The first time I came across the name was back in 2003 as I was heading back to school located in the pits of hell itself along Juja road. The school wasn’t hell. Not at all. It had standards but the surroundings were. When a school is sand witched between Mathari North, Easich, Dandora, Outer rind and juja road you don’t expect a 17 year old to be quite normal. Do you? Now you get why am sanely insane or is it insanely sane? Whatever makes you cum. Back to kamanjira. I passed by the place to catch up with my sister Nikkie who was residing there and try choking lunch money out of her. Who does that to an 18 year? I didn’t think much of the place then apart from my lunch agenda at highridge. A few months later I put the final full stop to secondary education and staggered out of the biology practical exam having imbibed a little ethanol I found ” misplaced ” in the lab. Am the only creature to have walked out of school with only a pen and pencil as my belongings. As for the rest, teenage idiocy in the name of bonfires consumed it. Together with my partner in crime nicknamed boxer then and its stuck to date hopped into a mat and sauntered into kamanjira to celebrate you’d think we had achieved a mean feat and my sister didn’t disappoint. We partied to a limp at K1and boxer chewed a good one. Home we headed the following day after a glorious initiation to the society through inebriation and still I hadn’t given much thought to Kamanjira. Fast forward to 2004 and I was back to the place no longer as an initiate but as part of the madness that resided there.
Kamanjira or Kamjesh as we fondly referred to it was nestled behind MP Shah hospital on a ridge that separated highridge and parklands so the surrounding was predominantly Indian. A three storeyed private hostel that housed students from institutions of higher learning of both genders and mostly Amerucans though other lay tribes call us merians. Sheer jealousy.
It is at kamanjira where the term madness finally made sense. The place I hadn’t given much thought turned out to be an asylum for intellectually mad teenagers the difference being that this mad lot never walked stark naked nor looked unkempt or fed from gutters. They were civilized mad. It was at kamjesh where I met Tim who even after 8 years was still doing his undergraduate but managed to fool his dad he was onto something higher and it must have been higher than a PhD . Eight years is quite a time and the dude used to given a monthly stipend so big that hoes knew his face even in the dark. He partied as if the devil had been pronounced dead. Its at kamjesh that I met jamoe who had a girlfriend in the same building but still managed to smuggle in ratchets from topeli and have me sleep in his room and him mine in case the girlfriend decided to do a random bed check. Eventually he got caught and the fireworks are a story for another day. Its the place I met mwenge the watchie who for a pack of roasters would let you smuggle a whole choir of clueless girls without racking his brains if you had turned into superman overnight. Naming antics for each and every member would take volumes of pages. In short the gang was mad, fun and somehow managed to attend classes. It was the place where my sister fell in love for the first time to the nicest of chaps and they traversed in their bubble for years. Where did such genuine and honest love disappear to? Oh, I forgot. Sponsors came along with the younger generation after a while.
As for me and kamanjira we fell in love. And with the participation of my childhood friend Muriithi there was never a dull moment apart from attending classes. We became inseparable and along came Njoro and muchemi. The gang was complete. It was at this place that we learnt how to beat security checks at K1 and have 1000 Bob last to morning. We simply passed by blackies the shanties opposite the club and imbibe on liquor that could raise the dead and walk into the klub house as if we from the sports club opposite. We would proceed to hit on high end hoes that we couldn’t afford with fabricated tales of being from Congo. Hoes are naive. It was at kamjesh that we learnt the best time to go for a kill in westlands pubs was at 3am. At that ungodly hour most college girls are broke and sleepy and can’t go home so they would follow you to utopia if that’s where you lived. And then there was fresh our favorite bar maid at the local. We called her that for she had a bosom akin to a freshian cow. It was that big. You could go suckle breakfast when you were broke. Fresh had our backs when things were thick on the wallet though occasionaly we would chew and swallow the bill and feign ignorance and re calculate the bill to more sodas than beer. She was the best until someone decided to steal the whole rump steak from the butchery and ferry it to blackies for the local hoes to cook. It wasn’t us for we came from ” game ” hunting in westy and found a napoleon and meat party at the shanties. We delved in and didn’t care where the freebies were from until the next day when she questioned our participation and ordered all bills settled immediately. She regarded us with suspicion since then. Some people are just evil. Party poppers they are. Tarnishing our impeccable bar relations.
It is at kamjesh where I first got hit on by a dude at the local. An old white dude who was a regular. This particular Friday he declares its his birthday and an open bar. We celebrate like we all were born that very day. Dude inches closer to me and gets touchy touchy. I think he’s drunk not knowing he’s already sauteed my virgin ass in his mind. He asks me to accompany him to his place on muthithi road alone. I sober up and explain to the gang in merian that the dude wants me for desert. He’d already had meat as his main course. We were like 20 people both dudes and dudettes. Their reply was simple. I hang on to my virginity as long as I could while we ravaged the bar but I shouldn’t let it slip. Say what? I tried hanging on, he was getting tired of trying to lure me and I had to take one for the team. I asked for a k to go buy takeaway drinks. He said he has an indoor bar. I told him I only take tusker export. He fished out the money. I slipped out through the kitchen window at the back and to K1. To date am still buying take away exports for I never went back. Ever. We found a new local in Molly’s and I patronize it to date. And that came with a price too.
We staggering from Molly’s with yours faithfully Muriithi singing circumcision songs you’d think we invented the rite ourselves. As we approach kamjesh these really huge dogs start barking behind gates. Damn this Indian dogs. I unleash my weapon of ammonia destruction and pee on them. I knew I was safe. The gate was high enough they couldn’t jump nor bite through the bar spaces. Muriithi is on phone promising some ratchet heaven. He cares less. And behold appears the watchie. I swear he must have been kisii for I think I heard him scream gakiiii and start fumbling with the gate. You think Kemboi can ran? Think again…… We got a rude awakening and to date I have a dislike for dogs. An acute dislike.
Kamanjiras tales are too many to tell. You cannot exhaust madness. The memories so fresh years after. The only tangible change is that I nowadays sin responsibly like the government expects me to. Muriithi went on to live the american dream. Njoro and muchemi are some of the best lawyers around. My sister is still the best sister anybody could ever have. Jamoe must be passing ratchets on balconies in a flat somewhere in Roysambu and as for Tim he drives a German fuel guzzler courtesy of his dad. He was finally caught and forgiven. He now works for the dad on expansive wheat farms in transmara. As for me. Am entertaining you with sinful must read. Rahab Lintari and the rest of the gang I’ve omitted for your too many for a personal mention, memories live on. And oh Kamanjira was finally closed down some years back. The Indians couldn’t take it anymore.