Tu-boys in Tu-blue Tu-Subarus

October 2010, Nairobi, Kenya

Introductory Video

Brian Ng’endo looked at his wristwatch uneasily; he was 20 minutes late and counting, blame the long queue at the mtaani ATM (Swahili / Neighborhood).  But what could he have done?  He had zero shillings on his MPESA (mobile money service) and another zero in his wallet so how would he have got to work this morning?  But then again, he could have withdrawn the cash the day before, it was a Sunday after all - talk about Monday blues - these thoughts waltzed in his head as he dashed up the stairs to his cubicle at True Romance, Kenya’s leading women’s magazine.  

Brian was the magazine’s in-house photographer and right now he was late for a summon by his mzungu boss (Swahili / White Person).  Apparently Brian had used his own discretion in choosing which photos would make the editorial cut but Julie, his boss, was displeased that he had made the decision and sent the images to the publisher before running it by her.  At midnight the previous night she tried to call him but Brian had left his phone in his house while at a ‘drink-up’ with the boys.  He returned home to find seventeen missed calls and a barrage of uppercase text messages with exclamation marks from Julie.  The last read, “Let us meet TOMORROW AT 7AM!!!”

“H-h-h-h-how could you do this?!”  Julie ranted as Brian entered her office 40 minutes late for their 7am.

“Do what?” Brian replied defiantly but coolly.

“Why did you send the images to the publisher without my approval?!”

“Be-cause I am the Lead Creative, Photography Department … why would I need approval for images I shot myself?”

“W-w-what?! How can you talk to me like that?  That’s so disrespectful!”  Bellowed Julie as she turned from pink to red in fury.

“Look, I can’t do my job if you also want to do it - either give me the mandate to offer my skills or do it yourself.”

“Br—ian! …”

“Sorry Julie,”  Brian pulled an envelope from his duffle bag and placed it on her desk, “That’s my resignation letter.  I sent one on email too.  I’ll forfeit my pay and notice. Baadaye (Swahili / Later).”  He quickly turned and left as Julie stared at the back of his dreadlocked head in shock.

* * *

One Month Later

Nairobi was buzzing with a time-bomb-like culture of consumerism especially within the 15 to 30 year old age bracket that Brian Ng’endo also belonged to.  All too often young people were knee-deep in consumption of some sort, from festivals to night clubs to fashion to cars, the latter being dubbed the ‘Blue Subaru’ era.  The common denominator was women, booze and drug abuse.  Young women in their 20s - usually college-going age - found themselves as the primary beneficiaries of the blue Subaru era privy to several road trips to Naivasha town - a growing crop of young professionals, post-‘NGO influx for the arts boom’ with money in a bullish economy after the TNA pseudo-revolution (TNA / The National Affiliation party that had just won the Kenya election, consisting of a young president and his deputy).  Money was everywhere and so were the opportunities.  Brian had recently bought a blue WRX Subaru car with a beige leather interior at a throw-away price.  He had used his nest-egg following his resignation at True Romance for the buy.  Luckily, he clinched a deal from his bank in which he got to purchase a repossessed car from a bad debt client.  He got the Subaru at sixty percent off!  Now he was part of the hackneyed Blue Subaru club.  

Good fortune took no break with Brian Ng’endo and he was now gigging at several nightclubs in the city as a Photographer, bagging close to a thousand dollars monthly on a bad month.  Many clubs in Nairobi and its environs, now with the appendage ‘grill’ to their names, had hacked the ‘sex-sells’ business model often using young women to sell booze luring large hordes of the mubaba (Swahili / Sugar Daddy) clientele who ferried in wards of cash just to enjoy the company of the skimpily dressed youthful lasses over a beer.  It was this one night at Club Eight-Five that Brian would meet Emily - the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so he thought.  Brian spotted her around one in the AM while doing his photography rounds for the club’s social media pages - he exchanged glances with Emily before getting the courage to join her.  She was with six other women and two young men one whom Brian realised was someone he knew.

“Brayo! Haiya!  You work here?” said his pal.

“Vipi James,” Brian replied as he greeted him and the entourage of scantily dressed women.  James introduced Brian to the group.

“This is the guy you were asking about, Emily,” said James as he held Brian on the shoulder; Emily smiled gleefully.

“Si fuati (Swahili / I don’t follow)…?” added Brian.

“Emily had asked who the owner was of the blue Subaru outside the club, I told her that it might be my friend’s, wasn’t too sure though, had forgotten the registration number but I now see that I was right!”

“Right …” 

Brian joined them for drinks sitting next to Emily for the rest of the night, chatting her up - James was handling the bill, apparently he had been paid that morning and felt overly philanthropic.  Emily was average height for a Kenyan woman, chocolate-brown skin, smooth skin texture, youthful, full lips, beautiful face with gleaming eyes.  She needed no make-up but still had some on, much milder than that of the other girls with her.  Brian spoke to her endlessly for over two hours; she got touchy-feely with him and soon past four o’clock they ditched the gang and headed to his place.

November 2010, Nairobi, Kenya

After the one-night-stand Emily seemed to have dropped off the radar.  It had been now a month since Brian saw or heard from her.  The night she came over was a blur and Brian woke up at ten in the morning the next day to find she had pulled a Houdini.  He tried to call her immediately but her line was always off. Hours turned to days which turned to weeks.  This ghosting move was in complete contrast to the conversations that Brian had had with Emily the night they met.  Brian then called James to ask about her and all he said was, “Bro, I met that chic outside the club that day, simjui mimi (Swahili / I don’t know her).”  Fantastic! thought Brian.  

Brian continued gigging with a new assignment coming in from a new up-market club, Alchemy Concoction Pub in Westlands, Nairobi.  He had been commissioned to do photography for the screening of a short film by a local filmmaker, Pierra Mũnũku.  As a chaperone, Brian attended the gig with long time neighborhood buddy, Victor Chavangi.  After the screening the two decided to stay on for the DJ sets later that night - enjoying drinks together.

“Hebu nielezee tena, uli-meet dem supuu kwa club, ukam-chipo, komongad her, then she left you asleep the next morning? Hahaha!  (Swahili / Please explain it to me one more time, you met a hot chic at a club, took her home, slept with her then she disappeared on you)?”  Victor teased.

“You think this is funny?”

“Yes I do! Hahaha!”

“Anyway, that’s past tense, let’s talk about something else.”

“Bro, ulichipo poko, kuro, na’mean?  You go take home an olosho! Ashewo a tell you oh!  (Swahili / Prostitute | Nigerian Pidgin / Prostitute)”  

Victor kept teasing for a while by faking a Nigerian accent.  Both laughed and decided to move off to Club Eighty-Five as their last stop. The club was booming, now two in the AM.  Packed to the exits, DJ sets living it up for the patrons who had filled the dance floor.  To the far left of the club was a pole-dancing strip tease show where many mubabas gathered.  In what seemed like deja vu, Brian saw Emily on the strip-tease podium dancing away … no it cant be, he thought to himself.  Brian moved nearer for a closer look only for his horror to be confirmed - yes, it was Emily.  She was pole dancing half-naked as the mubabas tossed notes her way.  

“Brayo, chenye naeza sema tu ni iza (Swahili / Brian, all I can say is sorry),” said Victor who had been following Brian in his preoccupation.  

“Tuko U.K. … Mariakani (Swahili / We are in the United Kingdom … America!)!” yelled one of the girls on the podium as she danced with Emily.

“Haki huyo dem ni fala, anasema U.K. ni Mariakani badala ya kusema ni Uingereza (Swahili / That girl is stupid, she is saying that the U.K. is America instead of U.K.),” responded one of the mubabas as he tossed a one-thousand shilling note to her.

Brian remained still, dumbfounded for minutes before Victor slowly dragged him out of the club, homeward bound.

The End.

Written by Robert Mũnũku

© Mau Mau Arts 2022

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