MAN IN THE HOOD: About the house party I crashed

Wednesday March 20 2019

By the time, we were leaving, my crew was all drunk so I had to be the designated driver. ILLUSTRATION| IGAH


I consider myself a well-mannered human. I don’t usually go to places where I’m not invited.

I guess that’s just how I was raised. But the human heart is rebellious and curious by nature so once in a while, we all break our own rules and surprisingly, we end up loving it.

Last Friday, I gate-crashed a house party and it turned out to be one of the best nights of my life. What’s there not to love about house parties?

Free meals, attractive women, good music and drama, it’s all there.

The plan came courtesy of my neighbour Mose.

He had told me about this ‘you guy, my guy’ type of guy who had moved into our hood from Runda and was throwing parties every weekend like parties were about to be banned.



Mose said the parties were on Hollywood levels of awesomeness.

Apparently, Mr New Guy’s parents were filthy rich and he had only moved away from Runda to our hood because his dad wanted him to learn how to stand on his own. Interesting.

At about 10 pm, we left for the party. The place was a bit far away so we used Mose’s car.

On the way, we picked up three of our friends (as if we were sure we were going to get in).

When we arrived, there were two watchmen manning the gate. They were holding long pieces of paper.

Those were the guest lists and we were not in them.

Mnaenda wapi vijana?” one of the guards asked.

Tunaenda kwa ile party,” I responded.

“Mko kwa list?” he inquired.

As I stammered, Mose took out a 500 shilling note and handed it over to the guard.

Those little bribes are usually referred to as ‘za macho.

You hand over a small amount of money to a person who is in a position to help you and your problems are sorted.


To our surprise, the watchman refused.

“Boss, nyinyi ndio mnapromote corruption hii Kenya eeh?” he now seemed angry.

Hapana, tunakujenga tu! Hizi vitu ni kuelewana”, Mose tried to explain.

“Ile mshahara nalipwa hapa ni mingi sana. Siwezi chukua pesa ndogo hivyo. Ebu pindua hii gari mrudi penye mumetoka.”

Our hearts sunk, especially when we saw a group of pretty ladies walking right past our car and the watchmen didn’t even check whether they were on the list.

As we slowly reversed the car, I heard the other watchman, who had been quiet all along, picking up his phone and speaking in my native language.

Ahaah! I immediately knew that this was my chance to build a connection. As soon as he hung up, I put on a fake smile and started conversing with him in mother tongue.

It didn’t take long for me to convince him to let us in.

We parked the car and walked into the house with confidence like we had been there a thousand times before.


Inside the party, it was all raucously chaotic. It didn’t take long for one of Mose’s friends to unleash his intoxicated melodrama and get into a fight.

He had taken one too many even before we reached the party.

What’s worse than being the drunkest fella in a party? Being the drunkest fella in a party you were not invited to.

I tried to play peacemaker but immediately regretted it. I ended up getting punched on my abdomen accidentally.

I immediately quit trying to act like the United Nations and went about my business.

I came to have fun not to get punched in the stomach. ‘Let them kill each other if they want to,” I said.

They almost killed each other by the way but a few minutes later, the harsh watchman came and dragged them out.

As I tried to dance (something I am not so good), I couldn’t help but notice how a certain lady was passionately arguing with the deejay. She was pleading with him to play Diamond’s “Tetema”.

I’ve never understood people’s obsession with that song.


The deejay, on the other hand, insisted that he was sticking to his set. He wasn’t taking requests.

The lady was an expert at persisting so eventually, the deejay succumbed to her demands.

Immediately the song began playing, she began to sing along.

She knew all the words but her voice was……let’s just say she didn’t have a singing voice. I have never understood why people who sound like Whoopi Goldberg always insist on singing.

It was awful. I had to check my watch and do a countdown to when the song would end so that she would be silent.

Unfortunately for me, the deejay replayed the song about three times since everyone was jamming along to it.

As I was praying that the deejay doesn’t repeat the song for the fourth time, a tall guy came and said hello.

He was one of those ultra-enthusiastic guys who always have an easy time befriending people.

He was a bit drunk too but he sounded intelligent so I didn’t mind. He asked me what I did for a living and I told him I was a writer. He then insisted on seeing one of my stories and I showed him.

Interestingly enough, he knew me. His excitement went up a notch when he realised I was actually the face behind the name.

Since he was drunk, he began telling me unnecessary details about his life, like how he had cheated on his girlfriend and how his sister was number one in school. I listened to him all through nevertheless.

I can never be unkind to someone who appreciates what I do.

The moment of truth came when the host’s older sister came to question me. I had avoided the host all along because I figured he was the only person who would know I didn’t belong there. Unfortunately, the sibling was there.

“So how do you know Maverick?” she asked with the annoying tone of a school prefect.

Apparently, the host’s name was Maverick. It takes parents with serious swagger to name their kid Maverick. The rest of us have overused bible names like Philip, Kevin, John, David etc.

“Ohh…we went to school together,” I told her.

“At Hillcrest International School?” she sought confirmation.

“Yes…yes…that one,” I responded.

To be honest, I don’t even know where Hillcrest School is. To avoid more questions that would expose me, I pretended to pick an imaginary phone call.

“My mum is calling. Let me step out and talk to her briefly. I’ll be back.”

And that’s how I fled from the interrogation. I avoided her for the rest of the party.

By the time, we were leaving, my crew was all drunk so I had to be the designated driver.

Of course, every group of friends needs a sober mind to make sure no one accidentally proposes to a stranger or steals Dedan Kimathi’s statue.

Anyway, I hate being the designated driver but a man has to take the mantle or responsibility every now and then.. Still, it was a night worth remembering.

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