Why I hate Saturday Nights – by Lydiah Ojowi

girls at a party

I have been running up and about the whole day. Heading home tired from the dusty and smoked streets of Nairobi. I pick a bottle of Martini Rosso and head straight to Walokana shuttles. Then home. This is the day I get to see couples left right and center. Some holding hands, others double stepping as they twirl. Another one crying for ice cream like a new born baby cries for titty-milk. “Babe, aki buy me ice cream” “or am not kujaing with you” Boring tone, boring language.
I take that whole boredom to my mini-hacienda. After a cold shower, I pick my fav stand up from my all time favorite comedian.”Let me explain” Kevin Hart. I am not hungry. I tap a glass of Martini Rosso to keep me going.
I can hear ladies on the background yelling about how their dresses have grown long. Others think they are too fat. Others hoping to get laid tonight. I don’t want to interrupt but I actually feel like slipping a pack of condoms into their handbags.
I keep laughing with my main man(Kev).
I get distracted quick. Someone is heading down the corridor and they are on a shouting pair of heels. They are actually two people. No, three. I pray and hope they ain’t coming for me.
Without even knocking, there they come. “Abebo, I can’t believe you are sleeping here on a Saturday night”
With a lazy tone “Where else would I be”
“We are going out, it’s Biggy’s bash. You cant afford to miss”

I try to explain to this trio that am not into that kind of stuff anymore.

I will mail Biggy my gift. Or Let me call Thirstline Winedeliveries to pour liquor on you guys.

They beg me to come. They even lie to me that Biggy’s girlfriend requested that I come. To clear the air.
Well, I pick my black peplum and yellow heels and join them.Though unwilling.  I owe Biggy. I don’t want to be the reason his girlfriend left.

On arrival, we have to obey ‘the rule’. 10shots of whatever is there before you say ‘hi’ to anyone. I have not been drinking hard liquor for close to 2 years. I am kind of shaken. No one has the right to see m drunken face. Am never a coward. I get down to it.

The next thing “Truth & Dare” The game I have lived to hate with passion. Am partially out but feeling good. I can still feel all my senses. Right.
It is Jobu’s turn to dare someone. “Abebo, youuu” In a drunk baritone. Kind of irritates. ” I dare youuu, to…” he falls into laughter nap. The hell! “I dare you to kiss Terry” .Hell nooo!

Terry is a guy. He has been hitting on me for two years without success. He actually thinks am playing hard to get. He is the dj at Club Oxygen. Tall dark and handsome. Well, he is thin. I guess that is a deal breaker for me. Worse still, he always assumes he is every lady’s fantasy.

I am not doing this. The look on his face is that of hope. This was their grand plan I guess. Jobu kind of knew what was going on.

I then declare am not doing this. The consideration for a failed dare is normally 15 shots of whatever is available. And,a refill.

I get down to it.

I can hear people shouting “Party pauper!!party pauper” .Well, am not revising my decision whatsoever.
I know beyond this point I will not return. I request Rita to take me to wear I would sleep. Biggy’s home is a planet on its own. Enough space for everyone. I feel like am in a hotel room somewhere far from Kenya.
I am really drunk now. I can’t see clearly. So I head straight to the bathroom. Then to bed.

The next time I come back to senses I can hear my alarm clock ringing “Get up,get up, get up..Babbby” – Marvin Gay.
I have not seen Biggy. Not even the girlfriend.
I can’t believe it was Biggy’s birthday and I didn’t even see him.
Whacky Saturday nights.

***

Lydiah Ojowi is a prolific writer her use of language accentuates the fact that she is well read. Her stories develop in such a way that leaves you hanging onto every word. Follow her on @Lydialydiah.

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