I'm a very adventurous person and yesterday my adventure buds directed me to a slum in Kiambu that goes by the name of Githogoro. I wanted to confirm a story I heard recently that in Githogoro the business of illegal brews is going on just as before.
I had to ask the carrier of the rumor, a very serious drunkard, to accompany me to the slum for security purposes. I had to disguise my fine looks by wearing some old and faded clothes and a pair of torn shoes.Kiromo, my companion, warned me strictly not portray any suspicious characteristics! Otherwise we would be denied access to the drinking dens.
So we arrive at Githogoro at around 9 a.m. and Kiromo guides me to one of the drinking dens which were already overflowing with drunkards. They sit around a dingy single room, each nursing a concoction of a yellowish substance.
One thing I quickly observe is that all of them are served in small plastic cups and Kiromo, on observing my curiosity, whispers to me that the plastic cups prevent unnecessary breakages. I'm also quick to notice that all the drinkers in this hole have some similar unique characteristics. All of them are extremely brown in complexion, almost to the point of handsomeness, but when you look at their dental formula and general body health, you conclude that there is more than meets the eyes. In fact, their faces were puffed up like Ibis Hotel mandazis! Some faces looked like they could explode any time. Their fingers told it all: they were shaped like heads of geckos, flat and triangular.
My companion Kiromo orders two 30/- tots of the stuff from the 100/- I had earlier given him, one for himself and one for me. He had said I must pretend to be one of them so as not to be suspected for a spy. I sipped the stuff carefully as tears uncontrollably ran down my face! Mucus also started dropping from my nose, droplets of saliva start coming out of my mouth. Mama Pima, a burly shapeless elephant of a woman, observes my discomfort and breaks into a thunderous laughter.
After another sip the world started going round in circles. I opened up and engaged freely in the drunken discussion as if I was one of them. I am informed that in this place if you have 50/- you are a very rich man and can drink this stuff the whole day! If you have 500/- you are just like a DC and can drink the whole week nonstop. People will literally give you way as you are passing.
Another discovery I made here is that the drunkards have two sworn enemies: women and food. If you mention any of the two, the guy you are conversing with will turn away from you!
Then something strange thing happened. Mama Pima announced that the brew had run out of stock and so buckets of hot water were poured into a huge drum in the vicinity of the drunkards. Then Mama Pima removed a substance in a plastic container labeled TECHNO, measured four shots with the cup of the container, and poured the same into the drum. Then she stirred the stuff with a huge dirty stick and announced that Kanywaji was ready!
In fact, I saw a fellow who was brought on a stretcher like that lame man in the Bible. This guy was twitching and jerking dangerously on the stretcher but the moment he was made to swallow a glass of the stuff, he got out of the stretcher and instantly became the loudest drinker in this hole!
My friend Kiromo by now was also looking pretty well plastered because I had secretly poured my share into his cup without anybody noticing, but what signaled danger was when he turned towards me and said, "You look familiar."
I realized that getting out of Githogoro was squarely my responsibility. I sneaked out of the joint and it took me 3 hours to find my way out of the slum to the main road where I was lucky to get a matatu home.
As for Githogoro I will never go back there!
