I was thinking of how long its been since I blogged. It felt like a lifetime. See, since coming back to Kenya, I have been having 15 hour days and none of those hours have been free enough to slot in a post. Apparently, its only been 10 days since I last posted.
It's Saturday, the first free day I've had. Okay, maybe 2nd. Last Saturday, I went to Lake Naivasha for fishing. After 3 hours, I did catch some fish...
...from another boat that happened to be passing ours. I threw my line to the other boat, instead of bait, I had soemthing better attached to the hook.
in Kenya Shillings though.
Half of the loot is still sitting in a freezer. Already marinated. One of these fine weekends, a fish barbecue is in the works.
Yesterday night I hang out with Random Carole. She is in town for work. Our date started in Casablanca. All there seems to be is lonely looking old white men smoking their sheeshas. I wonder where all the high class commercial sex workers are tonight. The population of Casablanca on a given weekend is the reverse. Not that I needed to, but I just checked Wikipedia's definition of a CSW. A sex worker is a person who works in the sex industry. Sex Industry. I wonder, whenI am filling in forms, and I have to select industry, I go for Media or Arts or Film if they have that. What industry do they select? I don't recall seeing sex industry listed.
They have no tapas. We are not hungry for entrees. So we leave.
Caribana is our next destination, where after wrestling down drunk motorist, we finally find parking. Only to walk in and discover that the whole of Nairobi had the same grand idea. Go there! I say something like how easy it would be to bomb Nairobians on a Friday night, predictable lot there are. Carole adds that there is an Al Shabab bomb scare tonight. Hint? It's going to be a crowded place. I say lets go hang out in her room. They wouldn't bother coming there. She says the pub is not crowded in Al Shabab standards. Note to self: Ask her how she knows their preferred numbers. The 'not crowded for terrorists' Caribana has no empty seats. 2 walk throughs confirm confirm that. We drive out of there.
Alfajiri is our next stop. As we drive in, we notice the may empty parking spots. And how quiet it is. We reason that unless Citizen TV across the road is using Alfajiri's parking lot, we should check it out before we turn around. We get out of the car and voila, there is music. Music means life. Life means food. Again, comfortable seats (even remove our shoes and put them up). We want a meat platter. Waiter disappears for 15 mins. Comes back with this sheepish look. There is no platter because the only meat they have is chicken. So lets have the charbroiled chicken, we say. They can only stew the chicken, without the stew, he says. It's definitely not our night to eat, Carole and I think. How can they have run out of food on Friday night? Waiter doesn't know. We have a round of drinks and drive back to her hotel. Sit in the parking lot gossiping (do you call it that when you are taking about yourselves?) for hours. We are now very hungry. Last resort. Kenchic. We know they have food. We find food, our lips love it, our hips shake in disgust. Deep fried food at 1 am. We never learn!
I drop her back and go home. A few hours later, head over to Westlands to rescue a friend who his date has disappeared. He had very high hopes of getting laid. Now he is in a pub all alone. They had a drink, it looked promising- despite the fact that she kept hm waiting for almost 1 hour. He says she was hot, hence worth waiting. Except she starts flirting with every man. They move to another pub, there she leaves him and goes back to the other pub. So I go out there and dance. I have always been the sober one in pubs. Today though, I look at the people and actually see how out of this world they are. Some drunk stranger girl is falling over my pal. He holds her up, she coils herself around him. Her friends tell him ' Can you take her home because we are leaving?' I ask him which home they mean. His? He has no idea either I suggest she can replace the one that got away. He laughs, says he is not that high. The girl can hardly stand up. You can hardly stand up. perfect match, I say.
We leave that pub and go to another one. There he meets a girl he knows. Lets call her D. Perfect, he might just get laid tonight. We talk about the girl who left him. Lets call her Bee (she does hop around, but Bee suits as her real name is a something that insect produces.) Reminds me, be careful what you name your child. Everyone on the table knows her. Every man has her number. Every man has wanted to take her home. She just left with another one. They compare notes. Men are weird creatures. They still think she is hot, and so want her. Really??
My pal looks like he is sorted. I meet some girls who we discuss business with. At 4 am, outside a pub in Westlands. Small world, one of the girls went to Chapman University in OC. I have some developing business with their film school. So we talk about that. When my pal gets his face locked up in D's face, I leave.
It's 5 am.
Hello bed.
It's Saturday, the first free day I've had. Okay, maybe 2nd. Last Saturday, I went to Lake Naivasha for fishing. After 3 hours, I did catch some fish...
...from another boat that happened to be passing ours. I threw my line to the other boat, instead of bait, I had soemthing better attached to the hook.
Half of the loot is still sitting in a freezer. Already marinated. One of these fine weekends, a fish barbecue is in the works.
Yesterday night I hang out with Random Carole. She is in town for work. Our date started in Casablanca. All there seems to be is lonely looking old white men smoking their sheeshas. I wonder where all the high class commercial sex workers are tonight. The population of Casablanca on a given weekend is the reverse. Not that I needed to, but I just checked Wikipedia's definition of a CSW. A sex worker is a person who works in the sex industry. Sex Industry. I wonder, whenI am filling in forms, and I have to select industry, I go for Media or Arts or Film if they have that. What industry do they select? I don't recall seeing sex industry listed.
They have no tapas. We are not hungry for entrees. So we leave.
Caribana is our next destination, where after wrestling down drunk motorist, we finally find parking. Only to walk in and discover that the whole of Nairobi had the same grand idea. Go there! I say something like how easy it would be to bomb Nairobians on a Friday night, predictable lot there are. Carole adds that there is an Al Shabab bomb scare tonight. Hint? It's going to be a crowded place. I say lets go hang out in her room. They wouldn't bother coming there. She says the pub is not crowded in Al Shabab standards. Note to self: Ask her how she knows their preferred numbers. The 'not crowded for terrorists' Caribana has no empty seats. 2 walk throughs confirm confirm that. We drive out of there.
Alfajiri is our next stop. As we drive in, we notice the may empty parking spots. And how quiet it is. We reason that unless Citizen TV across the road is using Alfajiri's parking lot, we should check it out before we turn around. We get out of the car and voila, there is music. Music means life. Life means food. Again, comfortable seats (even remove our shoes and put them up). We want a meat platter. Waiter disappears for 15 mins. Comes back with this sheepish look. There is no platter because the only meat they have is chicken. So lets have the charbroiled chicken, we say. They can only stew the chicken, without the stew, he says. It's definitely not our night to eat, Carole and I think. How can they have run out of food on Friday night? Waiter doesn't know. We have a round of drinks and drive back to her hotel. Sit in the parking lot gossiping (do you call it that when you are taking about yourselves?) for hours. We are now very hungry. Last resort. Kenchic. We know they have food. We find food, our lips love it, our hips shake in disgust. Deep fried food at 1 am. We never learn!
I drop her back and go home. A few hours later, head over to Westlands to rescue a friend who his date has disappeared. He had very high hopes of getting laid. Now he is in a pub all alone. They had a drink, it looked promising- despite the fact that she kept hm waiting for almost 1 hour. He says she was hot, hence worth waiting. Except she starts flirting with every man. They move to another pub, there she leaves him and goes back to the other pub. So I go out there and dance. I have always been the sober one in pubs. Today though, I look at the people and actually see how out of this world they are. Some drunk stranger girl is falling over my pal. He holds her up, she coils herself around him. Her friends tell him ' Can you take her home because we are leaving?' I ask him which home they mean. His? He has no idea either I suggest she can replace the one that got away. He laughs, says he is not that high. The girl can hardly stand up. You can hardly stand up. perfect match, I say.
We leave that pub and go to another one. There he meets a girl he knows. Lets call her D. Perfect, he might just get laid tonight. We talk about the girl who left him. Lets call her Bee (she does hop around, but Bee suits as her real name is a something that insect produces.) Reminds me, be careful what you name your child. Everyone on the table knows her. Every man has her number. Every man has wanted to take her home. She just left with another one. They compare notes. Men are weird creatures. They still think she is hot, and so want her. Really??
My pal looks like he is sorted. I meet some girls who we discuss business with. At 4 am, outside a pub in Westlands. Small world, one of the girls went to Chapman University in OC. I have some developing business with their film school. So we talk about that. When my pal gets his face locked up in D's face, I leave.
It's 5 am.
Hello bed.
