A NIGHTLIFE IS A LIFETIME
I always ask event organizers to always serve me with my passes in advance because those hot beauties at the entrance sometimes get all hot and confused when I show up-like it happened last Sato at Juniper’s.
“I’m sorry but we can’t find your name on the list”
So I asked them to find it and stepped back to chat with a cool black suited security guy called Oscar. He remembers that he first saw me shooting away at The Priory (which is like when I was still a young man) then a few times at Junipers before I went MIA.
Ni hali tu ya husting brathe, I told him as Marvin Maveke dropped the last flam on Guteriaku during Eric Wainaina’s set that I will seriously get angry if I miss. Luckily, Boniface Mwalili of Africa Neuvou reads a fellow scribe’s name on the same list before I slip into the party with an invisible stamp because my skin is darker than Dakar. To avoid possible racist-like incidences where black fellas are thrown out because they don’t bear the mark of the gate collector, please use either darker hues of your black ink or just create us a white madhafakin stamp. But I haven’t seen that happen in like 15 years, so I believe it’s gone like my x.
For once ever, the Juniper crowd has shed its usual like-white-on-rice image for a more heartwarming mixed-like-githeri kind of party.
The first peeps I meet are my own blood, the very good artist and the ever calm and collected Jackie Karuti iii who just landed back from KLA for this event. She would later on, early in the morn when most revelers are gone-tell me that Ssebos party like it’s already vision 2030 for some reason I don’t even remember now.
Eric Wainaina who is backed by an all star band led by Chris Adwar brings the tent down with the electrocuted (or the aromat ) version of Selina and some killer moves, a sign that he could still be Kenya’s Mick Jagger in 2050. I say that because the first time I saw Eric in person, not on TV, we was walking home from Sunday School and my elder brother and I fffliiiipped!!!! We only knew him from KBC, #tbt
I meet Fiona of Creatives Garage chilling with her girls, akina Annah Kalahi for whom I prescribe a daily dose of ice-cold water because that young woman is on fire-bruh. They hype to me how by missing Shushan’s performance, I missed a life-time opportunity. I feel sorry for a second then Obladi Oblada-Life Goes On.
Muthoni DQ was definitely giving an amazing performance as my Bri’ish couple friends argued over who was better between Muthoni and Eric Wainaina.
“I just like Eric, I would play him to my kids”, she says.
“But he’s too cooperate, Muthoni seems a tad bit over confident, but she rocks. With her you never know what’s coming-with Eric you can always tell how the song’s gonna end.” He quipped as I just stood there wondering how an Eric+Muthoni combo would taste like.
There is a DJ set by……..which is waaay better than the first one because she didn’t play any music that sound like they were downloaded off Soundcloud with slow internet. But she gives way to Crème De La Crème who provides the soundtrack to Black Blingers’ literally break-neck-speed moves. He doesn’t stop until 3.5 hours later at 4.30AM.
We head to Westie with my old wasted pal Jonathan from old rock band days, kedo 10 years ago. There, I decide it’s too early to go home and walk against mobs of young girls freezing in the dew of dawn (freeze and shine, the shit you put yourself through because you are young) and young thuggish lads dressed like they are on an American hip hop video walking to take a jav home. Reaching hapo nje, I find Bacchus closed, Havana closing and Okolea still playing reggae from a system that sounds like it’s just all tweeters.
The whole parking lot looks like a remnant field of a great war with litter, mud, egg shells and all kinds of filth. Hunched on a rail, a girl is crying herself into sobriety as a confused dude struggles to stay upright next to her. It turns out someone thugged her bag just when she was out of the club and heading home. Music, laughter, drinks, friends, foes, horny bastards, boiled eggs, smokies, all the memories of a good night well spent went down with the tears in an early morning drizzle at the beginning of a new day. Her belongings will also have a new life under new management but that’s life.
So as I climb on a pikipiki because cabs are too expensive ati because there is a small traffic jam at the Westlands roundabout because of a marathon, it dawns on me that the events of just one nightlife could actually be a lifetime.