Most peeps think coast is a cool word for Mombasa, never mind the fact that Mombasa constitutes just a section of the entire coastal strip. And the way they add a suffix ‘o’ to ‘coast’ just to sound hip. So yeah, I was at coast-o this past weekend, and being there at this time of the year makes me put things into perspective. I think there is a way the odieros add jazz to the city of Mombasa during the festive season- a jazz that cannot be felt by a guy from bara like me. For some reason the landmark tasks of the city no longer excite my sensibilities like they do when I see a couple of white yuppies taking photos of them.
However, there is something that never changes throughout the year; the Mombasa nightlife. The ethos of the coastal revelers withstand all seasons. It is amazing the way women change from ninja-like hijabs to skimpy flashy dresses. At some point there I thought they use their bodies to cover their dresses.
After hanging around the joints in Nairobi at night, I thought I had had enough of teasing girls freezing their thighs in order to suit the needs of men.
Mombasa takes revelling to a completely different level. Walking around Cassablanca in itself is a sin. It’s a parade of thighs shining bright like neon lights, begging for your attention. And like shoes, they come in all colours, shapes and sizes, just the way you like it.
These ladies can spot a man from bara miles away. They crowd around you, buzzing prices, others touching you in places the Good Lord reserved for ‘the one’. I felt molested, defiled in fact. Nobody can really tell where those hands had been- and there they were, wiping remnants of what smelled like STDs on my skin. Furthermore, I have always heard of the tales about the whispers of jini disguised as women who steal your soul and maroon their victims in the depths of the ocean.
In their defence however, these are not jinis. At least they did not look the part to me. These are business people trading their wares for worthy consideration on the basis of willing buyer willing seller. They will wriggle their posterior around you and rub the soft contours of their bodies on you, and then slip their hands inside your jacket and make away with your wallet. That is the time you will realize that there is no harsher city for broke men than coast-o.
