ALCOHOL REGIME.
Alcohol changes people. They become unreservedly honest, they become exceedingly courageous and most importantly they become generous-unless you request them to buy you food of course.
And so yesterday, at a time like this I was stuck with Curtis in a den somewhere in the dimly-lit outskirts of Eldoret town. We were watching Sportpesa all stars trying to avenge our years of suffering under British colonialism. Needless to say, we successfully failed.
As the game raged on I was sipping religiously every twenty minutes on my Alvaro. Curtis on the other hand was imbibing endlessly on a cocktail of several drinks. By half time, he could not tell the Kenyan team from Hull city, and so he started cheering both sides.
"I knew it. Ozil has disappeared again in this game." He shouted and burped loudly. A few condescending stares met him and he turned and motioned to a voluptuous waiter to pour him more alcohol.
Around five minutes into the second half, two damsels walked into the now buzzing den. A few men turned and escorted the two ladies optically, some whistling loudly while at it. i will not say I was one of the oglers. One of the ladies was slightly tall,dark-skinned and curvaceous. Her backside jiggled and joggled under the tight , short,flimsy white dress to the rhythm of the slow Papa Wemba music that was blasting from the humongous speakers just above Curtis head. The other was short, light skinned, had deep dimples,sleepy eyes, drawn eyebrows and some speculation of a backside.
We all minded the tall one's business till they finally sat an isolated table at the furthest end of the bar, oblivious of the annihilation that their compatriots, Sportpesa all amateurs were receiving at the hands of Hull city teenagers.
When I finally took my eyes off the Lord's temptations, I found Curtis' bloodshot eyes fixated on me. When our eyes met, we smiled with guilty before we burst out laughing heartily.
"You want her?" He half said, half asked.
"No I don't." I replied curtly and turned back to the game.
"Yes you do!" He was now shouting.
'Hey you," He had now turned to the ladies," help a brother here. This man has not had sex in like two years and ..."
"Curtis!" I growled in his ear between clenched teeth as I steeped on his shoe.
"What? You need pussy men."
Everyone turned.I started fidgeting uneasily.
" You know what? I totally agree with you. I need a cat, or a dog. I mean anything that moves and breathes. I pets are good." I said with a nervous smile. A few people turned back to the game. Others smiled knowingly and made our conversation the priority now.
'You should take the small one. she looks like your type."
"That girl looks like she is 14." I said dismissively.
"Age is just a number."
"Yeah, and prison is just a room." I mumbled under my breathe.
"Are you afraid? Let me get your her phone number." He started off towards the damsel.
"That's it. We are leaving." Curtis looked at me as if I had asked him to donate both his kidneys.
He blatantly refused to leave till he got the damsel's phone number for me. Generous I tell you. I pretended to protest but when the damsel laughed at his trademark jokes and finally gave him the number, I felt inward pride at my drunken friend.
i dragged him to a cab outside the bar and we quickly headed for his home. In the car, I lifted my fist and Curtis bumped his into it before we brought the fists to our hearts and lifted our hands in joyful celebrations.
Finally we arrived at their gate only to find his father waiting for us at the gate with a lugubrious face. A primary school deputy head teacher with King Saul's temper, I was not going to try and step out of the cab.
But Curtis was dead drunk. He picked the four bottles he had carried home, tried to hand me one and when i shook my head, he turned and flung it at the driver. The bald headed driver caught it mid-air and mumbled a thank you.
Curtis got down and staggered while still holding the three remaining bottles dearly to his chest. He walked straight to his father then lifted his index finger, narrowed his eyes, tilted his head to one side and then asked calmly, "Bradhe, sijui nimewai kuona wapi?"
The slap caught him unawares and sent him sprawling into a small thicket that was next to the gate. The three bottles flew in the opposite direction. It was the kind of slap that restores factory settings even in a drunkard like Curtis. But we were never going to wait.
We sped off at full speed.
And so yesterday, at a time like this I was stuck with Curtis in a den somewhere in the dimly-lit outskirts of Eldoret town. We were watching Sportpesa all stars trying to avenge our years of suffering under British colonialism. Needless to say, we successfully failed.
As the game raged on I was sipping religiously every twenty minutes on my Alvaro. Curtis on the other hand was imbibing endlessly on a cocktail of several drinks. By half time, he could not tell the Kenyan team from Hull city, and so he started cheering both sides.
"I knew it. Ozil has disappeared again in this game." He shouted and burped loudly. A few condescending stares met him and he turned and motioned to a voluptuous waiter to pour him more alcohol.
Around five minutes into the second half, two damsels walked into the now buzzing den. A few men turned and escorted the two ladies optically, some whistling loudly while at it. i will not say I was one of the oglers. One of the ladies was slightly tall,dark-skinned and curvaceous. Her backside jiggled and joggled under the tight , short,flimsy white dress to the rhythm of the slow Papa Wemba music that was blasting from the humongous speakers just above Curtis head. The other was short, light skinned, had deep dimples,sleepy eyes, drawn eyebrows and some speculation of a backside.
We all minded the tall one's business till they finally sat an isolated table at the furthest end of the bar, oblivious of the annihilation that their compatriots, Sportpesa all amateurs were receiving at the hands of Hull city teenagers.
When I finally took my eyes off the Lord's temptations, I found Curtis' bloodshot eyes fixated on me. When our eyes met, we smiled with guilty before we burst out laughing heartily.
"You want her?" He half said, half asked.
"No I don't." I replied curtly and turned back to the game.
"Yes you do!" He was now shouting.
'Hey you," He had now turned to the ladies," help a brother here. This man has not had sex in like two years and ..."
"Curtis!" I growled in his ear between clenched teeth as I steeped on his shoe.
"What? You need pussy men."
Everyone turned.I started fidgeting uneasily.
" You know what? I totally agree with you. I need a cat, or a dog. I mean anything that moves and breathes. I pets are good." I said with a nervous smile. A few people turned back to the game. Others smiled knowingly and made our conversation the priority now.
'You should take the small one. she looks like your type."
"That girl looks like she is 14." I said dismissively.
"Age is just a number."
"Yeah, and prison is just a room." I mumbled under my breathe.
"Are you afraid? Let me get your her phone number." He started off towards the damsel.
"That's it. We are leaving." Curtis looked at me as if I had asked him to donate both his kidneys.
He blatantly refused to leave till he got the damsel's phone number for me. Generous I tell you. I pretended to protest but when the damsel laughed at his trademark jokes and finally gave him the number, I felt inward pride at my drunken friend.
i dragged him to a cab outside the bar and we quickly headed for his home. In the car, I lifted my fist and Curtis bumped his into it before we brought the fists to our hearts and lifted our hands in joyful celebrations.
Finally we arrived at their gate only to find his father waiting for us at the gate with a lugubrious face. A primary school deputy head teacher with King Saul's temper, I was not going to try and step out of the cab.
But Curtis was dead drunk. He picked the four bottles he had carried home, tried to hand me one and when i shook my head, he turned and flung it at the driver. The bald headed driver caught it mid-air and mumbled a thank you.
Curtis got down and staggered while still holding the three remaining bottles dearly to his chest. He walked straight to his father then lifted his index finger, narrowed his eyes, tilted his head to one side and then asked calmly, "Bradhe, sijui nimewai kuona wapi?"
The slap caught him unawares and sent him sprawling into a small thicket that was next to the gate. The three bottles flew in the opposite direction. It was the kind of slap that restores factory settings even in a drunkard like Curtis. But we were never going to wait.
We sped off at full speed.
I just love this
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