Happy New Year From Naivasha…The Madness,The Girls,The Dirt,The Screams… Huddah Monroe And Nigerian Singer Patoranking Getting Naughty

I don’t know where you spent your New Year’s Eve but I can bet it wasn’t half as insane as mine was. Not unless you were in Dubai and the Luxury Hotel you had booked into was the one that caught fire spiraling up into your room,then my New Year’s Eve was the most fire.

I wasn’t even supposed to go to Naivasha for New Year’s. Last year I traveled to Machakos People’s Park for my New Year’s Eve festivities but it wasn’t quite all it had been billed to be. Half of the night featured a very self-obsessed Governor Mutua giving speeches that no one bothered about. And the other half was spent dancing ourselves lame on those very cold Stadium stands,with lame music and even lamer DJs and a probably inebriated hypeman who screamed the whole night down.

I had a constant feeling that the Naivasha trip would be a waste of time and I had misgivings about traveling all the way. Plus I’d heard enough stories about the idiocy of some of these NTSA busy bodies who had now suddenly gone rogue and had started to all of a sudden conjure up the most bizarre and downright archaic road laws ever. I wasn’t in a mood for some little silly argument with a third-rate NTSA official intent on milking me dry for his own wicked gratification. But after much convincing,Naivasha it is!

Safari started at around noon. But I was up at 8 just getting ready,taking my Lamborghini to the car wash and having to pick up Amon Wanjohi a KTN actor from one of the very thin and congested streets of Kahawa Wendani. I was still to pick up yet another Tony Irari at Kikuyu at around 11.30am after which we’d drive down to Naivasha early to avoid traffuck.

I get to some ka-place called Gitaru past the Kikuyu Junction and we have to wait to Irari for almost half and hour. And while waiting,we have to contend with impatient touts,loud buses,lots of market fare and drunk blokes hawking sliced sugar cane.

Iran,sorry, Irari shows up finally,squeezing himself through some lean path between two vibandas,his girlfriend in tow. I want to lecture him on the merits of punctuality but I don’t have the time. Soon as he’s settled himself into the car,gently ushering his girl in too,I drive off.

Miss B is by my side… Taking Four Cousins,a sort of sweet wine that she won’t stop swigging.

Amon had bought some Flirt Vodka at Nakumatt Kahawa Wendani and some very large party cups two of which he’d already wrecked by crumbling them for lack of a better thing to do with this gleefulness. The Vodka’s placed across my cahir…And,oh,we are planning to reeaaaaally spend alot in Naivasha. Maybe 20k or something. And I take a quick photo of some of the cash I have on hand. #SteveMbogoManenos Haha.

I am onto some Flirt Vodka too. Irari shows up armed with a million Heineken cans that he won’t stop swallowing… His girl is dangling a drink I’d never seen or heard of. And after one taste of it,I want to cough my tongue out. And a few other internal organs.

‘Tunahitaji kubuy soda… ‘ Amon announces,pouring a very generous amount of vodka into his cup.`Hakuna shops hapa karibu? Ama suupa?’

Barely have we driven for half a kilometer before we’re stopped by some very eager traffuck police. ‘Wekeni Seat Belt’ Miss B announces as she struggled to turn down the music volume in the car.

I shut down the radio altogether and quickly throw across the seat belt,strapping it into place and removing my sunglasses.

The cop guy walks up to my window and asks for my Driving License. I rummage around for it and find it under my balls. I hand it over as I sit back wondering how will I effectively hide the plastic cup that’s very poorly hidden beneath my legs.

Without returning my DL,the cop fellow walks over to the Insurance section to check the validity of my Insurance. Nothing to rave about. Poor guy.

He now peers into the car to try and find fault,we allow him,his chunky head almost pouring into the car. My guys at the back are acting all sober and godly. I start I even heard one salute the cop thus, ‘Bwana Asifiwe Afande’.

You DO NOT say Bwana Asifiwe Afande. Doesn’t matter how scared you are or how guilty you epically are. You do NOT say Bwana Asifiwe Afande. That’s the clearest way to announce ‘I am Guilty. Arrest Me Askari…’

Anyway,the cop guy reluctantly returns my DL and wishes us a safe journey. We wish him a safe journey too. But then we remembered he wasn’t going anywhere.

Amon laughs like the historical prick he truly is. ‘Simama hapo Mbele…. Kuna shops… Tubuy soda…’ Irari blurts amid the loud noise in the car.

I park at some sleepy market flooded with avocado traders and potato farmers. Amon walks over and comes back in a minute,dragging along two 2-litre Coca Cola bottles with him.

I remember I am supposed to pick some other girl in or around Limuru. And it’s now time to pick the damsel up. I call her and she asks me to wait up for her somewhere around the ‘Flyover’. Crap.

We stay around the Flyover for sixteen hours and this girl won’t show up. Just when we’ve given up all hope and expended all our patience,she shows up,dressed like an ISIS recruit. Her makeup is so heavy you see her choking under its weight. Her hair’s thrown around in the wildest hairstyle ever invented and I didn’t have a name yet for what she I’d wearing. Half of her tummy was out. Half of her butt was out too. And her titties were basically pouring out. She has a gold clutch bag and a fur coat that she’s dangling on her dainty hands. Her shoes are so high she’d lease them as ladders to construction workers.

 

Her red lipstick is so loud and prominent you can see it from Costa Rica. And her red nail polish reminds you of an Italian Dominatrix.

‘Aki poleni! ‘she purrs.’ Hi guuyyyssss… ‘ she coos.

‘Get in the car,Bitch! And shut the fuck up!’ I am thinking to myself.

She shoves herself into the car and sits on Amon. Oh Amon. How blessed art thou.

Beer’s almost running out. Miss B has already drowned a whole Four Cousins bottle. Amon wants the music to be louder. In fact he wants to play HIS music. Irari is still very squeezed and lost in the World of endless Heinekens to think straight. His gril is still struggling to finish the bitter thing I told you she came with. The new girl won’t stop talking mad wondering why we don’t have Red Label. And I am multi-tasking between eating crisps, driving,handling my vodka cup that keeps pouring it’s contents on me and trying to answer the very many questions our new girl has. Damn,she even asks me my top twenty 2015 moments. And also asked me what I think of Hillary Clinton and the 6 things I think she should do to salvage her floundering campaign. Jesus! I’m driving,Bitch!

‘Tusimame Kinungi tupige picha… ‘ Miss B announces,readying her phone and whipping out her sunglasses. Everyone agrees and at Kinungi we stop.

Kinungi is that little area on your way to Naivasha where they sell Maasai shukas,local ornaments and all manner of Samburu embroidery… It’s also the picturesque place from where you can clearly start seeing the breathtaking Rift Valley escarpments,valleys and beautiful mist-ridden Hills.

Photo session takes a billion hours. We even ask the guys selling stuff around there to take photos of us. And their photo-taking skills are as poor as the guy who is managing Ben Carson’s campaign. Some other fellow walks up to my car to try and sell me rabbits. Rabbits!!! Listen up,Partner… I am on my way to Naivasha to spend a while night under the sky. There’s no way I want to bring along a rabbit with me. Or any other animal for that matter.

Soon after,some other guys traveling in a Mazda Demio join us and park next to us. They’re here for some photo quickies too… And some other rowdy gang joins us. And another and another.

Done with the photography,and a little bit of noise making,it’s time to hop into the car and drive off…

Once we’re all in the car,we soon realize someone’s missing… Miss B. Turns out that she’d been asked by the other jamaaz to join them in their photos and she was still at some corner with them,posing with them and smiling for photos with them. Oh,come on now!

The remaining part of the journey is short and uneventful… And before we know it,we’re at the Naivasha town Junction. There’s a battalion of cops waiting there,with huge spikes thrown across the road and signs erected announcing ‘STOP! POLICE CHECK’

We don’t stop. And we’re not stopped. Thank you Jesus! The drive off to Manera Farm takes less than 10 minutes. Aaaaand we are Heeereee!!! Finally!!!!

The guys in a green Mazda Demio were behind us all the way to Manera farm and soon as we park our car around some grassy area,they Park next to us too… And pour out,yelling and cursing,delicately holding onto their beer cans and cups and what have you. One of their girls has been smoking for the last fourteen weeks… And she now walks up to us asking ‘Who wants a joint?’

The music from their ka-Mazda Demio is soo loud you can see the little car almost giving up on life.

Manera Farm is a beehive of activities… There are teams of busy chaps around the entrance either working on the ticketing or the gate or the pathways to the event itself. Some mama from Jack Daniels wants to start a conversation with me but I am too tired to care. Irari is still in the car… Lying on his mama. Amon is chatting up the chain smoker from the Mazda Demio. Miss B is still taking photos, Kate,the Limuru girl,has disappeared in less than three minutes. And I badly want to pee.

After some jamaa hands us our tickoz,we decide to leave for Naivasha tao to kula nyama. Cos we’re as hungry as a million Syrian refugees..

 

The search for an eatery is surprisingly hectic. We’ve already driven TO Naivasha tao and for a town famous for nyama and farming lifestyles,it’s becoming incredibly hard to bump into a nice food joint that doesn’t,by the way,sell illicit meat.

Naivasha is notorious for slaughtering-and serving-any sort of meat. From Donkeys to Dogs to trapped Hippos and the last thing we want is to devour a meal that was organized by a bunch of drugged animal poachers.

And after driving around the little boring town,round and round,flagging down people to ask for excellent eating places,we find one joint named Arizona. Going by the name,we assume they’ve got super amazing nyam chom.