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You are told by colleagues that you have been invited to a Diwali
event. As a matter of fact, there is no official communication or card for the
event which would mean you have gatecrashed. It’s a word of mouth invitation
that you could not resist so that you could have something to scribe about at
the end of it all. The event is happening where you work. Just five floors from
the office you work as a casual labourer because the employer insists on
payment per day. If you miss a single day, you never qualify for that day’s
wages. Fair enough.
Kenyan Indians are still reclusive in their tendency of holding
themselves apart from Africans yet they live and will be interred in Kenya.
They are still beholden to the colonial mentality that they are superior to Africans
because of the pecking order created by the Brits. Rarely do they mingle in
their centred life and though this is unsettling and you just love observing
how things revolve, you take note of this eccentricity. Because of this, you
never want to awaken the sleeping dogs. The lacuna existent is really
authentic. When you meet them in the lifts, the coldness in their eyes is
subtle. You feel like you are intruding into their already sheltered life that
is insistent on being doled up in a bubble of inhibition. Rarely do you see
Indians mingling with Africans. Even in school, they segregate themselves apart
from those times when it is really urgent.
That maybe a tad too callous but the reality is that, Indians will
still view African Kenyans with some sought of suspicion. Let me say this, in
logic, we were told not to generalize. So as a matter of consequence, there is
that ‘some’ before the word Indians were applicable. Currently, I have no
Indian pal to demystify the myths surrounding the tense relationship that will
not be amended sooner in terms of how they view Africans. Judging by the way
the Muhindis have created that Berlin Wall in terms
of residences, apart from those who are rebels or the clique who are monetarily
endowed and don’t mind living with Africans, there is no denial that there is
hyper-sensitivity and existential disdain among the two races.
Diwali week it was. You remember those days when you were young
and loved the fanfare of lighting up cheap fireworks during these period and
there was no cause of alarm apart from the few incidences you only heard of how
the baruti had turned homicidal. Rocket was your
favourite with its deafening crescendo. Those days when you would do
anything without worry that the terror outfit Alshabab will disguise as
camaraderie to take advantage of the opportunity to turn the event into a
horror of deadly massacre and aptly coordinated attacks well-orchestrated in
disguise.
It was Singles day. Working online has made you an aficionado of
most calendar events. As a result, there is no recognizable day you will fail
to take cognizance of due to the severity of such occasions whether celebrated
or not. Diwali ‘the festival of lights’ is perhaps the most conspicuous event
that Indians celebrate each year. Just like Idd among the Muslims, Diwali is
characterized by a lot of feasting and unlike the former there is a bit
aleing-sic (from ale).
As usual, the pusher was none other than Aggy, she prefers being
called Michelle and works next to our office. In fact you had extended your
stay in the office by an hour just waiting for the event which started later.
She is the lovely to be with. An extrovert by nature, she brightens up like an
iridescent gemstone. Her conversations are bubbly and intoxicating. Though chubby,
she has a cute face that is electric a curvy physique though the adipose
concentrated on her waist needs some little bit of gym to give her that “wow”
look. Another folly is that if not careful with her diet, she might possibly
develop the double chin on her face. Her penchant for makeup radiates well with
her chocolate complexion that is flawless making her skin look great. Looks
like her detox is working well.
Together with Ritchie, a chap who plies his trade in Chowpaty and
Aggy confessed she used to be her boyfriend way back in high school- describing
him further would make me sound gay, Brayo, Denno and two beautiful Chiquita’s
from Lower Kabete Campus, Maureen and her friend (a dark complexioned chic with
the jawline, high cheek bones and willowy figure of a model and stunning face
and piercing look like that of a luo diva. Her skin
glowed such that it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her
features).
We make a maiden entry into the venue that is well decorated so
much so that it looks like the average Kenyan wedding setting. Those that have
seats and tables covered with some clothing and at the centre of the table
there is a clay pottery with some Indian paraphernalia inside. Sadly, Indians
have adopted this African Timer culture mentality of not sticking to time.
Earlier on, Aggy had visited the place to check on how the event was unfolding.
She is the nosy type and the go between because she has more stay and
experience with Indians than most of us.
Unfortunately or the antonym of the same, we arrive early. Sit
next to the DJ who is as confused as we are on what to play but resorts to
Indian tunes that make you feel like you are watching those Indian movies where
Raj all of a sudden spots Priya (cute little thing) and they swim in illusions
as they start to dance to some tune even though they barely know each other.
The unease of sitting in a place you are jittery of whether you
had been invited or not was razor sharp and cutting. The sitting position was a
reflection of the simmering tautness that is covert yet never acknowledges. It
is until such a time that you realize you are not as well secured in terms of
mental sanity and vigor as you had thought of. It’s like you are in mainland
India and you are the only stool-wool haired and black faces amidst. Arriving
very early is a bit relaxing as you reduce that look on the face of having an
intruder.
The incantations in celebration of the occasion took too long than
you had expected. The way Indians seek divine blessings on this Third day of
Diwali Festival is quite an eye opener on how variegated our ways of
celebrating a festival are.
Indian yung uns exude a flair of beauty that is intoxicating
(however, the same cannot be said of their nee). Their symmetrical facial
features leave a muscle definition that is perfect, beautiful pink lips stand
out and obsidian hair, so smooth and silky, leave in the autumn breeze.
Competition was stiff, and even the little girl in silk frocks tried as much to
stand as the centre of attraction. The only folly is that figure wise, they are
as flat as a pancake in the places that excite the licentiousness in you.
Then you noticed her. In white leggings and a long green dress
that covered the derriere.
It was inevitable and certain that once you looked at her, you
couldn't look away. She kept you still and held your beating heart with one
gaze, feeding off of you. She was a succubus, beautiful and dangerous.
She was the thief or someone close to that. She had a confident, sexy
strut that tells the world, "I'm beautiful." And she knew it. She was
you crush. Her Long, wavy blonde hair, looked almost as if it was tailored from
gold fabric with some shades of black. You were smitten and could have spent
all the meagre income you had on her just to have a chance of spending a day
with my beautiful lady straight out of utopia.
Chances are she was a on the verge of settling. Judging by the way
she sat between her mothers, she clearly resembled a chip of the old block, and
what looked like her aunt. She was Indian and she noticed you were looking at
her in lascivious manner, you had wanted to exercise the art of charm through
eye contact. Which made her look away having looked eyes and looking down and
she noticed your interest. You felt like you wanted to surmount enough courage
to go talk to her mother and tell her that indeed if it were not for matters
beyond cultural setbacks, you would have made a wife out of her though you know
that is surely lust.
She was the sweetest girl ever that day though there were many who
would have rivalled her in matters beauty. Talking of sweet things, the food
served was sugary or sweet in a way. There was no limitation as to the amount
you needed to serve yourself. The chapatti were sugar favoured, the same to
most of the foods. The sugary bolls in an equally sweet syrup were too much for
you to gobble as on this occasion you take advantage of free liquor and imbibe
to a point you are not inebriated silly since you need to catch a mat back home
and because the next day is still work day. So Johnny Walker Black Label and
Famous Grouse tots with a bottle of your favourite Tusker Malt even though it
was served chilled while you love it warm does it for you.
While you were serving food, you engage in a chat with an African
guy who serves everything he finds on the table. He does not know the name of
the foods he wants to chow but serves them in copious amounts so that he also
influences you to do the same and you end up living a majority of it on the
table because liquor fights some foods intensely. Looking at the table he was
coming from, you see some hot ladies joining in. Trust Kenyans to invite
friends even when they are not supposed to.
However, the event never comes to a climax until sparking
fireworks evade the darkness of a new moon night. The neon ostentatious orange,
yellow-like flaming splash and bright sparks of colours illuminated the dark
night sky and bursting firecrackers releasing scorching smoke as the cool air
slapped the calming fire-material which made the aura scintillating and
captivating to watch. The soundtrack of the noisy fireworks bursting
harmoniously exploded in an ear-splitting yet a unique flowing sound as if they
were frizzling intoxicatingly. The timing of release of the fireworks was
intermittent but not predictable and at times a curvy rainbow changed
shape into broad and bright spiky stars that twirled erratically.
While watching the fireworks, you notice this guy who resemble
Jeff Koinange on Jameni. He is dressed in all white as if he is going for a
white party. He is with guys who look like his boys. The way they oscillate
around him especially a walalo like bearded dude gives you the
impression he is the main guy.
Before you knew it, it was time to leave. In a slightly drunken
stupor, you leave the venue and head back to the digs. Sad that matatus in
Parklands do not operate in frequency past 11 at night like in you hood. They
are sporadic and you have to fight to gain entry into one as the early
nightshift workers are also exciting just about this time.
PS: There was this guy who came to our premises to shop. He hand
dyed his beard yellow and had hanged a bunch of keys on his trousers (he looked
cheap, the logo of a star was in the bunch (Mercedes)). He shopped for
everything with abandon and even bought one of ours a watch having seen him
with a motionless timepiece. His net spenditure was slightly over 70 k while he
never looked like he would even shop for more than 5 K. He exited as if to go
withdraw some cash when everything had been packed and never came back.
You also went to KFC during the week and the experience left a
sour taste in the mouth. You had intended to take one of the girls you work
with but they never turned up for some Streetwise treatment. The offer is not
worth it in my opinion guess the reason why its monikered as street an will be
found on any other ad inviting guys to go taste it. So my cinq cent (French)
got wasted just like that. I wish I had spent more on some quality chicken. The
chicken was not well fried inside as it looked under-fried. Not like the last
time you were here and this time you felt cheated because then the chicken was
splitting like the bulbs of an onion and you relished the delicacy with the
zeal of a newbie..
HASTA LA VISTA BABY
[Photo Source: Google Images]
