The waitress placed two Nairobis on the table. She shouted over the loud Reggae music to Kimbo, his girlfriend Joy and his mother that she would soon serve the remaining two East African cities. When the waitress bent to open one of the Nairobis, Kimbo noticed a white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace.’ Our three stars were in Club Bubbles in Naivasha, gurgling down Heineken’s City Edition.
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ placed two Dar es Salaams on the table, near Kimbo’s mother. The face of Kimbo’s mother resembled that of the Tanzanian president. She stretched and when she yawned, the Magufuli drawn on her T-shirt yawned with her. She took off her dark sunglasses. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ said it was night; don’t you see the shining lights all over the club?
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ popped one of the Dars open and Kimbo’s mother began sipping at it. Like Kimbo, she sipped her city straight from the bottle. Kimbo finished his Nairobi and held the bottle upside down and few drops fell on Joy’s thighs exposed by her black miniskirt. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ smiled and popped open Kimbo’s remaining Nairobi and went away with the empty one, promised to serve the rest of the cities. Kimbo could not quarrel with her that she was serving two bottles at a time. He noticed the few available beer trays were been used at the VIP booth.
Kimbo stared at the Magufuli drawn on his mother’s T-shirt and remembered his sister who resided in Tanzania. Betty had amended her name to Saida on migrating to Dar es Salaam. Discovered her father’s bad treatment of her mother, Kimbo knew she wouldn’t stay any longer. A friend fixed her an internship at CDEA in Mikocheni B and till this day they stay at Mwenge.
Magufuli won the elections. Kimbo watched Magufuli doing a clean-up of the city on TV and he developed a liking for the president. Kimbo wished the president would keep up being good. Then Magufuli sacked corrupt government officials and Kimbo was now following what the president would do next. Then, snubbed the other East African presidents and Kimbo remembered his father. Magufuli refused to celebrate Independence Day, Kimbo pretended to forget his father.
The face of Joy, Kimbo’s girlfriend, resembled that of the Ugandan President. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ placed two Kampalas in front of Joy and opened one. Delving into her black apron’s pocket at her waist, she fished a receipt and placed it under Joy’s unopened Kampala. Lifting the Kampala, Kimbo picked the receipt and stared at it like a doctor staring at a strange specimen.
Kimbo stared at Joy’s gurgling throat as she took a deep swig of her Kampala. That swig and the Kampala reminded him of his other sister. Akello was currently residing in Kampala. Being a friend of the Kenyan Opposition Leader, he had insisted on taking her along to Kampala to observe the elections. He had visited Kimbo at their Westlands house and requested to take Akello with him. Kimbo was furious his mother accepted. He couldn’t imagine his sister sleeping with the opposition leader in exchange of favours like the free return ticket, accommodation and the job he had promised her.
Kimbo’s sister would call him almost every night. She would narrate to him stories of elections being rigged. Kimbo would get furious and shout over the phone that that Museveni guy was already too old for politics. Akello would laugh and tease her brother to go over and shout to Museveni in person. She said Museveni will die in office. Kimbo’s mother was eavesdropping because the phone was loud enough for her to hear; she shouted Museveni could not afford to retire.
Later, Kimbo read his sister’s daring article on the Daily Monitor. He laughed on discovering Akello’s sense of humour for the first time. He was almost a decade younger than her. Akello said Museveni overthrew Milton Obote to become President, and that M7, as she nicknamed him, feared a rival like Besigye becoming president and perhaps plotting for something bigger than revenge.
Kimbo knew that the Kenyan Opposition Leader had influenced Akello’s article making it to the newspaper. Kimbo knew that KOL, as he later nicknamed the Kenyan Opposition Leader, was aiming at injuring M7’s reputation, the Kenyan President’s friend. Akello later confirmed this to Kimbo, saying KOL had disputes with M7 because the latter was the friend of KOL’s enemy.
Kimbo was taken aback. Only the other day on Citizen TV, he had seen the Kenyan President and KOL hugging during a Harambee the two attended in a PCEA church in Western Kenya. All along as they bowed their heads the pastor kept saying, “God, cleanse our land and persuade our leaders to embrace you.” Kimbo had wondered whether those prayers really got to heaven.
Today was Wednesday and a Champions League night. Almost 9:45, everybody’s eyes at Bubbles were focused on the numerous screens. Sami Kuffuor, Robert Marawa and a female analyst Kimbo had never seen before, were on all the TV stands on Super sport 3, analysing tonight’s games. Soon, Arsenal and Bayern Munich players jogged onto the pitch and the revellers gave a deafening roar.
Soon after, Neymar passed the ball to Lionel Messi as the FC Barcelona versus Juventus clash kicked off on Super Sports Select 2 in a TV set behind Kimbo, which the controller had just switched to. The crowd shouted; ‘let all the screens in the world show as we the Gunners shoot down Bayern.’ Arsenal was playing at home and Kimbo knew that must have cheered the fans on. Kimbo’s favourite club, Chelsea, had not made the quarterfinals; he preferred to watch Arsenal because Barcelona had edged out his club in the previous stage with a fake Messi penalty.
Kimbo had finished his second Nairobi. Joy was finishing her second Kampala and Kimbo’s mother sticking out her middle finger to Meisut Ozil on the screen as he scored. The revellers went crazy. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ came in with a tray full of a mixture of Nairobi, Dar and Kampala. DJ Dorphan Family at the front of the club dramatically lowered the volume to let the crowd’s roar soar to the sky.
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ shouted to Kimbo that the revellers at the VIP suite were drunk and that’s how she had stolen a tray. Her voice had a tinge of anger when she said the VIP guys were always adding ice cubes, lemon and water to their Red Label. Kimbo, his mother and his girlfriend laughed in a drunken way. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ said that because alcohol is alcohol it should be taken dry, but only Kimbo heard; the DJ had just turned up the music volume.
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ placed the cities on the table. Kimbo’s mother signalled at her to open her Dars and soon she was on the second one, holding the city by its neck, throat gurgling with action. Joy slapped Kimbo at the nape of the neck when she caught him gazing at Grace’s receding buttocks as she went for more cities. Joy glared hard at Kimbo.
Gazing at his mother, Kimbo’s hand went to his pocket; the car keys were still there. Kimbo thought he would have to carry his mother to the car because she was drinking beer like water. He was angry at himself; when the waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ came back with more cities and was about to open his two Nairobis, he waved her off. He wanted to control himself as the driver back to Nairobi.
The face of Kimbo resembled that of the Kenyan President. Kimbo was angry at his mother and he remembered why they had come here. Since Kimbo’s mother discovered his and Joy’s affair, she had become overprotective. Told Kimbo, “I do not want to lose my eldest son to pleasure like I lost your father.” Kimbo kept thinking his suspicion his father had cheated on his mother was true. He wanted to prove to his mother he was better than his father. That he could take care of himself. He had been shocked when his mother announced she would accompany him to Naivasha to have fun with his girlfriend.
“But Mother, that won’t be good.”
“I’m a woman who is your mother.”
“I know what is good for you.”
If his mother was Kimbo’s age mate, he would have slapped her hard.
“You know I am going to see my girlfriend and …”
She clicked and spat an empty one. Kimbo wondered whether she had gone insane. He knew Joy would perhaps think he was a mama’s boy. Kimbo couldn’t forget one night they went out to Club Rumourz in Nairobi. And a drunken old man tried to kiss Joy, his speckled tongue stuck out, his narrow eyes slightly closed like he was about to taste a cooking meat. Joy kicked at his balls and elbowed him at the back of the head as he bent to hold his hit groin. From that day he never looked at her in the eye. From that day he was baptised Bend Over.
Kimbo’s mother assured him he won’t disturb his and Joy’s peace. That she would ensure he is comfortable. Kimbo knew that by comfort, she meant she would even buy drinks for him and his girlfriend. That he also despised. But he would have preferred his mother to give him the money and be left at home. He would have been happy paying for the drinks; he wanted his girlfriend to appreciate him as a man. But because she wouldn’t budge, Kimbo, his mother and his girlfriend Joy finally drove to Bubbles.
Kimbo’s mother tried hard not to gaze at her son kissing and touching his girlfriend. Kimbo was now too drunk to care. He knew he would have to answer his girlfriend’s questions later. The revellers were now barely watching the football; only the few Arsenal haters, because Bayern’s Robert Lewandowski had headed in a rising David Alaba free-kick before Arjen Robben curled a swift bolt past Arsenal goalkeeper David Ospina. 85th minute, Kimbo knew hopes of Juventus beating Barcelona were shattered when Neymar scored past Juventus’ goalkeeper Gianluigi Buffon; Luis Suarez flew in the air, legs bared like a Jet Li and converted a Neymar volley into the net; Juve’s Andrea Pirlo was red carded for pointing at the referee.
Now the music was beating in rhythm with Kimbo’s heart. He drank on, eyes turning misty and becoming heavier and shining with bliss, his memory hazy. Unable to no longer press his legs together to suppress his urge, he walked off towards the toilets. His mother barely lifted her head to blink. She was drunk. She raised her Dar in the air to an imaginary being. He knew his mother had been overpowered by her city. Joy stood up and followed Kimbo.
Kimbo and Joy half-staggered towards the washrooms, arms entangled like a couple walking down the aisle. Stood and gazed at the giant mirror near the washrooms. The mirror stood full length between the ladies’ on the left and gents’ on the right. Joy was in black pants which held her body as tight as her tank top held her breasts. You would think her clothes owned her body because her body was a transparent map of disobedient latitudes and longitudes, a map of some sort. Turning to each other as if just realizing the presence of each other, their lips merged into a deep kiss. Other revellers visiting the washrooms did not pause to look at Kimbo and Joy, now glued together with their little magic.
They soon disengaged in slow motion, like they were an Indian film. Kimbo could not think of asking Joy whether she was as pressed as he had been. Also could not reflect back his being pressed had paused somehow when his lips had sunk into Joy’s Kiss of Eternity.
Holding each other’s hand, Kimbo and Joy entered one of the washrooms in gents’. About to unzip his trousers, Joy held up her hand like a judge and said, ‘ladies first.’ Then she pulled her pants down, and the sound of passing water soon rang down the toilet bowl. Joy walked out of the washroom first. Kimbo was about to wash his hands when he saw a young man dressed in the same black and white like the waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace.’ The young man approached Kimbo, his lips flowing with streams of smiles, smiling like they were long-lost friends. Kimbo thought perhaps the young man was gay and looking for a quick lay. Opening the tap, he motioned to Kimbo to wash his hands. As he cleaned up, the water would flow into the basin of a sink.
He told Kimbo, “I am here to serve you, boss.” Then he tore and handed over to him wads of tissue paper. He put the dryer on and motioned to Kimbo to dry his hands. Kimbo noticed a smaller SONY TV screen on the bottom of the washroom showing Sami Kuffuor analysing tonight’s matches.
Kimbo found Joy standing in front of the giant mirror, just outside the washrooms. Looking at his reflection, he realized his head was slowly balding. Tarnishing the resemblance of the Kenyan president Joy loved. His black rugged pair of trousers was wrinkled like an old man’s face. Going back to their booth, Kimbo’s face flushed with worry; he did not find his mother. Many empty cities lay on the table, even Kimbo’s and Joy’s, the bottle tops were thrown around. Kimbo’s mother had mixed the cities!
Because today was a Wednesday, Bubbles was playing Roots n Culture. And because it was Ladies’ Night, the club was a den of women of different ages. DJ Dorphan mixed Rita Marley (saying Harambee) and Gregory Isaacs with talent, G.I saying My Night Nurse. All the women held up their beer bottles and fisted into the air.
Still standing at their base, their drunken faces stunned, Kimbo felt Joy nudge at his elbow. Turned, she pointed at the middle of the crowd of dancing women in front of the club. Invisible stools as the women fisted into the air, near Dorphan. Finally, Kimbo saw his mother near the music system, mouthing Bob Marley’s One Love and pointing at the DJ as if her index finger had eyes on the tip.
Kimbo noticed the DJ’s short dreadlocks and remembered his father, and wondered whether he had been a Rastaman. Kimbo associated dreadlocks with Reggae music. He found himself hating his father at times. He thought everybody with dreadlocks was a Rastaman who smoked weed. He had hated marijuana when he read on the internet that it had killed Bob Marley with leg cancer. He loved his father though because he was a peaceful man. That almost justified his father’s weed habit. Because sometimes later Kimbo Googled Bob and realized he led a peaceful life, Jah Rastafari! Kimbo believed all Rasta people led peaceful lives and were loving and generous.
Kimbo was shocked when he later learnt his father used to beat his mother. His mother broke the news to him one evening in the bedroom, eyes clouded with tears. She told him her husband had been under pressure from his parents to give them a fourth child. Kimbo pondered whether a marriage was all about children.
Then she told Kimbo his father had claimed she had an affair with another man. Kimbo tried to remember of ever seeing such a thing. His mother sobbed like a child as she wiped tears with the back of her hand. She said she missed her husband. Kimbo was more shocked, was now furious at his father. He wouldn’t miss him. He had his mother and two sisters.
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ brought more cities. As Kimbo got drunker, he found it hard to remember anything more. Found it impossible to stick to one city. The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ had labelled their table ‘East Africa.’ She was just serving and serving and serving the cities without caring who sat where and who had been drinking what. Kimbo could not blame her, he knew she had no option. The sitting arrangement was now funny. His mother, sweaty and back from dancing, now sat between Kimbo and Joy. She held their shoulders like old friends, smiling at the air with wild lips.
The waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ came once in a while to collect the bill and serve more cities. Kimbo realized his mother had really planned to spoil him and his girlfriend. She would pay and opening her mouth wide like she wanted to swallow Africa, would signal to the waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’ to keep the balance. She soon got tired of the waitress with the white tag just above her left breast pocket which called her ‘Grace’s’ visits. Kimbo’s mother gave her six one thousand notes and told her to go away.
The cities flowed, music replaced speech. Kimbo could not remember being relaxed on his mother’s bosom as a child, could not remember hating his father. But he remembered to reach out for another Nairobi from the table. Then he, his mother and Joy held their cities in the air. His arm wouldn’t dare to place his city down, and he didn’t realise he now drunk the cities as if they were water.
Kimbo, his mother and Joy toasted. The cities made a low clinking noise. Toasted again, and their voices joined into the loud music.
