Boys and Girls on the Art Cafe Porch

In the context of African cities, Nairobi is pretty cool. Sitting on the open veranda of the Art Café, sipping the ‘house red’ and simply observing, I could be in Paris, Milan or Clifton (or Nairobi!). Next to me is a table of gay boys (note that homosexuality is illegal in Kenya) and what look like models – all talking at the top of the decibel range and daahling the odds for all to hear. From the one white boy (wearing Madonna-style rosary hanging to his crotch) comes what has to be the classic nouveau Kenyan saying, spoken to his black partner…

“Well, daahling, just wake up and smell the coffee!”

Pretending not to be listening – although there’s no-one within twenty meters who can’t be listening – I almost fall off my chair laughing. Just then, a strapping black girl (say 6ft2in with broad shoulders and big arms), impeccably dressed in a low-cut, black, off-the-shoulder, bare-backed Valentino-type number joins the table. The same white boy announces simultaneously to everyone, and no-one in particular…

“And SHE’s just been to Cape Town!”

“Oh WOW”, echoes everyone around the table.

I want to butt in and proudly proclaim my birthplace. But I refrain.

Needing to look nonchalant and not the eavesdropper that I am just then, I pick up my confounded Blackberry (smartphone or stupidphone?) and call Shamim who, by now, has let me know that she has around ten potential suitors who call her all day, every day, and it pisses her off. But, hey, we-can-stay-friends, etc. (she even keeps two separate SIM cards so as to avoid some of them and I guess I’m privileged to know both numbers). The presence of suitors was a fact she could hardly hide for much longer, given that her phone doesn’t stop ringing when we’re together…

But I’m cool with the ‘friend’ thing. She is absolutely gorgeous (I mean, as in drop-dead gorgeous), but as I might have intimated, she’s a lot younger than me – and clearly (to me at least) has a lot to do and discover in this wide world of ours. Actually, she’s probably too young in the sense that there are a lot of ageing mZungus around – often sporting three-ply rugs on their heads – who hang out with young Kenyan chicks (who, it is said, can drain them of any and all financial resources quicker than you can say “jackpot!”).

I don’t want to be seen in this category and certainly don’t want to be in this category. It’s not the case with Shamim (she is a lady of her own financial means) but it probably looks that way from the outside. Anyway, staying friends is good and there’s little doubt we’ll still ‘see’ each other fairly often – at least often enough for both of us to have a good time in each other’s company – without ‘pushing it’. I really like her. She’s got class and sophistication and will one day go far in the burgeoning world of media, travel and tourism – all subjects she is actually passionate about.

But I digress. So I’m on the phone, being cool on the porch of the Art Cafe. Who should come past just then, recognize me, and gesticulate wildly to come over when I’m finished talking, but Rachel – the J.A.P. who wants to take me to Sudan for some work with the U.N. (or is that mainly a pretext for some entirely other intentions..?) I indicate my assent and talk for another ten minutes before dropping the call and sauntering over to Rachel’s table. We do the cheek-touching European greeting thing (over here it’s three cheek touches – right-left-right) and she introduces me to her house-mate (Chantal is it?), a wispy blonde number who she’s sitting with. Chantal (?) greets me but continues playing with her phone, distractedly.

Earlier, just before leaving the office (at 6.00 pm), I received an e-mail inviting me to a party at Rachel’s place on Friday night. In the mail, she invited anyone interested in coming to the party to return-mail for directions. She had obviously left the office when I returned her mail, asking for same, because she was obviously thrilled that I had replied in the affirmative.

“Will you have a car?” she asks.
“Yes”, I say.
“Well, leave it at home and catch a taxi”
“Why”, I ask.
“Because you’re hopefully not going to be in any condition to drive home”

Sounds like a contemporary take on White Mischief – which it increasingly seems this place is very much about – but I’m left wondering if she means what she said, or is it rather that she hopes I won’t be in any condition to go home! I do suspect some motives above and beyond the call of duty, and beyond her insistence that the party will be a “great place to network”. I just hope I don’t get cornered in a situation I can’t diplomatically get out of (and thereby get to ruin a budding friendship and a possibly profitable business relationship).

Rachel is quite attractive (in an Ashkenazi kind of way) but evidence of the good life she leads in Nairobi is well-evidenced around her waistline. And she’s about as loud as the gay boys 10 meters behind me (who I can still hear dillying, dallying and daahling at their table). But I’m looking forward to the party. It will give me a chance to meet some of the more pale-complexioned (mainly expatriate) folk of Nairobi. Network se moer.

But let me not be too critical of waistlines right now because I have noted a slight ballooning of my own in the last short while! At the end of the day’s work, there is a definite ingrained red stripe around my waist from one particular pair of pants that I wear quite often. And these pants didn’t leave this type of mark two weeks ago, when I got here!

So tonight I decided I’m going to have to revise my diet and favour the abundant and extremely inexpensive fruit that’s everywhere. Fruitarian by day and carnivore by night (sometimes, anyway). Sounds a bit like Count Dracula.

But talking of meats (which are plentiful), I haven’t yet had the chance to sample the fish produce, although, I was told today that there’s Red Snapper from Lake Victoria that is mind-blowing. Soon, for sure (or, as Shamim would put it, seemingly in reference to a piece of angling equipment, “fur reel”. Get it? For sure, for real or “fur reel”).

Anyway, from fish, to a bit more of my mongering… The little taste of café society that’s to be had down the road is quite appealing in that there’s no shortage of beautiful people to be seen, and be seen by. The glances are hardly furtive and, at the risk of being totally boring, the women are beautiful. So it is altogether pleasant just sitting there, looking round.

And I must admit, while sitting at the café, I did flirt with my favourite female maitre-D who, oh-so coquettishly told me that it was good to see me back there. I feigned my slight objection at the fact that she hadn’t noticed that I had indeed already been back – just that afternoon in fact - having been treated to a birthday lunch by my colleague, Mueni. Did she blush at the fact of not having seen me there? I think so, but I’m not sure. There was the ever-so-brief touch on the arm before she disappeared again into the porch-ridden throng. She – whose name I don’t yet know - is one of Kenya’s black, Swahili-speaking women with absolutely straight hair - hair which she proudly wears in a long pony-tail, down her black-shirted back.

Gawd, that’s enough of my current obsession with women and beauty in Nairobi!
Anyway, guys and girls (or guys of both genders, if you prefer) I am totally obliterated from a day of proposal-writing that was preceded by little sleep. I thrashed around in bed, thinking about my proposal and unable to write it. I must have had two hours of sleep, at best, but would have got my proposal finished had it not been for the fact that I left the laptop charger in the office (and I only got my set of office keys today). The laptop battery ran out an hour after I started working at home. So I had to think about the proposal without being able to just do it. So I’m going to sleep now (9.30pm)…

Ostensibly, I was at the Art Café because I had had to go to Nakumatt – to buy loo paper and sugar only – and, of course, I only dropped by the café to have a glass of wine before retiring for the night. True, I guess, but there are attractions at the mall that might somehow force me to go to Nakumatt, even with nothing to buy!

But I didn’t finish at Nakumatt this evening before buying a tin of Kenyan Chai Tea. Chai is granulated instant tea that has a very nutty taste. It’s consumed in an almost-all-milk mix, with lots of sugar. And is absolutely delicious… But on the label you are instructed to use it like you would instant coffee. However, there seems to be a local tradition as I’ve described: Lots of milk and sugar. It’s a taste you could never get from hanging a teabag (or even five teabags) in a cup – for however long. And it’s a taste that is quite addictive.

So, for now, it’s ciao, Chai and arrividerci (or some such spelling).

From Nairobi, as always…

Amani na upendo (peace and love) to you all!

Brian