ARCANE

We all have our hidden side that few ever know about. Even if they know, they never take it as an issue. Like the flaws in our bodies, a blog like this that none of my friend knows about. Secret families and careers some people engage in when not in familiar cohorts and things like nose picking, wanking and others atrocious acts you never imagine exist in humans. I also have a secret.

There is a Facebook friend who usually advertises his cult abandonly. At first I used to like his posts. Though I have not unfriended him, those Facebook algorithms realized his act was not my vibe and they never appear on my timeline. Actually, he is into illuminati. Which may be a faux given that sect members never do so openly. The reason why I ended up not loving his ways was that the money you are given was what some colleagues were earning in a good month. I am broke but am not ready for a life full of rituals like having to shave in a certain way, dress or act to suit forces that determine my financial leverage.

Going bald was a tough decision. Tonsure, or in layman terms a spiritual kind of thing. When you decide to renew your vows with a deity, that is actually the way to go. But it was a notion that was concocted somewhere in my gray matter that once I transition from being a salesperson in a bank, I would certainly go bald. When I started keeping hair, more than a dozen years ago, I never thought that one day I would go naked like I am on my head. Then, I was after hiding a scar. I was scared, and self-conscious. However, when I started keeping my hair long, I never bothered even a dime about the scar. My hair was like a cloth that hides the nudity of person. This scar got me whipped several nasty ones by a certain teacher whose boys were lecherous after I decided to have my hair long while the policy required we trim it to a decent size while heading to the dining hall for supper.

The first time I developed the scar was way back in primary school. I was a top chop, and most guys thought that the reason why my hair started receding from the back ending up into a scar was because I was spending too much time reading. That, in their opine was reason enough to motivate me to continue reading even though the scar was really making me feel less of a person. It was like a ringworm. And who develops a ringworm when he is almost finishing primary. So, to cut the long story short, the wring worm has withered many years and still exists to date. The only proof being that there is hair that now grows when I am having my head having a fullhouse..

Still on this ringworm, I remember there was a time when it had no hair and it was soft. One of my siblings or a close relative loved touching and playing with the spot because of its uniqueness. It was kind of elating my spirit because whoever was doing so was younger than me. And it had not grown to the size that it is currently. Soon, it may occupy my whole head. To make matters worse, I am naked health wise. Ever since I was given an exit, I never thought how the medical cover would have been of so much help in terms of rectifying the scar. I returned the cover having only depleted my optical and dental allocation.

Once a certain chic in campus asked me why I keep long hair and I told her that it was because of the scar. She thought I was trying to be a rebel. Yet, deep down, I knew it was because of my insecurity with the scar. The wrinkles on my face, the recessive dimples and the afro look etched the story of a jovial wizzle stoning sambo. My glossy bigger than normal eyes hidden behind glasses portrayed a radiant face, full of smiles making me look like I can never be bored. Some thought it was a sign of valiance. Especially when I would decide to leave my hair uncombed, with red jicho nyanya eyes that looked like I was high on substance when I was not in my lenses.

Shaving bald is like tonsure. Especially for a person who has normally been having an afro look. After having worked for a multinational for a year, I was now jobless, penniless and lastly broken-hearted. Even though I had seen it coming, when it became a reality, it did hit hard. My lips became pale and cracked, my eyes were no longer as liquid as they should. And my mouth was so dry and throat almost became sour, I tasted something metallic that was left in it with an acidic trace. In a million years, that day I felt hungry, which I normally don’t. I wanted to eat a lot. To compensate for those days, I had denied my body rations all in the name of working.

I felt liberated, free from asked what I had achieved for the day, free from being in a job where I am again looking for work to be able to earn, free from the tribulations of a paycheck that is exhausted before you even think of going for a drink or kurudishia mwili shukrani. I felt happy in a way, I wanted to tell the world that I am jobless and free from being pressurized to produce figures in terms of sales. If it was never meant to be, I shall never force what was not meant to be. Now am bold, less reticent and practically ready to display my domineering machismo because of this bald head.

Conventionally, I was to be given a termination letter, an indication that I have been sacked. Aren’t those sacked given letters? I don’t think that the damn thing is even necessary. Somehow, me going bald was a gesture that I was now starting out something new. For once, I decided to change my barber because of my changing fortunes. I went to the one who charges half the amount I normally pay for a regular shave. Given that going bald does not require any special skills, I went for a discounted shave.

I once saw a guy going ‘Jordan’ and I thought it was a very tasking job for a barber given that he took longer than usual to be shaven so much so that the roots on his head were never visible. His head became smooth and shiny. I abhorred that state.

When the barber had that I was going bald, the first statement he made was, ‘So you want a totally new look.” Since am not good at talking to strangers, I nodded my head and let him do his thing. “Hata ndevu pia.” I still nodded in affirmation. I don’t want to delve on the finer details of the interior of the kibanda barbershop but it was pathetic. Yet that is what I could afford. With no phone, empty wallet, a bleeding bank account and what else, no possibility of having a solid income because I never worked hard the weeks to exam, I just had to go for this shave.

Well, being shaved in such a place made me think how fortunate sometimes we are when we pay extra for our usual barbers. The shaver foil was not as friendly as it should. Ideally, it should massage the head, make you feel like you are having a good time. It should be another massage session even though I have never wanted to go for a massage because of its risqué. I am human and when you touch some pleasure points if a lady doing the massage, you sure can provoke my whizzle and that means parting with more bucks na vile uchumi ni mbaya.

The shave was a nasty one, I kept on imagining how ‘savers’ like me have to go through this moments all in the name of having to spend less, yet what we do with money when we are not in cozy places may be quite prodigal. Those who steal from us do it so swiftly in broad day light and some in subtle muzzles you find yourself giving even though you never had the intent of doing so.

Flashback, when I finished my exams, I was feeling like getting a little bit high. I remembered that in downtown, there is a certain joint where you can get high at a fraction of what you spend in those ritzy clubs. Mind you, I was solo. All my pals had been thrust by an exam we had hopes may sometime change our lives in future. There was one who came out of it feeling dejected and almost passing out given the uneasy look on his visage. He could not even eat and decided to head for the digs because he was feeling overwhelmed.

Given that I had been refunded some money by a friend the previous day, I felt like going and downing some ale as I waited for UCL to be aired. I went to my usual joint for booze where I sat next to the gents oblivious of the fact that I was placing myself in a compromising situation. Feeling like I was inhaling the stench, I asked the waiter to relocate my drink and though I went to a smoke-filled room, it was better as I was seated next to the window and the smokers were doing so once in a while.

Watching the game was fan, when your team is thrashing the other, you feel like you should have placed a bet. Buda ungewekelea. Those were the thoughts that were running through my head. Then some demon from nowhere decided to entice me with the possibility of going to a strip club. Well, the club was just few metres away.

The first time I went to a strip club, while still a first-year student, I did not see the action that goes on because I am shortsighted and we had to get out before things started getting nasty because our drinks had gone empty. And those bouncers and bartenders notice that quickly as if they are paid on commissions on who spots empty bottled revelers so that they can order you out or you buy more. I don’t remember the feeling but it was such an experience that never stuck.

Then I forgot about these clubs for a while. I must admit that sometimes the urge to explore leads me to proscribed places with the idea of finding out what happens behind those closed doors. I never thought I would ever go back to a cabaret but blogging lead me there. In fact, it was a former high school friend who told me to haller at him once he is paid so that we would go for a drink.

Pretending to be the uptown guy, I decided to go to a ritzy joint as I waited for him. I ordered for my favourite brand and noticed two ladies with a Johnnie Walker black label mzinga sipping it like nothing ever mattered. I was with a workmate. I also ordered for him given that he was the ever-broke guy. He however was a mummy’s boy and quickly left before eleven in the night. But not after my friend had bought him some two made of black.

Even though it was payday, my friend became uneasy and said we club hop. Guess the place was not that conducive for his pockets or for getting jiggy. So, he said we go somewhere in along Keekorok Road where action never stops.  

I should have known that he was taking me there, I would have rescinded the request right away. But when you are a little high, you become indecisive and unwary. You follow like a dog, and behave like a politician’s sycophant because the bills will be paid. Entry fee to the ripper did set me aback but I had to because I was not after disappointing my friend. He appeared well known there and he was from taking drugs the previous week a reason why he was not taking so much ale.

We ordered for a Gilbeys mzinga, and some soda. I don’t remember drinking because the showgirls were all over our table having been friends with my friend who was a celeb here. They were like, “Me huwa sipendi makali” but the drink was reducing faster than a kettle of tea served to village labourers. He even knew those who were not working that day and caressed them with abandon. I was the shy type, it being my first day. In total, I ended up taking a loan for two mzingas watched both a blue movie being played in the background and the lady gagas doing their pole thing. Before we left, I was given a grind but the thing was so hasty I regretted why I went for it.

Then another time, I took my cousins who were pressing me that they wanted to find out the other side of Nairobi. Well, they witnessed it. The worst part is that their drinks got sprayed by the cum from a randy stripper who I think got so much on heat she was peeing like a dude. Spraying her thing to the nearest tables. I vowed never to return to the club again. Until the other day when some gremlins took me to the joint and I found myself asking one of the bartenders to get me a sassy diva for a grind, just to get the thoughts of having been given a rough thrust out of my head by an exam that has not changed my status so much.

Ideally, the babe tried so much by hook and cranny to make me want to go for something extra with her which she was peddling at 2K. Kwani inakuja na nini special ndio utoe hio pesa yote and the experience has an expiry date. However, when I am drunk, I never easily stand a lady, plus she told me that she had done it with other men. I hate sharing. So, the lap dance was enough. When she was through, I left for the digs at around 12. That is the point where I discovered that I had lost my phone while still having other valuables, I tried running back to go find out if I could recover my phone but on farther scrutiny of my pockets, I realized that all the cash I had had somehow flow away. I was only left with my fare for using to go back home and that is why I am never going to have a love hate relationship with that River road stretch.

I have vowed never to find myself on those streets again whether in the daytime or at night. If at any point I need a drink, I will use the money I should drink it a better pub. Never mind that I had intentioned to save cash to be able to have enough to start a solitary life. Now, I must go back to the drawing board, but as I have gone through tonsure, I am confident that these bizarre behaviours will now be a thing of the past.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Photo Source: Pixabay.com]