Oh I’ve been in trouble alright, a lot of it serious but I’ll leave that where it it.
I do remember this one time….
We have a night-club in Nairobi called ‘The Carnivore.’ It’s been around almost since Independence in 1963, certainly as long as I can remember.
It’s a sprawling place, like a vast ranch, three dance-floors, countless bars.
I had a Goan friend, real cute, looked like Prince, all the girls wanted him.
So. It’s big hair, shoulder pads that can kill, break-dancing, Sony Betamax and Commodore 64.
And Annie Lennox, ‘Sweet Dreams Are Made of These.’
We were the coolest guys on the block, me, thin white leather ties, him, son of a Shell Director.
Both of us sixteen, pimples and cashless.
My dad had this Peugeot 504GLS, the family sedan thing, three rows of leather seats, ten speaker stereo, the size of a small truck.
One night, we waited for my folks to go to sleep, PUSHED it out to the hill beside the house and…it was game on.
We picked up everyone we could think of from both schools (the Father’s and Nun’s ran sister schools – St. Mary’s and Msongari) and headed out to Carnivore.
It was a great night…we didn’t drink then, didn’t know what it was, danced, played kiss the girls and came home.
Puuuush, everyone PUSH!
My mum was waiting. The garage is right beside the living room, zzzzcccchhhhit! Curtains drawn, dragon lady in silhouette, the largest Afro in the world (she’s 5ft2in).
Through a mega-phone we hear, “…come on boys, push. You’re mothers are waiting!”
The lights in the garage go on and thirty women in rollers and leather belts are waiting with Cameras.
No-one ever went out with us again.
Maybe a good thing, I’d never have gotten to University.
Ok, so it’s not the MOST trouble I’ve been in…don’t wanna scare you, do I! Anyway…it wasn’t me…
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