I come from a place where
we value brother hood, through discipline and Umiri “these are dos and don’ts according to Ameru culture”
instilled in us during rite of passage we maintain the age-group ranks.
I receive this phone call
from my longtime friend Kimwana, ‘not his real name though’. He is my childhood
buddy, from sound of his voice there seems some urgency as he echoed through
the phone speaker. Immediately I knew that he meant business. This is the
person whom when you get a phone call from, you should get a backup plan. He is
a serious illicit purchaser and a great larynx wetter.
With the humility of a Bishop,
hands in my pockets, I tiptoe in dimly lit Murinya
bar and Rest. This is our local bar usual meeting place. Everyone here knows
everyone, darting my eyes I caught Kimwana’s heavily built body sited squarely
at the furthest corner.
This guy deserved respect
bwana; having graduated from KDF
(Kenya Defense Forces) combat school, it was a reason enough to summon me with
such urgency. He had landed straight from the recruit camp after several months
of combat training. There, in Lanet Forces Training Camp, I hear, is where they
are hardened and taught various deep tissue massaging techniques, dodging of bullets
and hostile handling methods. But now he is here, back home, for illicit buying
revenge mission. Having spoilt his gullet previously before he joined the
forces, my die was cast.
I settle myself on a
chair next to Kajana the village commander in chief and self-declared chief of
staff at KASWA (Kamunyonta Swallows).
He is the feared local daily throat irrigator and a perennial troublemaker. He
earned the name village commander in chief after he single handedly clobbered
three full grown men in a single combat.
The last time he was seen
in near sober state “Nguku Niciaumagaga”
translated as, ‘chicken were urinating’. I am ready to irrigate my gullet
proper. Sited with village top notch gullet irrigators, I felt inconsiderably
misplaced, this is their field where they exemplary excel.
I had not taken two lungs
of air before my front view was graced with a Kibondi. This is highly potent, liver intoxicating stuff. A third-generation illicit drink so tough, not recommended for lightheaded
individuals, especially if you are green in the fields of throat irrigation.
I heard Kamenchu the
self-proclaimed village professor vomited after taking six of the potent devil,
the grass where he vomited burnt instantly like the Moses bush in the bible. If
consumption of throat wetting fluids was a sport, this is where Kamencu core
competency fell squarely.
With these ninjas
surrounding your table, it was clear someone had a plan to assassinate me using
alcohol in bold day light. But “mimi ni
nani?” From where I stood, I couldn’t see how I was going to hold my
faculties straight for long without passing out.
These guys are serious
throat irrigators, and I didn’t come here to show fear of a hangover in the
presence of a cut Baite, no. I held
my head up like a real Baite. I excused
my liver for holidays, executed my faculties and immersed my soul into merry
and peace.
We poured this bitter
concoction down our gullets like we were on a trophy seeking mission. With
stories from the training camp spicing the event and Demethew tracks (..’Ngoma
ciakwa ikainaga....) it loses its flair in translation, ‘my devils will sing’
bursting through the air, time was at a slow motion. The poison was flowing
freely, and we were really having a good time.
We had not taken three of
our Kibondi’s poison when Tosh ‘short
for Gitonga’ showed up tagged along with Munyua and Kinoti. Tosh threatens to
purchase all liquid content on the counter display including the barmaid. We
take him seriously, taking note it was end month and his pocket was loaded
proper. Money comes with heat and power. He is a Ninja of considerable and mighty
procurement capabilities.
Immediately the table we
are in is flowered with KBL products in different intoxicating varieties and
makes his entourage highly noted. Let me tell you, if you sit down to take beer
with these guys and your throat is weak with an empty trebling stomach then,
you can find yourself dispatched to heaven in a blink of an eye. These are kind
of guys who can swallow considerably huge amount of highly potent illicit bear
like they are taking milk.
They will walk head high
and leave you staggering like a slay queen who has over gulped Tuskers Cider. You
see, if there is an alcohol drink which was manufactured to bring aridity
shamelessly in men’s pockets in presence of a female gender, it is this bear Shinda ‘Tusker Cider’. We baptized it shinda after it showed successfully it
can bring immeasurable poverty in men’s pockets.
Especially on a mission
to entice and win her heart, you can purchase quiet a lot before she gets
drunk. If by bad luck you guest a potbellied one, be assured to embarrass your
pockets if not loaded proper. Its alcohol content is arguably near that of
water (zero) and I have no respect for any male who gets his head intoxicated
with this product.
More beer is served, and
English is taking over our mother tongue, especially for those who never
completed pupillage. If you are not used to this den, you would think parliament
is in section, the kind of debates which goes on here makes you wonder why Ole
kiyapi dreamt of becoming the president of Kenya. We are seriously discussing
matters of national importance. The kind of ideas thrown here could make the
Kenyatta cabinet sitting look like a grade 1 pupils in session.
I test my balance as I
walk to the urinals, and I can feel my feet failing me. Then Kim, ‘short for
Kimathi’ (long live wachia) walks in.
This guy can embarrass when buying you bear. You cannot exult his purchasing
capabilities. I didn’t know he was back from the capital. This was not Christmas,
so such a face was not expected to grace such environs at the time of the year.
I can attest this for
free, that I am a lover of life in its diversities and peace is my solace, but
when threatened in any way I respond in two ways. One, I fight head on, and
two, I can try to take Uasin Bolt by surprise, and I break his record. Precariously this was not a day for fights,
especially your opponent is highly intoxicating liquid.
“Lete crate kwa hii
meza”...that was Kim’s voice buzzing through the air ordering more beer as he
settled on a chair next to Tosh. That statement makes me start seeing Moses'
milking cows in heaven. In a blurred imagination I started sensing trouble.
There is no way I was going
to commit suicide wetting my tonsils, no. With so many options at my disposal,
including throwing myself in front of a moving Kiunu ‘a lorry used to ferry tea leaves from the buying center to
the tea factory for processing’. Even on a suicide mission I cannot choose beer
as a tool for ending my dear life.
It was quiet a gesture,
but my eyes had started seeing rainbows, the moment when every female in the
houses have a beautiful figure than that of Vera Sidika. A very dangerous state
of mind to trust your mental judgment capabilities, I guess.
My throat was already
hydrated beyond a certain threshold, and I was ready to abandon ship before I
embarrass my faculties in presence of respected men. Stealthy like a marine
behind enemy lines, I mingled my way out of KASWA,
staggering like a three-legged stool and vanished into the darkness.
I don’t know how I made
it home that day, but it was a near fatal life experience in the line of
wetting my arid larynx. So, for such guys, with honour in line with virtues of
charity and philanthropy in sharing fluids of intoxicating varieties, I salute
you all. In futile, those who always try to assassinate me with beer, I greatly
admire your courage.
These, are such friends
you don’t call, text or meet in years but when you come face to face, it will
be like you talked yesterday. Kind of guys, who will come visiting you on a
hospital bed with a Kane “a near
fatal potent illicit bear” smuggled in a Dasani bottle, make a joke of your
pain and you forget your miseries, may your pockets never lack. Those guys, who
will come knocking on your doorsteps, because they don’t trust your near-death
silence, May God have a special place for you.
And life needs such
besties. Because we are the Hommies!
**********
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