[I’m co-opting this title and will be using it for all future posts on this sub. In my not so short stint in America, I’ve got some stories to tell. This is the first of a series of posts under this title.]
HEKAYA 1…………of many (stay tuned)
I had just graduated college and started my first big boy job ; yet another tech bro in the sacred fields of Silicon Valley ready to change the world. I had finally joined the rank and file of all the new talent that graced what was/is, perhaps, the most successful company in the Bay Area but this is a story for another day. One of my friends from college had founded a startup selling jeans - weird, I know but this is the valley and anything can happen. Jewish kid ; had some major connections. It was inevitable that he would start something, anything at all.
Said friend calls me on a Friday, says he’s hosting a happy hour for his startup and he’d want me there [I rolled with some major circles in college so I was also very well connected - I was in a fraternity, a few social clubs, played Lacrosse……all of it. I was paying through the nose for an American degree at (one of) the most prestigious college in Silicon Valley. I had to make every dime count]. I can do a backstory of all the hekayas from college but let’s go back to the real hekaya. So where were we? Ah, Friday party in SF for some startup by my Jewish friend from college. I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t I just say white? Well, this is America and the distinction matters a whole lot.
7:00 PM, I grab dinner at Chipotle, take a hot shower and make sure that my Creed Aventus cologne had graced my armpits. Yeah, I’d upgraded from Old Spice which was common among every college guy. I was making big boy money now at 23. Almost 4.5 times the median wage in America. Not bad for a guy from Nyeri. A man of my newly acquired stature didn’t have to go to the train station and use those dirty trains cramped around smelly homeless people. I booked an Uber ($50) to San Francisco, which could have been $9 if I’d just used the train but I was now a tech bro, and was on to change the world ; I’ll probably be a founder or a VC someday. Had to look the part.
Off I go to SF or San Fran as we called it. I spent the whole ride listening to the uber driver complain about his daughter who had just dropped out of college and she was already in debt because of all the loans. Not my problem. I just wanted to get to my destination and have some fun. The venue was some bar in the Marina aka, the Karen of SF so to speak. I get there, say hi to my buddy and immediately notice some familiar faces. If you went to the school I did, you were bound to come across most of these folks in such places all the time. It’s like one big family. Now, this is a tech happy hour so it was mostly guys and very few women. I spotted this girl….silky brown hair and some nicely shaped curves, piercing green eyes and everything nice. I’ve always been a go-getter so I walk over to introduce myself. American girls are very polite and can hold a conversation about literally everything under the sun ; this is unlike our Kenyan/African girls who just quip a few “eeeh”, “mmmhh” here and there. Zero substance. But can you blame them? All they’ve known is poverty so they’re not exposed to anything out there. They don’t surf, they don’t ski, they don’t travel, they don’t get out there to do stuff so really, I understand why they’re usually short of conversation. It turns out this piece of ass was engaged to the co-founder of my buddy. Yeah, she was about to get married soon. Her to be fiance joins in ready to protect his territory. I would have done the same for she was a catch. Anyway, I let go of that thought and continue interacting with everyone else, getting drunk, having fun and just feeling at peace. This was the life I wanted. I mean, in an alternate universe, I’d probably be tarmacking in Nairobi and maybe gotten a 40k job at best. But here I was, living it up ; doing better than 99.9% of Americans.
As the night went on, home-girl (the engaged chic) keeps making glances at me so I scoot over and make small talk. Not that I had any intentions because I knew she was taken so I was just really enjoying the moment. We had so much in common and talking to her was easy. One thing leads to another. I start throwing some compliments. I receive some back. I make fun of how her husband-to-be wouldn’t be okay seeing her this happy with some Kenyan guy (those self-deprecating jokes that are meant to be teasingly flirtatious). I mean, we were clicking, the night was getting at its peak. As luck would have it, her fiancé excuses himself to go market some jeans (he was co-founder of my friend, remember? This was a startup event). So it’s just me and her now.
I have a few strategies at hand that I’ve used to funga chipo chiles over the years, one of which had served me well. Like the Jambazi I was, nikaichomoa. I tell the chic that it was getting crowded and loud in there and that we should head over to this bar on the Mission (an old street in the city) for some drinks. Of course we weren’t going to get drinks; there was enough of that going around at the venue we were in. For those of you who are not familiar with these games of the hunter and the hunted, this is double speak for “let’s get some alone time”. The playbook is pretty simple: Find your prey, get her playing with her hair using whatever method you’re good at, and then……this is the important part, ISOLATE YOUR PREY. To get to this step, you need to have played the other two perfectly. I take this wife-to-be to this bar, we get to the dance floor and start dancing those funny white people dances. Funny story, I hated them at first but when you live among people for so long, you start to adapt to their mannerisms. Their likes become your likes. Their habits become yours. You assimilate subconsciously and before you know it, you’re born again. A few minutes in and we start making out. The bar lights are shimmering on our faces and we look like two zombies at each other’s necks. I was kissing this bimbo like there was no tomorrow. I remember how stunned I was the first time I saw people making out on the dance floor when I got here at 19. One of those moments where you go “where the fuck did I just land?” On the dance floor, there’s this guy right next to me making out with this Asian girl with an ass that is to die for. The guy high fives me. If a guy high fives you in the middle of making out, it’s an acknowledgment that you’re now brothers, forever bonded by the skillful art of seducing a woman and getting her to let your body in. This gentlemen, is brotherly love. Few have known it. Even fewer have experienced the joy of having a woman give herself to you to do with her as you please. It’s the ultimate pinnacle of manhood.
Here I was, with someone’s future wife, a friend of a friend, and was busy digging my tongue into her oesophagus. I didn’t know my tongue was a freak of nature. They should have this as a sport. Maybe I’d make a few millions in tongue competitions, who knows? Next startup?
Anyway, I took the girl home and finished my business with her. Close friends of my Jewish mate were planning on having breakfast in the city on Saturday morning and I had plans to join in because I wanted to catch up with some friends. Needless to say, it was very funny when I saw the guy who’s Chic I had chips fungad the previous night. Pray tell I never have to marry a Kunguru.
