Storymoja

Celebrating East African Writing!

Dave’s Antidote

Written by Dalle Abraham

Watching Dave calmly move around trying to make something of the mess on his table, I knew this was going to be one of the best, the lemons all cut up and the oranges all peeled and white, the bottle of honey and the raw mango all mixed up, the two bottles of Tusker all emptied into the big jug. Empty sachets of Enzoy lay in a muss besides empty furaha spirit bottles and Kenya Kane whiskey bottles on the torn carpet covering part of the floor.

Where he learnt this trade is a story for another day but Dave was really good with his cocktails; he could make the best of wines out of the cheap Furahas and Kenya king (KK), He never disappointed. The fancy bottles of expensive brands that aligned one half of his bedroom came in handy in lean days-all days seem lean these days. So Dave’s home made wines is our only respite. It wins hearts and the beauties in the clubs, call for two beers and display the VAT69 package on the table and one of the other fancier looking bottle on the table and put on some serious conversation.

‘Act cool and unconcerned guys’, and true to his words the prettiest of the ladies will always have a way of initiating contact.

‘Dave’s got an antidote’.

The misfortune that befell me on this Friday had nothing to do with the 13th on the calendar. It was a blunder that both Dave and Frank latter said could have been avoided.

I was clad in new khaki pants, a glow in the dark shirt peeping from under my trench coat and a Crystal Shamballas hanging on my neck, Dave in his pilot-white-shirt and a fitting blazer from the Gikomba guy in Muthuruwa, suave and sure footed as ever. Frank was the man; he was in the latest off-the-line corduroy suit stolen from the adjacent Langata. Cologne shared, clean shaven and oozing of class we made our way, skipping over open sewer lines and bounding off through the stench and needle jumping through the shacks. The VAT69, Chardonnay, and Burgundy bottles all sealed by Dave’s ingenuity packed in the back-pack hung on my back. Six pm and we were out of our expansive kibera. Kenya shillings 1,500 in our joint account.

Club Envy was our destination. The bouncer was a great friend of Frank, the rest of them all knew him, he slipped a crisp new 200 shillings note in the hands of the one searching to bypass the ‘beverages and alcohol from outside is not accepted’.

The neon lights, bright and flashing, revelers streaming in, we made for the best spot where the view of the entire club was possible. The pretty bartender was enchanted by Frank’s Flatter in just a few minutes and she stood on the ready to be of service.

A quick sweep of the club showed enough pretty girls for us. After a few sips frank began on one of his many stories. Frank was good with his stories. He’d make us fall over with laughter from the tales of his sexual escapades with the filthy rich after a few mouthfuls of Dave’s antidote. His intelligence with the psychology of women is what endeared him to us.

He left us at the table and several minutes latter came back with three giggly chicks. Modest and all sassy, beautiful and aloof their eyes held the tale-tell signs of affluence and their smiles sang the ‘tumekuja chokoza aha’ tune. None of this deterred Frank.

I stifled a laugh when he picked on the jolly Lynne and said ‘Prezzo is just too cool for the shaggazchillez Goldie’.

Where the hell did he get that from?

I guessed the local FM radio stations. The Big Brother frenzy was a sure starter. He talked Gallitos and steers, Java and Dormans. I talked blogs and academia.  He talked Nyama bites from choma grills in out of town joints. Rongai. Dave talked of Wilson and jet lag. Pizza-inn and shopping in Galleria. I kept it easy and intellectual. Frank talked local artists and their mediocrity.

‘Keep talking. Never say anything that’ll blow our cover.

They just need a few mouthfuls and the rest will fall in place.

‘I poppa freaks all the honnies, dummies and playboy bunnies, those wanting monies, those are the ones I like get laid, they don’t get nothing but penetration ……..black and ugly as ever’ Frank sang along to B.I.G’s voice booming from the speakers.

‘LOL!!’ shouted Lynne and winked at sheilla. And Stellar added something that sounded like LMAO. There and then we knew we were cashing-in on the jack port. Abbreviated and the expression of unfelt  emotions belonged only to the rich Nairobi suburbs; Karen, Runda and the affluent schools; for the rest of us commoners the LOLs and the LMAOs was limited only to the social media.

‘Your chardonnay tastes funny,’ Came a British-American laced comment from Sheilla.

‘Coz you still have the Johnny Walker taste in your mouth, have some more’, said Dave as he filled her glass.

Frank was already having his way with Lynn on the dance floor. Wriggling and snuggling and in tandem with the music. How I was left with the seemingly dreary Stellar is something that the furaha in Dave’s Burgundy had erased from my mind.

‘Conventional methods of making love kinda bore me…amma call u big daddy and scream our name…’ cool J. was directly speaking to me from the speakers.

‘Me too!’ said Stella taking a swirling a mouthful of Dave’s Chardonnay before guzzling it down.

‘The conventional methods of making love I mean’ she immediately added, it must have been the puzzled look on my face.

‘Oh Yeah?’

‘Kinky sex gets me there….generic Viagra, lube and anal bang!’

She was into her third glass. I loved the guzzlers. Already talkative and all smiles.  Her Thighs, pink and fleshy rubbing each other warmed up my crotch and I gulped down the rest of my Furaha-Burgundy to calm my nerves.

Gently caressing her arms my evil mind was already wondering, how she might be in bed; the screaming type? Like high school kids in Kibera?  The bubble-gum-chewing and distant looks in their face type? Like the Mathare prostitutes? Sexing them similar to punching sandbags!

‘amma step out for fresh air, its getting stuffy in here’, I said as I gently kissed her hand, she grabbed my bait and walked down the steep stairs with me.

Bad things have a way of following the poor. It always has with me. But today it was alright, things working my way, until I walked out, the sassy Stella in tow, the cold Nairobi air hit my face sending a cooling sensation down my sweaty body.

Tom Mboya and downtown Nairobi, was deserted at that time of the night, easy to find a deserted alley for a steamy hanky panky or a nondescript lane for a bend over quickie, but I was in no hurry to rush stuff tonight. Leaning against a wall I pulled her to me and held her there, the Enzoy in Dave’s chardonnay kills resistant like magic and Stella had enough in her system sending magic electrodes to all the spots I touch.

I didn’t see the dark S06 parked just across the road; I briefly looked up from a mid kiss to see the four of them rushing towards us at full speed.

‘m’fucker, you goon!!’, came a shout from the leader of this improbable gang as they ran towards us.

I stood there bewildered, pretty Stella’s hands spread out behind her trying to cover and shield me from the charging gang and shouting

‘It’s not what you think sweetheart’.

‘Step aside you whore’,

I tried breaking loose and ran for the club’s entrance but I was too late. I felt a pull on my shirt and a heavy slap landed on the back of my head and little bombs burst in my head, making me all giddy and woozy. Another one followed and I was stupefied.

‘Please stop, Andy’,

‘Somebody help, they will kill him, he is innocent’, I heard Stella shout in the distance as I lay on the ground and kicks from heavy boots rained on me from every side.

‘you skunk!’ kick kick kick

‘you’ kick

‘think’ kick

‘you’ kick kick

‘can compe ‘ kick, kick, kick

‘you will never’ kick kick

‘ever…never ever…’ kick

‘I say ever’ ..kick kick

‘Mess with other men’s women again!!’ kick. Kick.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

All through the many kicks and searing pains, words stuck to the walls of my mouth, not getting out, all my screams died in my throat and in my drunken stupor and the resultant trance from the heavy kicks, I heard the distant drone of an aero plane’s engines and in that plane I was flown, Dave’s pilot shirt blindingly white, so close, fading in, out and fading away, he was shouting through the cock pit.

‘Its safe, you are alright, we are taking you home now’

‘She loved my Azonto’, my lips without any sensation.

‘ I promised to take her for the next Blankets and wine event, teach her the ‘mzungu’ dance’, words saliva laced dribbled out of the side of my head, without my control.

‘Voila. Bingo. The anal bang is ish….. like man Giddy’s hashish rolls’

Delirious I lie in my carton, and old clothes made bed dreaming of Stella’s drawl and her Keenya…kinya..kee-nya crap.

©Dalle Abraham Visit Abraham’s Blog ON THE SPOT

3 comments on “Dave’s Antidote

  1. Jones WizKid
    August 30, 2012

    This piece is really good. Your introductory paragraph is sublimed and leaves the reader with a keener yet anticipated intent to read even more. Moreover, with such a short plot, your characters are well developed and setting more pragmatic and vivid. For a moment I thought I had read a whole novel evidenced in such motifs as love, lust, crime, violence; all in a short script. Apart from a few grammatical mistakes (“latter” instead of “later” and a few more others), I would say that you have a knack for writing. Big me up when you launch your novel…

  2. Michael mwangi macharia
    September 5, 2012

    Hard to stop reading this piece once you start.Good tips on how to survive harsh econimic times with Punch concortions…and the risk in trying to leap across the class divide.

  3. james wallace
    September 5, 2012

    damn this story is worth repeanting am neva stoping

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