The shortest stag(gering) night!

Marto’s brother was getting married and Marto (dear Lord) was put in charge of organizing it.

First, as much as I tried avoiding Marto I couldn’t. The devil is every which where.

He was (of course) in his brother’s wedding committee. And so was I (I have a life membership for attending people’s wedding committees), During the committee some guy, who was trying to get into the bride-to-be’s sister’s pants, was trying too hard to impress, when he suggested Marto be in charge of the stag night.

Everyone protested. (I thought I was the only one who had issues with Marto)

There was this one guy who I didn’t know, but whose face looked familiar, (One of those faces you only recognize under the influence) who actually produced documented evidence why Marto shouldn’t be the organizer.

The bride-to-be looked at her husband-to-be and gave him a long it-was-nice-to-have-loved-you hug.

Othis, Wamugunda and I stood up immediately. We, in unison, pledged to forfeit the stag night.

His own mum did the sign of the cross.

Everyone, everyone, even his brother (only after the hug did he realize Marto was dangerous) tried to suggest we pick someone else.

But you can’t keep a good devil down.

Marto stood up. And everyone fell silent.

The next five minutes Marto unleashed a speech that even made me pause and think perhaps he really had changed. He talked about how he respected his brother and wouldn’t dare do anything to jeopardize (plus other big words) the wedding plans, how after seeing his brother’s intentions had also planned to get married (everyone choked on their drinks but his strong speech drowned out the laughter), how after nearly killing his pals with drink (other pals at another drinking sprint) had seen the light. Bottom line, my pal convinced everyone, even me, he had changed.

I’ve never seen a standing ovation like the one Marto got. I found myself clapping. Some poor soul with too many tears to spare shed.

So it was settled. Marto was to organize the stag night.

No one noticed Marto’s sly smile and wink towards his ‘girlfriend’. (I was to see her two days later doing her rounds on the-letter-after-J street)

No one even suspected anything when he insisted he’d take care of the expenses. All expenses.

So here we are at this nice club at a very strange address. It’s in Inda.

I had never seen or heard of this pub before. Marto quickly assures us it’s new and it’s the hottest thing in Nai. He explains it’s so new that even the owner didn’t have time to put the name up. I’m impressed. For a moment, I was expecting some dingy Marto-kind bar.

We walk into this strangely huge space. Man, this place is big. I, in jest, tell Marto it looks like a go-down. He laughs. Nervously but I don’t notice because I’m busy looking around trying to spot even one waiter.

Hmm. Interesting, but I think, it’s a stag night and maybe Marto has hired it out and has a surprise, maybe topless waiters, in store for us. The SMS said it all.

B****HES, LAP DANCES, STRIPPERS AND HEWA MPAKA CHE. POMBE MPAKA MUANGUKE. WELCOME DRINK FOR EVERYONE AT THE DOOR.

I’m politely worried when I see Muthemba serving the welcome drink. (Muthemba is the waiter at Magegania bar…read previous x5 post)

It’s a punch that’s frighteningly sweet. It tastes like passion juice with a hint of all the spirits plus other ingredients like fruits. There is however one ingredient I swear I tasted that reminds me of something. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is. Though it bugs me, I’m not going to let it disturb me.

I looked Othis’s way. He is shouting something that I can’t hear above the music. I’m about to give him the thumbs up sign when someone behind him drops to the floor.

I try to alert Othis, but himself he drops.

It’s then that I remember the ingredient.

Of course. The Magegania Bridge Rac…

I black out.

I woke in a very uncomfortable position.

Bodies all around me.

My head slowly makes out that I’m not at the mortuary.

PHEW!

BUT…

I sit up straight when I realize I’m actually in cell.

I shoot up with my hands automatically guarding my arse.

I haven’t been butt-ered.

“Don’t worry. Nothing happened to you or anyone.” A voice reassures me.

I look at where the voice is coming from. I see Marto sitting at one end of the cell smiling.

What the F?

I’m in the process of asking, “what is” when I trip over Marto’s brother.

MARTO’S BROTHER?!!!

Marto’s brother is also here? Dear…

I look around and spot members of his brother’s wedding committee scattered haphazardly between convicts. They are slowly coming to to the same realization.

By this time, Marto’s face is very close to mine. I’m looking straight into his bulging eyes seeking answers. He tries to answer but is at a loss of words. Someone quickly reminds me that the hands I have round his neck are the reason why he’s struggling for air and words.

Gasp “If it wasn’t….(gasp) for me (gasp) you guys wouldn’t (gasp) be waking up here safe (gasp x5)”

How true. If it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be here. Period. Safe or not.

Someone groggily and timidly asks, How did we get here?

How indeed?

GASP!

Marto is still fighting for air between my slowly tightening grip when this huge cop opens the door and points at Marto. He notices Marto’s predicament and shouts…

“WEWE!”

I drop Marto faster than a hot potato.

“NI NINI MBAYA?”

He was fainting, I quickly answer. I was just helping him.

I see my tombstone in his eyes.

“TOKENI! MTU WENYU AMEKUJA.”

We all step outside.

Ten shabby-looking guys wearing only left shoes step into the police ‘reception’ area to see who our ‘mtu’ is.

Marto’s brother’s wife-to-be, who was called by the cops after Marto asked them to call her, unleashes 3 emotions in one swift motion.

As she comes over to her hubby-to-be, she unleashes a left hook at Marto, almost knocking him out, hugs and kisses her hubby.

Hate. Relief. Love.

Later, we were all to learn that Marto never had money to throw a stag night. Therefore, he linked up with a buddy who let him ‘borrow’ the godown (Marto told him he had cargo to keep). He then went to see Muthemba, who recommended the same quick and dirty designer who designed Magegania bar. And since he didn’t have money to buy crates of beer, he asked for Muthemba’s help and together they mixed up a punch that would make guys forget about asking for pints. A punch that contained the Magegania Bridge Racer.

With this he didn’t need to buy pints, he didn’t need to hire waiters and strippers. Plus he had borrowed the music system for only half an hour. He claims he got a good deal.

No one lasted 15 minutes. The only guy who had the pleasure of enjoying the stag night the longest was some guy who was as hard as Marto. He lasted 14 minutes.

Then this is the part, where we had to forget our plight and clap for Marto for his ingenuity.

Marto reasoned that, since he can’t carry all this guys on his shoulder, the cops would do it.

He called the cops and reported that some drunkards were causing chaos at some go-down in inda. The cops came in a Land Rover but after seeing the number of ‘bodies’ had to call for the lorry. We were all packed into the lorry and shipped direct to Inda police station to sober up. Some unfortunate ones who blacked out stone cold were being ferried to the mortuary, when one woke up in a drunken sleep walk. So they redirected the lorry to Kilimani.

Marto, showing a little bit of concern, got himself arrested so he could ‘baby-sit’ us in cell. A cell that was full of cell-mates who knew him and treated him like royalty.

(Marto’s bro did get married, but he almost had his license revoked coz he had a rap sheet. Marto never got to go for the wedding. The bride took out a restraining order, which was seconded, thirded…up to 50-ed, by everyone. I’ve deleted Marto’s number from my phone)