15 April 2006- Friday night in Nairobi is a hit and miss affair. Good times, though desired can be elusive. I speak for myself. Some nights start lethargically and end up going nowhere. This usually happens after one has dressed up and declared, I intend to have fun tonight.
Other nights begin with a flurry of activities and offer huge promise only to turn unbearably stale way before midnight . The cause of this is commonly the unfortunate occurrence of a bitter ex girlfriend with issues crowding your space on what was supposed to be a romantic evening with a hot new date. Then, there are those nights when all one wants, is strictly one drink due to very apparent financial constraints only for the night to be redeemed by some incident, adding much needed excitement to the bland routine. It was one of those nights and I was placing some very unreasonable demands on the evening by trying to have champagne on a beer budget. It was also the last Friday of the month and Nairobi was heaving a collective sigh of relief. I do not get paid at the end of the month therefore I saw no cause for celebration.

Besides, I was justifiably grumpy because the happy faces still dressed in their office clothes had invaded the home pub. Bars in this city sometimes show a peculiarity worthy of note representing something akin to the atmosphere in a village social hall especially around the 7pm news broadcast. The drunk and the sober all stop talking to pay keen attention to the evening news. In a sense, it (the news) plays like a continuous soap opera with political intrigue that would easily rival a John Le Carre novel. Promptly after the news, it is back to business as usual. It was about this time that a friend showed up with a plan. There was a new lap-dancing club in town and she said I would fit right in with my bomber jacket and blue jeans. It seemed a much better option than watching a formerly serene bar degenerate to the noise levels of a goat auction in Eldama Ravine.

Voyeurism is a popular male pastime and even when we are driving you will catch us looking at the backsides of female pedestrians through the obscure angle of a side mirror. So I left for the house of flesh. The ticket booth or shall I say open desk was full of activity even though no tickets were being issued. In Nairobi, one can always cut a deal as long as one remains persistent. There was an entrance charge but instead of an official receipt, I was given something that looked like a raffle ticket.

The dimly-lit stairway was crowded with people who would only move for a bigger man -a place to avoid if you are claustrophobic. There was really nothing striking about a hexagon-shaped room with bad lighting, no ventilation and no décor worth mentioning. It looked more like someone had converted an upper level parking into a bar. But who goes to a lap dancing club to admire the walls?

The patrons were here for the shapely girls in bikinis. The bar counter was long and behind it were a bunch of employees doing more posing than serving. In typical Nairobi fashion, you had to jostle and plead for a drink, which was paid for upfront. In the movies, a lap-dancing club is predominantly frequented by perverted men in suits who derive extreme thrill in tucking notes in taut female underwear. The local version is a little different. First of all, it is all very timid, (no topless scenes), almost playful and never really progresses beyond dirty dancing.

The tips are not very generous and after a hour, the girls look utterly mechanical. The surprising thing though was that there were just as many women as men in this place and they were definitely not here for the two scrawny guys who formed part of the dirty dancing troupe. In fact, it appeared that half the guys had walked in with their girlfriends. It was either a case of insecurity or shared vice. It leaned more towards the latter, because it was the girls doing more of the checking out rather shamelessly. The two guys received mostly sneers.

There was a lot of girl-on-girl flirtation going on reminding one of scenes from a third rate blue movie. It seems the new trend for lack of a better word is a liberal attitude toward bisexuality but only among females. The men remain securely locked behind closets. You will notice that there are no homophobic concerns in regard to lesbian tendencies. Girl-on-girl action is presented as glamorous and exciting, taking sexuality to a whole new level outside the control of man. According to some article I read in a girly magazine, 45 per cent of the women interviewed fantasise about sex with another woman.

The facts are obviously disputable. The figure could be much higher. The previously undisputed position of the man in heterosexual manual is being put to test. Stereotypes of old are crumbling and a woman with a greater desire than her mans, is not necessarily seen as a nymphomaniac or tart. These days, I dare say, a woman desiring a woman is being celebrated and not condemned. The same girls who we thought would be a little more reserved because of the emotional need to be attached to somebody before they made a beeline in that direction are no longer as rigid.

Men are very receptive to the changing attitudes even though the girls do not want them joining in the fray. Women I have talked to claim that men do not pay attention to detail. They disregard all suggestions and instructions. Like hooded goons making a getaway from a bank robbery, they are in and out of a womans bed much too quickly, solely bent on reaching the goal. As Marnie once said of the male orgasm, I have never seen so much effort go into a spoonful of anything. Men are doing so badly (in bed) that a lot of women are exploring other options, wearing the bisexual tag like a badge of honour. In the final analysis, sexuality has become increasingly more elastic and it will soon be difficult to figure out who is straight, gay, or both. Maybe its time, to invent new labels.

Home Page

More kenyan articles