4am demons

The 4am girl. She has drunk more than her boyfriend had budgeted and probably smoked something illegal. Six inch heels and the tight miniskirt were not prepared for this outcome. Her makeup is coming off. Her lipstick smeared on some dudes face... the dude she almost had sex with behind the urinals. She is screaming profanities at her boyfriend. Poor guy is almost giving up on her and the whole relationship; understandably so given she almost had sex with some stranger behind the urinals. She pukes violently. The boyfriend tries to hold her hair back and maybe save the two-month relationship in the process. Poor fellow is pushed away with more "F you's" and other insults constructed to demean his manhood.
"Where is my freaking phone?" She screams at everyone gathered outside the club's entrance to witness her drama. Taxi drivers laugh and shake their heads glad they didn't sire daughters. Boyfriend produces her latest infinix phone clad in a pink cover.
"Here it is babe..." He offers, hoping to be the hero that safely kept his babe's phone while she downed dry shots of whiskey and showing off obscene dance moves on top of their table a few minutes ago. He really should be angry with her utter disrespect to their relationship but he is Mr Nice guy. His kind gesture is welcomed with more insults this time extended to his family.
"Motherfucker!" She blasts. Boyfriend takes a few steps back as she swings her handbag at him much to the delight of the taxi drivers and onlookers. It is Monday, 4 am and she is as drunk as fish.
She suddenly breaks into laughter.
"Bitch!" She shoots the insult at boyfriend and bends down to puke again. She is sweating. Despite everything that is going on allover her face she is strikingly beautiful; perhaps too beautiful for the boyfriend. "Call me an uber you bitching son of a biatch!" She makes a poor attempt at kicking the boyfriend with her left leg, the only casualty being her miniskirt which tears along the slit exposing her sky-blue panties, and her perfect bum on which she lands. The drama has more audience: the campus praise and worship team headed for morning glory now casting pitiful and judging eyes at her. They shake their heads and thank God they are not sinful drunkards. Boyfriend is not sure of his next move. He hesitates. Grave mistake.
"We are done Collins! F you! We are done!" She laughs again and the laughter morphs into loud sobbing. "Don't leave me baby, I love you!" She raises her hands up like a baby. Boyfriend takes this as an invitation of truce and rushes to help his baby up.
"You piece of crap you have torn my skirt!" She cries as boyfriend tries to balance her weight on his shoulder. "Where is my jumper?"
"You left it in there..." Boyfriend whimpers. She is getting on his nerves.
"Go get my freaking jumper!" She is screaming again. Poor guy doesn't know whether to drop her back on the floor and go get the said jumper or do the same and walk out of this relationship. He is saved by a gang of three other equally drunk chics.
"Gai! Is that Shiko?" A tall girl staggers closer to the couple.
"Babe are you okay?" Another short girl joins the party.
"Collins what have you given her? You know Shiko doesn't drink makali!" Another tall chic reprimands the boyfriend. They are taking over this disaster. The 4 am girl pukes. Again.
"Gai!" The tall girl holds back her hair. "Bestie you will be okay..."
"I am fine! Leave me alone!" The girl spits out then wipes the vomit away with the back of her hand and off goes what remained of her maroon lipstick.
Music is still blasting from the club. 'Don't go am kujaing!' Sings king kaka.
"Woohoooo!" Screams our girl. "That's my jam! Let's go back bestie!"
"Where is your phone?" The short one asks. She really is too short.
"That motherfucker has it" Our girl burps out without even looking at boyfriend. The four girls stagger back to the club and poor fellow stands there. Lost. He has a C.A.T to sit in four hours.
"Bro are you okay?" It's a deep voice. It's some tall guy with dreadlocks. The guy who almost had sex with his girlfriend behind the urinals.

PATRICIA (part one of five)

Patricia is a man
He stinks of sweat weed and cheap ciggerates
He has three girlfriends and doesn't care for any of them
He hates them. But he loves hatred
He always smiles at them
But not with his eyes.

 Patricia has a deep voice and is always excited.
Patricia smiles with his lips and teeth but not with his eyes.
His eyes glitter with pain and anger and horrors of his nightmares
But he loves his eyes.
He enjoys burning people with his steady gaze.

Patricia hears voices
Screaming at him to die
Screaming at him to box the walls and play with razors
The voices are his own, drumming the insides of his skull in mockery
Cry
Patricia cannot cry. That will ruin his black eye-liner

Patricia loves bleeding
His blood is always warm
Patricia loves playing with razors on his wrist
And bask in the buzzing pain vibrating in his left arm
He loves the tickling of warm blood streaming down his arm
They make him smile... sometimes laugh
But not with his eyes.

Patricia loves laughing
He will laugh at anything.
At how pretty his angry eyes are
At how he dreams of being stabbed in the stomach
Or taking a bullet through his head

He laughs at his speedy funeral
No coffins
Washed bathed in fresh water and wrapped in white sheets.
Patricia wants to be hurried before 4 o'clock, within 10 hours of his death
He laughs. Never with his eyes

Patricia wants to take over
Patricia is the joker
Patricia is the man
He does what he wants


He loves to laugh not with his eyes 
Patricia is a man.

SHE GAVE ME AIDS IN (PART TWO)

"Brandy or whisky?"
"Anything with an alcohol content, except chang'aa"
"I have done chang'aa you know?"
"Get out!" My eyes wide, my jaw drops, "Aren't you full of surprises!"
"Turns out chang'aa isn't that bad!" She shrugs and grins. I am not sure if she whether she is serious or joking. She is Viola from our previous blog post. She is a gorgeous twenty five year old girl. And (as she puts it) and she has AIDS.
We have located from the coffee shop to the bar at Zaika Lounge.
"You know they say people who drink when the sun is up have either made it in life or they are clinical alcoholics..." I point out.
"Well they are stupid! You and I answer to a higher law!" we high five. The lounge has only one other person. Maybe because its 11 am on a Monday. He is a sharply dressed man in a beige suit with dreadlocks like Dedan Kimathi. If my earliet theory on day drinking is anything to go by, he looks like he has made it in life AND a clinical alcoholic.
A waiter comes to the counter where we are perched.
"Are you ready to order?" her voice should be on radio.
"I will take any vodka and two shots of chang'aa for this lovely lady." Viola explodes in that loud and careless laughter. She is roaring on the floor. The waiter is dumbfounded and clueless on how to nurse her confusion. "I am sorry, she will have the same." She walks around the counter to the shelves not at all impressed by my joke.
"So..." I start as as Viola catches her breath, "I want to ask how she infected you but it seems a bit insensitive..."
"Don't you want to know how I became a stripper first?" She is either toying with me or she is scared of telling her story. Either way I am curious with this bit of information.
"I have always wanted to be a stripper!" I kid. She lets out a whoop like sound then cocvers her mouth stifling her signature loud laugh. Dedan Kimathi guy turns and smiles at us.
"Chochi you are so stupid!"
"Awww, thank you!" Our drink arrives. We take the first shot together. It burns like acid. "So stripping..." I take out my note book.
"Oh yeah, your friend and I eventually got broke, and she suggested this new way of making quick cash at a club here in town. A cousin of hers was stripping there and she agreed to train us and get us a gig there."
"You mean to tell me," I sweep a quick look around the lounge to make sure we are out of ear shot, "There is a strip joint in this town?"
"Kwani which hole do you live in? I will take you there one day soon..."
"Nope!" i throw my hands up, "I am not ready to be a stripper yet!"
"To watch, not to strip!" But she knows I am joking. "Anyways, your bestie and I got hooked up at the club. We would strip dance on saturdays and sundays..."
"How much does it pay?"
" five thao per night..."
"Jesus girl! Maybe i should be a stripper!"
"You'd make a good one!" we laugh. Dedan Kimathi is clearly interested in our conversation. We give him the cold shoulder.
"I still strip, but in Nairobi. My stripper name is Viola"
"I dont know what to make of that . Wow!" There is silence as we down our drinks. We all know what the next topic is. But she waits till i ask.
"Are you ready to talk about it?"
"I want to kill your friend then kill myself." She says this as a matter of fact, calm, collected and premeditated. "She broke me first emotionally and when she could manipulate me she infected me. You know what she said after I told her I am HIV positive?"
"What?"
"She looked at me in the eyes and said, 'welcome to the club' !" Tears welled in her eyes. I patted her on the back. She pulled away, "Do not touch me. I hate being touched!" She took three shots of the vodka in three quick successions. I waited. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that."
"It is okay to react like that." I resisted the urge to hug her. "Do you mind telling me how it happened?"
"No I dont, thats why we are here, right?"
As if she knew what we were talking about, the waiter enters the DJ booth and tge lounge booms to Kate Perry's "I kissed a girl" hit song. We looked at each other and to my relief Viola cracks up in genuine laughter.
"It was a Sunday night, my third day at the strip bar and our shift was over. I was high on three different drugs. I could barely see clearly or even think straight. Your bestie was walking me out of the club's basement where our changing room was when one of the older strippers came along. She snatched my purse and emptied its contents to her hand bag. I was too weak to even raise a finger."
"What were you high on?" I was burning to find out.
"The usual, booze, weed, some of those pills they give mental people" I had heard of these pills but never laid my eyes on them. "Anyway she slaps your bestie and says something i couldnt quite hear but sounded like insults. We staggered out of the club and she shoves me at the back of a cab. The cab driver seems to know your friend pretty well. He asks if we have money and to my horror she sits me upright and says. "I got this one. She is fresh, you will see!" Before I even know what is going on, the taxi driver leans to the back sit and plants his lips on mine!" There is a look of disgust in her face. Her eyes, lost in the distance well up and this time she gives her tears a free reign. "The taxi driver asks her : "My place or yours?" "My place ofcourse, we dont have money on us" And we drive off. It feels like a few seconds before we reach your friend's house. The two carry me and throw me on the bed. She helps him undress me...." Tears choke her. She can't go on.
"Oh deary..." I hug her, she doesnt pull away.
"She watched him doing this to me. I looked into her eyes helpless. The pills had taken over my body I couldnt make any move. I looked into her eyes and she did nothing." She was in pain. I wanted to tell her to stop. I couldnt. "After he was done guess what?" I am silent. My own tears are filling up. "she undresses...."


"I went for HIV tests every two weeks since then and on the fourth testing my horrors were confirmed. I had AIDS. And what does your bestie tell me?"


"Welcome to the club..."


A true story.

SHE GAVE ME THE AIDS IN (PART ONE)

"You are so hot,  I will let you give me AIDS" I wink and she bursts out in a fit of infectious laughter. Her laughter is loud and careless and attracts the attention of other customers. We are in Java house, Eldoret town. "Seriously, you are so hot... it is worth it!" this sends her screaming in extended laughter. She is one of those humans who run away from the point where the joke was cracked while laughing.  A waiter signals us to keep it down.
"Chochi you should be a comedian!" she wipes her tears. It is my turn to laugh.
"You know I do stand-up for a living!" I punch her playfully on her shoulder and she punches back. she is a joy to be around. Her name is Viola and she has HIV and AIDS.

"Viola" is the name she told me to use in our interview. Its is also her stripper name. She broke the news about her HIV status via a text message, "Hey Chochi, I want you to publish my story on your blog. And I have AIDS". That's it. And I have AIDS.  That is how she put it, hard and cold.
" '...and i have AIDS'? Really?" I asked her.
"When you break such news several times you stop beating around the bush and just drop the bomb. I am used to all types of reactions..."
"How many people know?"
"Those who need to know." she sipped her second cup of coffee. I liked the way her pink lips kissed the mug.  It had been close to two years since I had last seen her back in campus.
"So where do we begin?" I try to be serious because we are loud and people are looking at us disapprovingly. "I mean,  since how long have you had it?"
"I have known for eighteen months now. Your friend gave it to me... "
"You have to stop dropping bombs like that! " My heart was literally beating in my throat. It is a bit disappointing that all my male friends crossed my mind and I suspected 99 percent of them.
"You know her quite well too. " Another bombshell.
I was speechless. A few seconds pass before I realize I am staring at her, looking into her eyes the way a certain 2022 presidential candidate looks at a land he wants to grab.  "Dude! You ain't fun anymore... "
I suddenly see in her eyes what she is afraid of, the reality of what she has in her. She has made it this far by taking it all lightly and laughing it off. In this dead moment I can see pain written in subtle wrinkles under her eyes. The pink lipstick covers a tiny sore that can only be spotted if you are looking for it. She sighs heavily and a hint of brandy hits me from her breath. For a brief moment there she hasn't got it all together as she would love the world to see and think.
"Are you still dating that nasty girl who does not know how to dance?" Viola asks, changing the topic and returning me back to the room.
"I left her" I smile halfway
"It's the dancing, isn't it?" Her careless laugh joins mine. When the laughter dies I realise we cannot look at each other with the comfort we began this date with.
"How did it happen?" I tap my pen on my notebook
"Well her dancing was so horrible you left her! " She laughs so had she starts coughing uncontrollably.
"Go away! You know what I mean! " I ignore the coughing.
"Well, my house was locked because I had not paid rent for two months going into the third month. I lacked a place to crush so I slept at a night club for a couple of days... That's where I met your friend. She bought me a meal and a drink. We talked about you for most part since it was the only thing we had in common. I waited till I was high enough to tell her about my accommodation situation and she was more than happy to help me out. That bitch! " There was pure hate and anger in her voice and written allover her oval face was pain. "She abused me emotionally, physically and sexually. Just because she had taken me in...  And she gave me the aids. " She said this looking straight in to my eyes. It felt uncomfortable. I felt she blamed me. I don't know why. I wanted to look away but it felt  unfair to look away, like i owed her this gaze; just as it felt unfair to ask 'How did she give you AIDS?'

To be continued...