Mfashumwana and I enjoyed the boogie at K Club. The visitor from the U.S.A danced to the tunes of Valu Valu and did a pakachini! His unique styles put us to shame as he pulled out even more tricks.
As for Mfasha and I, we were perched up on the high stools doing justice to Bralirwa products. A chance comes once my man! This was a chance to guzzle sizeable quantities of frothy booze. Here we were doing a de-toothing session which reminded me of the de-toothing that the ladies used to carry out during the mid 90s.
It was during those days when Aggrey and I lived a very expensive life. We always tried to show off to just to everybody in order for us to fit into society. This happened especially when the Kigali chicks were on the rampage. That is why you would always find a queue of visitors waiting for us at our offices during the last days of every month.
If the visitors were just bearded men searching for their children’s school fees, Aggrey and I would use the back door to flee. But if the queue of visitors was in form of Kigali chicks looking for a glass of wine, Aggrey and I would spring up with open arms. We would then collect all our hard earned dollars and instead of taking the cash straight to BCR, we would branch off to Zanzibar pub in Kiyovu for several rounds. By now, we always knew that our lady friends would not place an order for Coca cola or Fanta ikonje. Instead, they would look through the Zanzibar menus for a couple of minutes.
Then they would look at the smart waiter and spell out these words; “Hey garcon, we want a glass of Pinot Noir. Also bring along a bottle of Chardonnay”. At this stage, Aggrey and I would force a fake smile and nod our heads in approval. As we would be placing an order for Amstels, one of the ladies would chastise us: “Those are cheap drinks. You guys are men of class. Hey garcon, please bring along a bottle of Folle Blanche for these gentlemen!”
By the time we were through with the evening, one would wonder whether
these chicks were earning that salary on our behalf. They spent it like there was no tomorrow. As we would be dying inside, our faces would be reflecting different emotions. In fact we would even encourage them to consume as much as possible since we were men enough to meet the costs. After filling their tummies with a cocktail of drinks, the ladies would order us to take them to Black and White discotheque
This was a hot spot during the mid 90s. It was situated at Muhima somewhere near the Saint Family Church. It was here that we would finally succumb to the dreaded liquors. Having mixed several bottles of whisky with frothy beers, our heads would start to receive flashes of blackouts. Usually, when flashes of blackouts attacked us, we would not do the most sensible thing. Instead of bidding goodbye to the joint and head back to our modest home, our minds would tell us to buy one last bottle for the road.
At this point, the nice looking barmaid behind the counter would cajole us into buying a bottle of Chivas Regal premium. As our ladies danced to the tunes of Zouk muchana love and Ndombolo ya solo, Aggrey and I would be tanking and draining down the contents of the potent drink. Then the initial flashes of blackouts would finally become permanent. This time it was a total blackout. What ensued was quite inevitable. Some so called good Samaritans would carry us into a dark corner so that we could enjoy our sleep.
The only negative thing about the good Samaritans is that they would first clean our pockets dry and make off with our greenish crispy dollar notes. Then they would remove our shoes and socks plus our belts. By the time we came around, it was usually around ten-ish in the morning as the Black and White cleaners swept the dance floor.
Gone are those days when we got mercilessly de-toothed. Behold, it is time for Mfasha and Diaspoman do carry out some merciless de-toothing…