My mama said to me, ‘Son, you live in a big bad city, please be careful of those girls. Come marry from the village when the time comes’.
Mama grew up in a different time and doesn’t understand our current world. Me, marry a village girl? I’d rather die than resign.
Having schooled and lived in this big bad city of Nairobi for more than five years, I figured myself smart enough to know all the pitfalls including the now infamous slay queen.
On a lively Sunday afternoon earlier this year, I stopped by Two Rivers Shopping mall to enjoy the beauty of the dancing fountains of water in a country where people still die of famine every so often. I was enjoying some take away roast chicken on the concrete benches when I spotted her taking selfies against the backdrop of the fountains.
She was in blue high waist rugged jeans and a black crop-top (in my mama’s days they were called tumbo-cuts). She was very pretty face wise, and curvaceous, with very fair skin, what Nairobians refer to as yellow-yellow or minji-minji. The americans call them redbone. Her friend was the usual seemingly ugly duckling that accompanies the queen bee to make her look even hotter. They both seemed to be in their mid-twenties.
Having heard so much about the dangers of the Nairobi yellow-yellow, I thought I might approach and find out for myself. Is it true what they say about these girls? I was going to stick my head into this so called dangerous territory, after all not all of them are bad surely. If it turns bad, I will cut and run.
I said hello and introduced myself.
‘Hi, am Tracy’, she responded with an American accent that I could not place to any particular American city.
You know how you can tell which American city or state someone comes from by their accent? Well, her accent must have been from the State of Television. It was fake.
Chit chat here and there, then I asked, ‘What do you do for a living?’
Now listen carefully. If you ask a Nairobi girl what she does for a living and she responds, ‘online’, be very very afraid.
True, various online businesses are keeping many youth employed in the face of massive job cuts in our economy. However, the slay queens have found a way to easily hide what they truly do by pretending to engage in online businesses. The danger sign that a girl is engaged in suspect income generation activities with her body is when she tells you she works online but does not tell you specifically what she does. Tinder is not a job.
Another danger sign is when she tells you she sells clothes from home but she is out of stock at the moment and she does not have any pictures to show you because she had a problem with her phone and lost all the pics.
The Nairobi slay queen’s real business is provision of pleasure to rich old men and loaded foreigner’s who engage in suspect business.
‘We live together in Roysambu, in a two-bedroom along TRM drive’, she said.
Another danger sign.
We exchanged numbers and I promised to call her for a drink the following Friday. I was not kidding; I was ready to experience these so called dangers that people talk of. You only live once plus I am too smart to be conned by some dumb yellow thang.
Friday evening, we met at Brew Bistro Westlands, a joint popular with the expatriate crowd. She showed up with her friend and explained that she felt safer that way being that she didn’t know me well. Fair enough, I said, how much can they really drink? We had one round of cocktails, which they sipped decently before she suggested we move to Sankara Hotel for a bite then head home to my place. It’s that easy?
‘Babe, they have the best mishkaki in town, I swear’.
I was already being called babe. I should have questioned that but my eyes were feasting on her thick and smooth yellow thighs exposed from under her white hot pants. The way she looked at me with those lazy sexy eyes, all I could think of was how soon I was going to taste the flow of her two rivers. I forgot that this was meant to be just an experiment which I had sworn was just for fun and I would pull out as soon as the danger became too big to bear. But she called me babe.
The bible says if your eyes cause you to sin, gouge them out. Read the bible and follow it please.
Now, Sankara Hotel is that hotel in a third world country with a glass bottom swimming pool that protrudes from the edge of the roof and you can enjoy the view of second hand Japanese vehicles stuck in traffic below as you swim.
As the lift made its way up to the Champagne Bar, I had a brief lucid moment where I thought of backing out. But I thought how bad can it be really, how much can they drink really?
I have had beer at company events held at 5 star hotels before and a bottle usually goes for about 400 shillings with cocktails at about twice the amount. I figured between the 3 of us we wouldn’t spend more than ten thousand for mshikaki and maybe two rounds of drink. It was just after payday and I had about 10,000 cash in wallet, 5,000 on Mpesa and 20,000 in my bank account. But I had left my ATM at home because surely 15,000 was more than enough.
Tracy seemed to have noticed my mind was a bit distracted because she put her arm around my waist and she rested her head on my shoulder, then whispered, ‘Sweets, are you okay? Your mind seems to be far’.
The titillating feel of her naked mid-thigh against my trouser brought me back to the present. That hot pant was hot and ten thousand isn’t much, I would still have about 20,000 to push me to end month. I thought these yellow-yellows are really expensive? Nah, seems not, I can handle this.
I didn’t bother to look at the menu as the girls placed their orders. I didn’t want to look cheap. I just asked for my usual cold Whitecap. They ordered 3 chicken samosas, 3 chicken skewers, water and two Cordon rouge. I thought Cordon rouge is a cocktail but it’s not. Later I learnt It’s a champagne. I mean, we were at the Sankara’s Champagne bar, right? Well, the upper head stops thinking once the lower head engages gear.
The place was boring but the girls seemed to enjoy
themselves taking selfies. I guess that’s the reason they really wanted to go there, for Instagram glory. With an eye.
Four hours later at 4 am, the bill arrived. My friend, have you ever been awake and wished you were dreaming? I fell short of breath and started sweating profusely. I became weak at the knees, my hands shook and my soul must have done a flip flop because I thought I was having an out of body experience. Wueh!
‘Is this really our bill? Please confirm there must be a mistake’, I told the polite waiter.
Have you ever felt drunk and sober simultaneously? We went through that bill item by item, no longer afraid to be seen as stingy because the real fear now was prison time.
Do you know chicken samosas cost 800 shillings at Sankara? I thought you should know.
Skewers cost 1,300 shillings and one of those Cordon rouge goes for 14,000 shillings. The bill came to forty-two thousand shillings and I had only fifteen on me. I tried to transfer the twenty thousand balance in my bank account to Mpesa but I couldn’t remember the bank pin. Shock my friend, shock.
Even if I had managed I would still have fallen short by 7,000.
I will spare you all the tribulations and embarrassment that rained on me that day. But to cut a long story short, my elder brother had to leave his wife in bed at 4:30 am on a Saturday morning and come bail me out with this sinful bill which was incurred in under four hours. To teach me a lesson, he made it clear it was a loan, took all the cash that I had on me and demanded that I pay him the balance by end month.
And just incase you are wondering whether I chewed the goods and whether they were worth it…. let me tell you the truth. It took an hour for my brother to drag himself from deep slumber, leave his angry wife and drive to Westy to save me from the road to the police cell. By the time he dropped us at my place it was 6 am. I was extremely sleepy, exhausted, sober-drunk and half past dead. I collapsed into bed like molten candle and when the girls lay beside me, I couldn’t feel a thing. I didn’t rise to the occasion because I blacked out.
Did we have a threesome when I woke up at noon? No, they were gone. No twosome, no threesome. Long gone.
My sisters, this is why I support CS Matiangi when he says our girls have been spoilt. I support him as he embarks on the drive to rid Nairobi of foreign drug dealers who use their deep pockets to spoil our young girls. My only request is: Is it possible to also deport the married and wealthy Kenyan babas who sponsor our young slay queens? We should send them to Timbuktu and build a Mexican wall to keep them away from our girls.
After inspecting the house to ensure they didn’t carry anything else, I called mom. Atleast they didn’t take my phone.
‘Mama, I am ready to get married now’, I whimpered.
She could tell that something was wrong.
‘Come home son, come let us find you a good wife’, she said.
Verily I say unto you, the sound of your mother’s voice will bring you to tears. I wept.
I packed my bags and headed home. I had to call my boss and inform him I was taking a few sick days off.
I hate you Nairobi, I hate you.
And Tracy, whatever your real name is, I hate you too.