It’s been coming. I know it. You know it. The Congolese know it.
Finally, I understand why men with paunches are in demand like my nudes. As long as you can shout a few incorrigibles, know a few Luo goons and dance to lingala, you are only second to Nigeria, Roysambu Branch in terms of deep state.
Do you see the way Congolese men gyrate their hips (waists??)? Wewe you swear by up-and-down like the missionary you are. What is it Shakira said? Hips don’t lie? She lied. Those hips from Congo will cause a tremor in your abebo’s ovaries. Congolese men are just Luo men who have bleached. I have said what I have said.
Which is why I have enrolled for French lessons because I am enthralled by Congolese music. Kwanza Awilo Longomba who would dance with a python on his neck. Why can’t I do that?
And they tuck in everything. Shirt. Sweater. The only thing they do not tuck is their stomach. Which reminds me, you can breathe out now Maureen. We all know your stomach is not flat. And it is OKAY. As long as your ass…
My repertoire of Lingala is growing exponentially. Aurlus Mabélé. Le Grand Kallé. General Defao. Franco with 12600 lettres. Extra Musica. Tabu Ley. I listened to Fally Ipupa crooning on ‘Eloko Oyo’ and I almost stripped to start wearing leopard skins.
“Ngoya oyeé, ngoya oyé..
Shoulders back and pelvises thrusting, I have found the music of the gods.
The men slaloming. The women shaking. And the rest of us repeating everything. Recently, I noticed I am putting weight around my mid sections, my conversations nowadays revolving around kuomoka and my appetite for a Nigerian Prince lifestyle enhanced.
Not pointing fingers but how can I listen to the hands-on approach of Timmy Tdat’s music when Papa Wemba, who I consider a deity, widely admired for his sweet, supple, haunting tenor, is on loop? Ah. This is an ode to your heart. Lingala is music to my ears. This is not music for the unsullied.
I dare you to show me a Toyota playing Rhumba Music and I will show you a Nairobian virgin.
Which reminds me, if you are a man with a kitambi and have no money go home. What are you doing in Nairobi without money?
Anyway so a friend of mine recently acquired an automobile (Not Toyota). Of course since he lives along Ngong Rd. he offered to drop me pale Kawangware (SHOUT OUT) where loyal, romantic & available Abaluhya & Ekegusii men live. He air-conditioned the car and queued Madillu System (this is a musician not a stereo) on his Harman Kadon (this is a stereo not a musician).
I didn’t even realise when we were getting home. After harvesting the maximum amount of admiring glances, I disembarked in studied strut: body tilted back, left hand thrust in a suit pocket and a bored look in the eye. Like a manicured dandy from Kinshasa.
When he dropped me off I was like:
“Nitakwambia nikifika,”. Instinctively. I almost called him babe, but Jesus held my tongue (Thanks Jesus). Chei.
I just want to tell all the ladies who ride shotgun, I understand. Ladies who only date men with cars, I understand. Ladies who date men from Congo — the free version of Luo Men. As Papa Wemba said, Rail On.
I understand ladies. I understand.