I attended a birthday party

He oozes an aura of subtle suave and debonair oomph. His brawny arms kind of protruding from his tight designer Oxford Shirt. His jungle green Fedora is fitting and has a flair of being an import. And since he has knee-length khaki pants, his soleus and gastrocnemius muscles bulge on either side of his legs. His dark complexion makes women go gaga, what women call tall, dark and handsome.

You cannot fail to notice that he is the guy who calls the shots. When he tells jokes everyone laughs even when they are dead beat and clearly evoke no humour. He has designer glasses that show how comfortable he is as he interchanges them with dark Police sunglasses to hide his darting eyes from introspection by those he aint acquainted. Him behind the lens, he probably understands the nature that man is.

His macho tendency means he has a Toyota Cygnus parked outside complete with a standby chauffer. The chauffer also acts like his valet and does errands that he sends him at will. He is however coy in retrospect and you have to snoop around to realize that his chauffer is not among the guests.

His penchant for spacious contraptions that are monsters on the road is also seen in his talk. Pompous and full of personal aggrandizement. When he speaks, everyone listens. All the Johns and Janes present want to hear how he made it. He long gone stole the occasion from the hosts. Never mind that the hosts were also of modest affluence. Call him master ordinaire.

On this occasion owing to the fact that he is on social family function, he carried his wife and children along. His children speak impeccable English. They know Swahili but only speak tad bits when out of the vicinity of their mother. Though they are young (boy is four and called Roy (aint sure though) and girl 6), their reasoning is quintessential. They however never show smugness when you engage them in pious confabulation. They know what they want and are not afraid to ask or question when things are not going as they had presumed. Their taste in music is half goth and half emo which seemingly sound creepy.

The lady of the house has a Range parked outside. It is sleek and ergonomically designed for an intuitive and engaging driving experience. The rota of her man is unknown and hence she has to take care of the children by ensuring their safety (Rover is a safe car, right). It is like an unwritten rule that they never share because the man may decide to stay late and inconvenience them.

It is a birthday party of Roy’s cousin but since they share the same month as their dates of birth, Roy also gets to have his birthday done. Roy’s attire steal the show and his cake too. He is dressed like batman (reminds me of Christian Bale in The Dark Knight). His superhero, wait. The birthday cake is also baked and sculptured like the superhero Batman.

He has so many superheroes, Roy. Limiting it to one is like feigning ignorance of the fact that he did not have other birthday parties his parents had held for him. The one in school, he was dressed like Spiderman. And he does not go to the regular schools that other children of his ilk attend. His yearly fees can pay a parallel university student fee for the four years and still you remain with change for upkeep for the whole four years.

The children they mingle with also don’t fail to assuage their lingo and deft sophistication as speak with robust confidence. Their mothers are their centre of gravitation. Everything revolves around them. There is one boy, probably past or gearing towards 10, he is called Fadhili. His heavily accented mum pronounces his name in a way you would mistakenly believe they recently jetted from Obamaland. His nagging sister who appears to have been fed up by the other kids easily goes to her mother’s laps and gets pampered like a medieval Persian princess. They all don’t speak Swahili. They all have Swahili names though. Yes you can never mistake, they are the kids of the nouveau riche whose parents hitherto lived on the other side of Nairobi but crossed to the West side when affluence did set in and they had to kiss goodbye to the formative days when they had to ceaselessly struggle with the hustler that is Eastlands.

The natter those in this party engaged in was energetic and you might be out of place if you never talk about living outside Kenya like yours truly. The banter is about the way things are different when you board KQ (is it still the pride or shame of Africa owing to the financial losses it made the past year) and head West. You easily never hear of East hunches as none is considered worthy of such speak probably due to the fact that the Chinese and Indians have stooped so low in the country, conspicuously becoming hackneyed. 

As a person who loves stories, you sit and listen. This is going to be a day full of fun, you inwardly tell yourself. Trust you me, words fail you at this juncture as the conversation sounds too colloquially synergized leaving me mum most of the time. Again you try to cope you as time goes by but feeling out of place about the whole idea, you try to remain calm. Silence they say is gold since speech is silver. Though this looks like déjà vu, you still feel like it’s novel in its own way.

“My domestic manager started weaning my child on unconventional foods and this has resulted in his poor eating mannerisms,” Roy’s mother says as she feeds him of the sumptuous delicacies well prepared by a five star chef for the occasion. While I was a tot, it was a decree never to talk while partaking of meals for fear of being choked. Roy however, speaks while being fed. I wonder why a child of his age is still being fed.

These ladies are not afraid to feed their children. Some look obese but they are forced to eat because their mothers are not going to prepare food upon arrival at home. Their mothers also talk of how they have stocked the fridge with all kinds of snacks but some of the children look like they are anorexic but still eat because their mother said so. Probably the chic aims to be a model. Who knows?

Roy’s sister and a certain girl also engage in some chitchat. From their conversation I could piece up that they are aptly well versed on how to ensure a child never gets choked while eating. They allude to some stories that I am not interested in. They love cartoon, their favorite is again unknown. I take my beer and sip it with some nyama choma as I listen to other stories that my memory cannot retain.

Since I am a big soccer fan, I switch the channel to soccer. In these apartments, HDPVR decoders are obligatory and they are also served with high speed internet whose broadband specs are laudable. When you are not watching you are either surfing the net since they have provided the Wi-Fi password.  There are murmurs here and there but I have to stick to my stand. It is just fair that I watch soccer since most people are discussing what leaves me having mum yet my beer has given me nerves.

In the meantime, the children go outside where there is a bouncing castle brought for them to do their thing. More nyama choma is served with cold booze to accompany it as conversation switches from time to time.

I must commend the chef who cooked the food. When you are eating in such a place, you need to be very cautious lest the food backfires on you due to binge eating. Food, just like booze is never mixed. The stuff may backfire leaving you having ceaseless stomach pains or upsets even before the party climaxes. Experience has taught me to serve the meals cautious of the eventual repercussions and the image that you want to portray. Haribu jina jenga mwili only applies when you are really hungry and you think the food may end and you don’t fill your stomach to your feel.

I realize that one of the mothers of the children is quite abrasive after consumption of some cozy ale which she had in gulps, Remy Martin. She suddenly becomes a disciplinary figure not only to her children but those of other mothers. None of the mothers think this is unfair. They entertain it as her voice is what sounds harsh as opposed to her actions.

When the soccer match ceases, I switch the channel to what the children love best, cartoon. You take your beer bottle and sit down sipping it with nyama choma as you continue listening to the jousting that children of the nouveau riche engage in.

Well, you also take pictures. A reminder that you was in a party that caught your eye in Njaanuary. Did I say that apple IPads and Iphones are the trend in this bash. My phone is a pale shadow of the others but I still have to use it. Some people I realize only have gadgets they display but really don’t know the real essence of the how to maximize on those gizmos.

Since we also took a child to this bash, we have to make an early exit. Probably 2230hrs. The to me is a day well spent.

SITUONANE.