When the sun goes down

When the sun goes down

Disclaimer: NSFW!! This article contains potentially racial slur and strong language. Readers with a weak heart are strongly advised not to read further.

The worst position a man can ever be, other than Reversed CowGirl, is when his friends have wheels and he doesn’t. Besides, no Kenyan lady will pick six packs over six cars. It is better to ride a donkey, and by ride I mean get on its back, and by back I mean the area just after the head, and by head I mean that thing with a brain, eyes, ears, and mouth.

When your hombres have an automobile and the only thing you can offer is NFS and unsolicited review of Fast & Furious, then you are no more than a hyena in a pack of lions. Speaking of hyenas, have you met me last weekend?
I am still receiving HELB (seven years later after joining campus because Matiang’i ) I was almost giving up on life and had planned to swallow my ego with a plate of ugali and maharagwe, ‘ugaragwe’ when my nigga called me over.

We shall call him Jim because that is his real name.

Have you noticed how all drunk men out there are called Jim?

Note to self: Don’t call your son Jim.

Now Jim is as good with the ladies as Njoki Chege is with men who drive a Subaru and live in South B. He comes from the leafy suburbs of Meru, pardon the pun, and gets paid a lot of money for nothing, and is already pregnant with the spoils of corruption. If a lifestyle audit was done on him, he would have enough money to give our broke government bond. And still have enough left over to settle the Anglo-leasing debt. If ‘Broke’ had an ass, Jim would tap it every day.

I was about to go Hayawani on his sorry ass and tip off Moha Jicho Pevu, but I figured he will die of cholesterol and high blood pressure soon, and being the closest friend maybe i can make in the will? *fingers crossed*. May the Good Lord’s will up above prevail. See what I did there?

Jim is an ugly ma’afaka. It’s like heaven was downsizing and used the mud left over from creating Museveni to make him. If ugly had a face, wait, that’s Jim.


The only good thing about Jim is that he owns two cars, a Toyota Vitz and another one.

Side note: Ladies, never date a handsome man. They are broke af! God cannot give you everything. You cannot be ugly and broke at the same time. Nigga pick a struggle.

‘Yo Chi, what you doing this weekend? Why don’tcha organise xome mamacitaz and I’mma pick you up at 6?’
That was Jim.

His English is still rudimentary, and the closest he has come to a college certificate is when the University of Nairobi are throwing stones along Uhuru Highway and a stoned comrades rocked his life.

I tell him dating a chic from the University of Nairobi is like working for the Kenya Police. ‘Utumishi Kwa Wote.’ Hehe! Get it? No? Okay.

God denied me money but by jove, He gave a smooth tongue. I don’t speak French but my kisses do.

And since I was thirsty like a ma’afaka I scroll my phonebook that is 77% progesterone. I lower my standards and pick three socialites, whom we shall now refer to as the Wise Men that will milk this cash cow dry.

Shazz, the blonde with a quack’s education and a charlatan’s idea of kissing;
Belinda who was bestowed with everything other than a functional brain and authentic human hair;
Melisa the twin sister of Medusa, she spits venom and smokes like the SGR.

Jim picks us up at 7 PM, because he is the boss, and has the car. With him is his equally ugly brother, Ben who is as daft as the marriage bill. This guy has zero social skills. I mean zero. Zilch. Nil. Narda. If he was left alone with Eve, we would still be in the Garden of Eden and Lucifer would have eaten all the apples on the tree.

We trod from Hunter’s Grill to Brew Bistro Xcess Millionaires because who says no to strippers?

The Wise Men drink like fuel guzzlers and by 10 PM they have ‘tasted’ all the drinks in Xcess, and they are still soberer than Justice Maraga. And just between you and me, always order for the ladies Kingfisher. Thank me later O ye fishers of (wo)men.

We head on to 1824 because these strippers have more clothes than a lawyer’s courtroom – which is ironical because strippers are paid to not have clothes. I am not allowed to drink more than two beers because I am the designated driver. Adulting sucks.

Jim is already drunk and I can spot his fat fingers making their way into Shazz’s skirt. She giggles and I vomit in my mouth. Jesus did not die for this.

Melissa is already on her second pack of cigarettes and her dark lips curl as Ben cranes his thyroid neck for a kiss.

That leaves me with Belinda whom I swear to the god Arithrea I must offer as a living sacrifice. I order more drinks for her, get her tipsy enough so that I can work the shit out of her. Cheers Rihanna for making work fun again.

“You guys Matiang’i ametoa curfew. Twendeni home (sic),” bellows Jim.

He owns the ride. And though it was camouflaged as a suggestion, the order was non-negotiable. And unlike the government, we respect the coat’s odour?

I went to Rocky Rocky Driving School and within 15 minutes we are back in South C. Jim and Shazz lead each other to the master bedroom as Ben and Melissa take the other room.

I give Belinda one last eyewitness look.

Someone call Samantha because I am about to swear in this girl. She doesn’t know what is in store for her.

“Umebeba CRE notes juu ile kiapo utakula leo!” I swear.


“Can I offer you anything leo?” I say.

“Yes, you can start by dropping your pants.”

“But baby, man’s not hard.’


I swear this girl is a convicted criminal. One second I am in a suit, the next I am, urm, well, in a suit. Birthday suit.

One moment my member was doing the Eric Omondi challenge, the next I am giving her a standing ovation.

Chic dropped to her knees and gave me head so good, I made a mental note to call the founder of Kamasutra to include her in the glossary. Chic did things with her tongue that I don’t even know existed. Did I hear you say the devil has a forked tongue? Well then I was in hell because I swear at some point her tongue split into two and curled over my member, I could feel little Chinedus scream as they glided their way out of my constricted urethra. Chic had so much saliva in her mouth she could irrigate Kambaland for two years. And still have enough to swallow three KDFs. Chic had so much room in her mouth, Big Ted could rent a maisonette in there.
I had multiple orgasms I rolled my eyes so back my eye sockets I could see the empty hole where my brain is supposed to be located. My body was in overdrive. I was shaking like the tarumbetas of Kisii. This daughter of Zion made me delete Cyprian, is Nyakundi’s number, block him and renounce my allegiance to the El Presidente.
Woi Boychild!

By the time she was done with me, I apologised to all the women I ever cheated on. I called my ancestors one by one.

“Rapogi son of Ashioya the great kukhu of, mulembe, nabongo mumia, shikwekwe shikokoti aubemayang pierre khaemba, wakoli wa bifwoli, museveni, atwoli, cheza chini bahati, bablas shikuku sienje senji!”

I promised never to engage in premarital sex again and I swore to buy a chastity ring.

As she let my people go, I discerned the freedom the Israelites felt when they were released by Pharaoh in Egypt.

She spread herself on the carpet like a canvas. The Son of Rapogi had arrived in Canaan. I spit twice like the porn actor I was always born to be and glided my way towards her like Black Panther. Wakanda Beiby!
I was going to rip her soul apart. I told her to call her doctor and ask for a wheelchair because, by the time I’m done with her, the only walk she was going to have was a walk down memory lane.

“Wait!” she screamed.


It’s just the tip, I shrugged.

“Go down on me.”


“Go down…on my little flower..”




What flower? Daisy is a flower. Rose is a flower. Lily is a flower. Melissa? Flower? Bitch please.

Besides, by the look of things, your ‘flower’ has seen many seasons and it is withering. This is stigmatization…hehe.

I bend down.

My fren.

I was hit by a conglomerate of fifty shades of odour. From roasted vanilla sweat to pineapple onion soup with a hint of garlic. Woi boychild!

I could see the deep abyss that Lucifer was cast into and if you listened carefully, you could hear the demons laughing hysterically as I came closer. Come, I did. Just not how I pictured it.

Suddenly, two big fat hands pressed on my head and forced a shove down the abyss. I wanted to scream but I imagined Mpasho and Ghafla headlines:

‘SHOCKING: Baba shuka nipande! Handsome Young Black Man loses head while giving head.’

It’s 2018 fam.

Even the sun goes down.

6 thoughts on “When the sun goes down

  1. Towering finesse and wordplay.Your pen never disappoints brother.
    Wewe na Philip Etemesi of Tukatiane mkifanya collabo muandike…dunia itasimama
    Meanwhile,what you smoke should be legalized and supplied in plenty

  2. “Chic had so much saliva in her mouth she could irrigate Kambaland for two years.” Dude you don’t say this about my home place😂😂
    Why is the pastor’s kid reading all this anyway…I must repent!!!

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