Can’t get any better than this...
By Ohaga Ohaga
I have never been a party animal. Meaning I hardly go out raving or roving. Clubbing or attending get- together parties or parties of whatever nature- whether day or night, funeral gathering or wedding ceremony.
It is one of my many unwritten ground rules.
Stay at home, watch movies, read a book, write an article or scribe a poem is what I enjoy doing particularly on a chilly Saturday evening.
This Saturday however, was different. After staying indoors for the better part of the day, mainly scribing poems with little music in the background and few interruptions from a noisy lady neighbor, I received a call from Jaybee.
JB is one dude who never calls. So when he did I thought this was either serious or interesting.
Before I move on, I bet you would like to know why I don’t like partying- anyone within my age bracket would love clubbing with half -dressed younglings with beer in one hand and cigar on the other.
Well, let’s just say I don’t like anything that interrupts my sleeping pattern because I have a serious chronic insomnia. And since I hadn’t slept for the last three nights, I had figured I would catch some this Saturday.
Well, until that maiden call from Jaybee. Like I had said this lad seldom phones but here he is.
Kijana where you? Where else could I be? I asked myself before replying- in Kibera. Of course you are in Kibera he said, where exactly he asked.
It is nine at night where could I be besides the house, I pondered again before replying- in the house.
In the house where? To avoid many questions I told him Ayany. That’s where I live. Well, do you know a club called Pentagon in Gatwikira? He asked just when I thought he was done. Yes I do. Okay we are heading there, want to come?
Like I had previously mentioned, I hardly go out, particularly at night for the now obvious reasons.
Nevertheless, after some soul searching, I decided to go. After all rules are made to be broken.
Hold on a second. Have I told you who JB is? No I haven’t. Good. JB is one hell of guy.
A character of characters. Besides being my brother, he is a fine cheat and refined liar, a player by all descriptions and a ladies’ man. (Never seen him with the same woman twice) lastly, he is one of the deserving Kenyan celebrities you haven’t heard about.
He produces three great interactive programs at Kenya Broadcasting Corporation- (KBC) with the name Grapevine, Divas, and Unfinished.
So the moment he told me he was coming to Kibera, I probably thought he was coming to shoot one of the shows.
At nine thirty, I was off the house to the club. One the way, I met several drunk young men and women staggering their way through the muddy, filthy trenches of the slum.
Being at night with no proper lighting in the area, I found myself lost and sekeed direction from one resident.
He gave me clear instructions and moments later, I was at the Pentagon pub.
I almost passed it. Weren’t for the small banner “Dr. Osito Kale performing live”, I probably could have walked straight past it.
The building hosting the club or should I say the ramshackle in which the pub is hosted is one thing that needs extreme make over – and I mean extremely extreme.
Everything here needs to be redone and should have been done yesterday.
The pub is located deep in the heart of sprawling highly sewer trenched Gatwikira slums.
In front of the pub, are these culverts uselessly put in the trenches to control the sewer line.
The door to the pub is an old wooden, with old paints signaling the years it has survived.
The roof from outside just like inside is hanging loosely threatening to fall anytime, with old, discolored and mismatched iron sheets held together with rust and stones precariously placed on it.
An odor hits me so hard, almost choking as I move close to the main entrance. I pause for a second and then ask a 5.6’’ black bald shaved guy standing stone face at the door.
Is the KBC crew inside? He looks at me with contempt shrugging his shoulders before answering no.
Good enough I say and then retreat as I withdraw my big black phone and call the lad.
How come they ain't here? I ponder, waiting for the call to go through. The last time I checked, he had confirmed his presence in the place.
Perhaps they are but not recording; I reckon as the phone gets through. He picks it up and seconds later emerge from the club already sweating.
He must have been dancing hard. He pays the gate fee and we proceed in wards.
The place like I had thought is already crowded, with middle aged men sipping their misery away.
I do a quick scan and notice several young men and women shaking their booties. Also in the dance floor are familiar faces, Odongo a.k.a Chairman and Erico.
The two are close friends and former and current classmates to JB.
Odongo works for the government while Erico writes/edits for The People Daily. I think all of them are now classing at University Of Nairobi.
After exchanging pleasantries JB cues me to hijab and buibui dressed, slim chocolate complexioned pretty lady.
She is sitting comfortably in one of the few skeleton wooden made sofas.
I don’t think I have met her so I move on to say hello. She had a Somali accent she must be one.
Her name is Mohammed- (I am not so sure of the name) - but then again you can’t blame me, the place was so noisy.
She tells me JB has dragged her to the place. Dragged her or drugged her, I am not sure. Again, the place was noisy. Well, here we are. Let the party begin.
I don’t see any seats anywhere and I don’t want to stand so I decide to shake some leg with the Odongo and Erico.
Few minutes elapses and a get tap on my shoulder. I turn around and my eyes meet Elias Odero. A former classmate and friend.
He lives here in Gatwikira. Hardly speaks Swahili- insists we speak dholuo. Music stops and Elias directs me to a seat and then the party goes one with Osito Kale a reputable Luo artiste with great compositions dropping hit after another.
Everything is so far so good. Apart from the sweat and poorly dressed patrons.
Then things started happening, one tee-shirted, cheap trouser dressed lad who I will call DS for Drunk master gets into a fight with one of his drunk pals and later the fight spills to us. Erico to be exact.
Now the baby faced Erico as I had learnt from their conversation with Odongo had drunk at least seven bottles of beer.
But the guy was still very stable like he had just taken one. You must give it up for this dude. No wonder he wears a baby face.
DS for reasons we did not understand was spooling for a fight. No one knows exactly where the trouble started but all we I know is that for the next thirty minutes adrenalin was running so high with nerves shaken and constantly resisting my big arms from breaking this dude’s jaw.
Confrontation continued with both sides trying to threaten the other as the two throw few misguided punches here and there catching no one.
Eric so angry and gets even angrier when the drunken master tells him to go ahead and hit him. Crowds gather and we are now at the center of attraction. JB, Odongo, Elias, and myself and other patrons trying their best to separate the two- all in futility.
We all get frustrated and decide to let everything be. Moments later the temperature goes down.
Erico leaves for fresh air. While the DS brags how he can do what he can’t do. The hubbub is over.
Its eleven thirty five and Mohammed our lady guest is so shaken. She demands to leave.
We all agree, and start off only for Erico to emerge from his fresh air thing and take his half consumed bottle of beer.
Our “ small post election violence is finally over as Kibaki and Raila now Erico and DS shake hands. The party continues.
All said and done, Pentagon Pub or club- whatever it is deserves thumbs up for bringing Osito Kale to Kibera.
Nonetheless, if the club needs my presence again, it must seriously do some makeup. Starting with the removal of hard benched seats, better lighting and sound, quality service, and improved walls and roof.
To avoid patrons peeing on the walls, some few washrooms will go a long way.
In the meantime, I think I will stick to my music and books at home.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment