Nothings turns a modern day girl ON more than some slimy mrenda mixed with bitter managu eaten with brown ugali. She will fall head over heels with you if you serve her boiled sweet potatoes and uji for breakfast in bed. Let me tell you a secret that you never knew: girls love traditional food. Take a light-skin cutie out and buy her githeri for dinner, her interest in you will increase by a margin of 70%!
However, that was in the early 19th century. Try such pre-historic stunts now and you will find memes of yourself trending on twitter and facebook.
Welcome to the new age, where sex, drugs and obscene photography tops the list of priorities. Female millennials love pizza. They love burgers, shawarmas, fries and all ilk of fast foods. They want to be frequently seen at KFC, Java, Chicken Inn, Peppino’s Pizza, Burger King, Dominos etc. It will take 1 revolution of Neptune round the sun to make them sit at Hot Dishes, which serves traditionally cooked food. The only way to score points as a guy in this generation that craves for wheat and anything deep fried is to regularly take them to Coldstone and Planet Yoghurt, just to mention but a few.
When I say score I mean SCORE. It is possible to do the impossible nowadays. Just ask the boys of traditional African society what it took for them to ingiza dame box . The hustle then, was real. Today, the task is as easy as taking a selfie.
If you think I am joking, wait til’ you ingiza a ponderously made-up light-skin, Vans-on-feet and heavily weaved slay queen box by merely taking her out to Peppino’s Pizza on Friday night (Friday is a great day for boys in Kenya! All hail Friday!). Start by sitting her down and ordering her a large thick-crust Hawaiian pizza accompanied by a 300ml Coke. Notice how patient she will pretend to be as you wait for the order. Like a cat, she will be excited and almost purring, looking all nice and cuddly. Her eyes will certainly be wide and gleaming with gluttony. The conversation here will revolve around how she likes that restaurant and whether you have tried that other one across the street. She will make you know all the pizza types she has had and praise the one that you allowed her to order.
When it arrives at the table, see the glimmer that will appear in her eyes and the messy drool that will almost fall from her mouth. She will be so delighted she’ll forget to wash her hands. You will enjoy your pizza and Coke, before you decide to go club hoping and get her drunk enough that she almost blacks out. These slay queens are sots. They drink a hella lot! Unfortunately or fortunately, they think they can drink a lot of whiskey without getting drunk. Some of them are even convinced that wine does not make them drunk – “Mimi nilewe wine? Miimi?? Ai zii. Ata iwe gani, mimi si weak ivo. Unless nikunywe chupa kama nane mfululizo.” Here is where they screw themselves up.
On their 3rd glass of cheap mzinga ya 4th Street, they will have started to get all clumsy, touchy and very chatty. Because you are a man on a mission, you will allow them to continue sipping on the glass, even requesting for shisha if it is around. You will bring all the lies and chocha you know to her ears, throwing in some dirty talk here and there because you must achieve your target. All this time, you are limiting your drinking, because you must not lose sight of your goal. You must retain your sanity for the subsequent sessions.
After she has gotten high enough – that point where she is saying how drunk she is not, how she must go home, and when you notice that she is about to black out – you move in for the kill. But there will be a struggle. You will have to take on the extremely hard and annoying task of convincing her that it is very late for her to go to her home in Ndenderu so she will have to sleep at your place – as in your sq – luckily in South B.
Today is you lucky night (Friday always is), so you manage to persuade a father’s daughter and quickly call a cab before she changes her mind.
<Scene deleted because it’s contents are obscene hence not appropriate for the public>
The next time that our poor slay queen will be seen in public is Sunday evening – late when the sun has already set. She will be standing at the stage, her big yellow handbag hanging from her inner elbow, looking disorganized. She is waiting for a matatu that will take her to town, where she will connect another one to her mother’s house in Ndenderu. Today she will not be waiting for a Many’anga, any jalopy will do. She is uncomfortable. She feels vulnerable and exposed. She feels ugly, dirty and cheap, that is why she is camouflaging in the darkness.
She cannot believe it happened again. When she agreed to listen to him talk, she had not in this world intended for it to end the way it did. He was not her type in the first place. Plus, she had seen many like him before so she knew what he wanted. Never was she going to give it to him what he wanted. But then he mentioned pizza. My God she could not resist – not after she had not eaten some in a while because her mother was not giving her money anymore. You might ask why she stayed the whole weekend – the answer is: he played so fucking well! When you find a good game, you get addicted to it, you do not want to leave it.
Her head is full of thoughts swirling around – good and bad alike. Among her bad ones now is her mother. She has not slept at home for 2 nights. She lied that she was at her friends house, but she knows mom did not believe that excuse. A war awaits her.
Somehow, she just somehow forgot to carry her portable make-up kit – an occurrence that happens less often than Kalonzo assumes presidency. She won’t speak to anyone because her breath stinks. She is careful to put her Infinix phone on silent just incase it rings and she has to open her mouth to answer it. She has her fare in coins so that she gives exact amounts to avoid conversations like “madam change yako ni ngapi?”. In her mind, she intends to sit right next to either the conductor or driver so that she will just have to point instead of say “shukusha”. Her mouth smells a combination of garlic, onions, a concoction of several cheap liquor and many other unpleasant smells. The dude’s house had no comb, so her horse hair (weave) is shaggy, as if a several volts of electric current had flowed through her body. She is still in the same red dress that barely reaches her mid thigh, this time creased, the same denim crop jacket and her slim legs terminate in dirty Vans Off The Wall shoes.
God is good she gets home. He is also punishes sins so her mother still instils in her serious discipline. She vows not to ever allow herself to be in such a position again.
…but she is a slay queen, pizza turns her on.