if they were villagers from the Hausa region or Igbos performing a ritual in a forest. They were unsightly. Goodness, I can't stand them. At one point, I witnessed a bouncer forcefully toss one of them out of the club. I wished he would do the same to the rest of the group. I noticed a man offer a stool, complete with a cushion, to the woman. It was a deceptive form of gallantry, but seeing her radiate happiness made it clear she would be letting loose that night. This strategy is always effective.
In another table sat two large, dark-skinned women. They could be Luo, considering their physiques, and one didn't shy away from showing off her curves. They likely were sisters, resembling each other quite a bit. While drinking some whiskey or gin, the name of which I couldn't quite catch, one donned a form-fitting dress that revealed the contours of her backside, leaving little to the imagination. She was somewhat rigid and hardly danced, giving off the impression that she had just flown in from the UK or another European country that has a reputation for winter. However, they appeared to be older, probably in their late 20s or early 30s. They were exchanging banter with a group of men who could have been cousins, neighbors, or friends. Or perhaps lovers, though I had no interest in that. Yet, they possessed a certain primal allure. The kind of magnetism that would require a man to down five boiled eggs, three Red Bulls, and take Viagra to even consider approaching them. You can gauge the energy needed to please a woman by how she dances; the more intense the moves, the more energy required. Personally, I would never get involved with a Jamaican dancer.
Then entered the most gorgeous woman of the evening. Although petite, her face radiated 100% beauty. She looked youthful, probably in her early 20s and attending college. Clad in a snug grey dress that perfectly showcased her figure, she was accompanied by a tall, young man dressed impeccably in crisp white trousers and a black shirt. They appeared to be quite the couple. I attempted to steal glances at her, hoping she'd follow me to the restroom as often happens. Or perhaps outside. She had captivating eyes, the kind that suggest she knows how to charm her partner. Or was it the boy? I recognized that look. She caught my gaze, and I gestured for her to join me. As I stepped outside, she continued to watch me. Once more, I went to the restroom, and she noticed me again, looked my way, seemed to understand my thoughts, but chose to disregard them.
***
It was a frustrating evening. But that's what clubbing is all about. I enjoy observing couples. Those who are likely to go raw that night, perhaps without protection. And those who probably will, likely using protection. You can often tell by her outfit and the way she moves on the dance floor. If she is dressed revealingly and dances energetically while both are intoxicated, you can bet they're going to be intimate without protection that night. In the club, everything revolves around alcohol and unabashed sexual behavior.
I can easily spot couples who aren't getting along. I can see a man struggling to purchase drinks, perhaps spending money he can't afford—maybe his rent or school fees. He's usually glum and often checks the time. You can identify a guy who's being taken advantage of. You can also know when a man isn't going to sleep with the woman that night. I understand the feeling of sharing drinks with a woman who, at the end of the night, pays for her own nduthi and kisses you on the cheek while you’re still eager to stop by Koinange or another club for some chips.
I appreciate witnessing the blatant intentions of men. Watching them touch and caress women's bodies is intriguing. I enjoy seeing women getting excited on the dance floor or within the club as the alcohol courses through them. Around the time they begin kissing strangers, giving lap dances, and swapping numbers—saving them as Deno-Shamoon and she saves him as Sharon-Shamoon Haven. Those moments, usually around 4:30, when patrons are exiting the club, while the waitstaff resembles a snake that has exhausted its venom, or a man who has just finished in bed. Those moments when someone is exploring a woman in a corner as if searching for oil. Some have tried to have sex, often to unfortunate outcomes due to either bouncers intervening or the risk of an unwanted pregnancy.
I love it when "Pombe Sigara" plays, electrifying the club and making women move as if tomorrow doesn’t exist. Ultimately, we all attend clubs for different reasons. Some go to get drunk. Some go to dance. Some aim to hook up. Some want to recover from a breakup. And others escape the confinement of their homes.
The most memorable sight I’ve encountered in a club was a man dancing to "Lingala Ya Yesu" in Kisii town. This tall man, wearing a cap reminiscent of Pitson’s in his video, danced extraordinarily well, at times mimicking the part of ‘ukipewa ka guitar tu’. He was genuinely enjoying himself, smiling and having a blast. I guess that embodies the essence of clubbing. A lifestyle that I am willingly leaving behind as I strive for greater things in life.
Keep it The Deal.
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