The Westy Chronicles: Stout Beer, Lots Of Females And 100 Thousand Kenyan Shillings All In One Night! #GuinessGetBooked

The first time I had a beer, I almost swallowed my tongue! It was a bitter-sweet concoction that my Grandfather, a retired teacher had brewed for Christmas. It was my initiation into manhood; It was strangely sweet but stung the tongue in 567,789 different places.

I didn’t like it. And there are a lot of things that I don’t like.

The second time was far much worse, I didn’t swallow my tongue but I threw up, my insides knotted in pain. I was at some campus party, they had mixed several beers and whiskies to form a gooey syrupy concoction that looked poisonous, being a thrill lover, I took it, threw up for a week  and moved on to better things in life.

By the time I got my third go at alcohol, I could comfortably handle it, I didn’t have heat flushes and instances of almost swallowing my tongue, and clearly I had become a man.

It happened that the crew and I had been invited for a party at a popular joint in Westlands. if you know me you know that I never turn down parties.

Before the party later in the evening, I took a moment to polish, I went home and wore my tweed, my jungle green pants and black loafers. I looked suave.

We hit Westlands at around 10pm aboard a very noisy Matatu. Westy looked regal, imposing and lit up, It was time to hit the joint.

We got to the joint alright, it was all lit up, girl’s on varying degrees of sexiness were sprawled on the couches. The joint was redolent of hot fragrances, interplay of sheesha fumes and perfume.  There was a heavy musk in the air that seemed to spell, time to throw this party from Friday to Sunday.

I sat next to a red-head who was scrolling furiously on her phone.

Hey?

Hay is for horses! She interjected rudely.

Clearly, I had left my charm at home, but not my wallet. I cat-called the waitress who came running. I was wearing tweed Anyway , why wouldn’t she?

I had no idea what to drink, but I ordered for the first thing that came to my mind, get me the coldest guiness on this joint.

The Stout beer came riding majestically on the tray, drops of water forming along it length. I prayed that It would taste half as good as it looked.

The waiter poured a good deal of the chocolate brown frothy beer into a tall glass. It was about time.

The miss by my side was still scrolling. Furiously as if her life depended on it.

I took my first sip and my eyes opened wide! It was nothing like I had tasted before, It reminded me of Mead , (that drink in old legends that was a favorite of the gods)

The joint was full by the time I got my second bottle, I took my time to savor the rich taste, danced to a few oldies on the dance floor before a troop of referees hopped in.

 No one had an Idea what was happening. But we were to find out that soon enough.

A week ago some patrons had won money on a ongoing campaign by Guinness which was gifting loyal consumers of the brand with a variety of prizes with the grandest being a tour to the UK to watch live football matches.

A girl in uniform spotted me having a cozy moment with my beer, smiled and came my way, she produced from within the folds of her uniform a red card!

Okay, I was totally confounded. Was I getting kicked out of the joint? I was just having my beer, now that can’t be Illegal, Or was it ?

The girl went on to tell me that I had just gotten booked and had won 100 thousand Shillings for being spotted taking a Guinness!

I thought it was one of those little witty scams peddled to innocent people until I got the money in a wad of crisp clean notes.

Needless to say, I bought a new set of couches with the money, but that is half the story, the full story is that  you will find me twice every week, a Guinness in hand waiting to get booked again.

Who knows, I might find myself travelling to Stamford Bridge next.