We had just arrived at the club, strutting in like, Heeey there Fridaaay! Welcome back you sexy son of a bitch! We’ve been looking for you since Monday.
My step-sister, Semhar, is such a mwenyeji. Despite how crowded the club was, she found a table at a good spot with minimal effort. Thank God for Ethiopian girls huh? A few minutes into the rave, her eyes began to flicker into darkness. Quite the view. A pretty lady with rounded cheek bones, proportionally slim nose, high trimmed brows and tiny lips from which saliva flowed and dripped onto her right bun. Sigh. I was happy though. With Semhar asleep, I wouldn’t have to satisfy her insatiable 19-year old fetish for expensive whiskey and sheesha. Now don’t get me wrong. I love her to bits. But if you’re a first borne, you feel me on this one. A night of zero responsibilities would be nice.
Meanwhile at the table, the squad was sucking life out of me. My cousin, Alex, was whispering into Linda’s (his girlfriend) ear while she giggled. Kevin, elder brother to Alex, was deeply engrossed in coordinating his feet, waist and crotch to suit the speed of Emma’s (his girlfriend) bubbling butt. On the left, my best friend Grace was dribbling things on her phone. I bent to snoop; it’s Nkurunziza (her paramour). He’s all the way in Rwanda so she’s obviously not trying to get him to come to the club.
If you had worn the super tight and revealing red dress or the floral one, as I had suggested, that guy over there would be chatting you up. But you had to wear those jeans. And overlay with that scarf. I thought.
Lucky for her, the last time I mixed alcohol with advice I lost my wig. Moreover, Grace had already explained that she had left her boyfriend in the house and didn’t want to make it obvious that she would have so much fun without him.
So there I was…with nothing else to do but scout the perimeter for any gorilla juice heads looking my way. As far as drinking was concerned, I was done for the night. We had downed glasses of cocktails in town and although I had only had three glasses, every man was already beginning to seem so handsome and funny. Look, I used to be a very good drinker. But due to religious pursuits, I quit alcohol. However, any weekend spent with the squad usually leads me to unquit then quit on Monday.
Then I saw John hukoooo, next to the stairs leading to the lounge. In a few, I was there holding him up, grappling on each other for a hug. He began to smother my face with kisses and trying to take selfies while doing it. Poor John was too drunk for the selfie business so he handed his phone to an equally drunk stranger to do it. While he was busy asking the waiter to bring me wine, I took his phone and deleted the photos. John is the type to put up photos of him in a pool of different girls on Instagram every Monday, with a caption: Weekend Happened. I wasn’t willing to go that public. Besides quitting booze, I had also quit boys! Ha! So when he tried to kiss me again, on the lips this time, I pushed him and typical of him, he walked away pissed. I escorted my awesomeness back to the table, carrying my bottle of red, sweet wine.
Dude won’t even ask how I’ve been. Just wanna dip his tongue in my throat, I thought.
Back at the table, a dude was chatting Grace up! Well, he was too grandpa-ish for my liking but what the feck! I was just happy that my boo boo kitty was off Zuckerberg’s radar and onto the club’s menu of goodies.
Afro beats came up and I stood to dance. A tall man appeared from behind me and began to bust some alluring moves.
“I’m Brian. Can I dance with you?” He whispered into my ear.
After surveying and approving of his looks, his tight shirt, the nice body that came with it and that nice ass (the type you want to watch walk around your house in tight black Calvin Klein’s), I drew closer.
A few minutes later, a short light untidy guy with a checked shirt tied around his waist tapped my Brian on the back. Brian turned and they kissed on the lips. There went my Calvin Klein fairy tale!
By this time the ladies bathroom is usually characterized with restless girls who need to pee, poop or puke and are agitated because someone’s taking too long in there. The queuing and restlessness was all going well until a woman the size of a table, walked in.
“Mnaangalia?” She bellowed, in an attempt to reprimand us for staring at her.
“Choo!” the girl behind me retorted, causing everyone to break into either loud or sarcastic laughter.
The next thing I saw was the girl who was behind me on the floor being kungfu-ed.
I need to pee and flee this scene ASAP, I thought.
When I left, the poor girl was on the floor being punched in the face. Trust me, unless you’re the world champion of the International Federation of Bodybuilding and Fitness, you wouldn’t have tried to break that fight.
Back at the table, Grace was getting pissed off by the oldie. Last I checked, he had done a good job maintaining a constant flow of Tequila Rosé. He had topped it all with a bottle of champagne.
“The man has a wife! Apparently, he usually goes out with her but she is in Ethiopia. And I remind him of her so he’s feeling inclined to please me,” Grace said, seeming weary and bored to the core.
“If his vibe doesn’t cut it anymore just ignore him,” I advised.
Grace moved and sat between Alex and Kevin. Grandpa wasn’t too thrilled by her decision. So he kept signaling her frantically. Winking, waving, snapping his fingers and clapping even. Poor guy even tugged at my weave. M-Y W-EA-VE! In an effort to get me to signal her for him. But Grace was on full-gear ignore. The man hoped onto a seat closer to where she had moved like a monkey in the woods, moving from tree to tree, in a bid to find a place to call home. His desperation led him to making those sounds shepherds make when guiding their flock.
Really dude! It’s 6a.m. Go home, I thought.
Hell broke loose.
“Do you know who I am? Listen young girl, don’t take me for a fool. I bought you drinks. You drunk my drinks and now you want to pretend that you do not know me. I want a refund!” He bellowed.
We all burst into laughter.
“It’s unfortunate,” Emma said sarcastically.
The man spiraled into 500 fury degrees Celsius.
“Young girl, I told you there is nothing I can do with you. Your friends are looking at me like I want to smash you and I am not even erected by you. What is wrong with you? You don’t know who I am,” he said reaching for his pocket. He pulled out a black thing from his pocket.
Gun! I thought pacing as far as I could from the table, even leaving my sister. In my attempt to escape, I tripped and fell face flat. Some guys helped me up. I later realized that the black thing I saw was the inside pocket cover of his jacket. He was pulling out a darn bottle of water which he sipped on as he walked towards the club’s gate.
We walked out of the club exchanging stories about the night and of course having a good laugh at my gun-scare fall.
That Friday night was quite something. It got me thinking, what’s in a Friday? Is it just me or is Friday overrated?
Well, Friday’s coming up. Go home, I’d say. A late night movie on your couch can’t be that bad of an option.