Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, Kawira has decided. She has disowned the proverbial comfort zone. She is no longer the certified, card-carrying introvert, the one who goes literally nowhere, the one who lives with three plants and a cat. That Kawira no longer lives here. Instead, she has sprouted a Life.

I have gone to places I never dreamed of, met people I’d never imagined, learned about entire worlds that I certainly couldn’t find in books. I’ve been to night clubs and parties and concerts. I have been pleasantly surprised and rudely shocked in equal measure. Here’s what I’ve learned so far.

1. A Life can be expensive… or not.

I was always afraid of being outgoing because I assumed it’s expensive. I’ve heard enough stories about people blowing their entire salaries on a single night out. Considering I’ve never had a steady-enough income to begin with, why would I even want to go out?

Then I tried it. I still can’t believe I went out on two consecutive nights, a Saturday and Sunday, and spent just under Ksh. 3,000. At the time of this writing, that’s about US$24. That’s including food, drinks, and transport.

Granted, I’ve been very lucky and thankful for complimentary tickets. I eat a good square meal at a pocket-friendly place before I go out. I keep my drinks down to two shots max, one cider if necessary, one Red Bull, and water. I only use cabs if it’s totally unavoidable – I’d rather dance till 6AM if it means I’ll catch a matatu back home. I don’t club-hop either. This strategy works for me every time, and I’m always surprised that I still have change in my pocket. Your mileage may vary.

2. People can be pretty amazing.

I’ve had a profound philosophical conversation in the ladies’ bathrooms at a night club. A complete stranger decided that it was the perfect moment to talk about how water taps can be racist because of biases in algorithms. I kid you not. It was the best three minutes of the entire night.

I’ve met some LGBTQ people that were downright gorgeous. Tall and lanky even without the block heels, better jewellery than I could ever afford, dancing like they had no care in the world, in a night club, in a city, in a country that does not recognize them.

Going by the people I’ve met so far, people I never would’ve crossed paths with otherwise, my verdict is clear: an open mind is a life skill. I didn’t know just how closed my mind was until it was cracked open and its contents shaken, in good ways and bad. And I thought I was just going out to dance.

3. The food is actually decent.

Overpriced, of course, and worth every shilling. I’ve encountered gourmet-level pizzas, overloaded but delicious shawarmas, platters with the most tender meat, dips and sauces that make my heart sing, salads I can actually stomach – this is a big deal. My belly does not like anything green.

I used to go out with my mother and sister once in a while, back in the day. I hate to admit that I didn’t enjoy it. It almost always meant beer and nyama choma, barbequed beef or goat that would be tough and dry at best, underdone at worst. I honestly hated club food. When my mother would have her glass of wine and my sister her two Tusker Lites, I stuck to my Fanta. I was the killjoy.

Now, it turns out, I was going to all the wrong places. All the menus I’ve seen have been impressive. If I ever see blackened protein on a rack of coals again, it will be too soon.

4. Too much is happening all at once.

Any given weekend has at least two things I want to attend. I’m writing this in mid-November, and I’m already stressed about the new year. There are three gigs I’d love to go to, and I’m willing to bet there’ll be at least eight by the time December gets here. If I could split myself into five Kawiras, heaven knows I would. I’m learning what FOMO truly means now.

This is a wonderful problem to have, I must admit. I spent all my weekends either at work or indoors. The most exciting thing I could do was to take a long walk for my groceries. Now, I’m thinking about venues and DJs and experiences… I can only enjoy so much. I love it.

5. I’m learning to see double.

It’s uncanny. There are people who go for these events like they’re going to an office, and I don’t just mean the organizers. I mean artists, performers, their managers. When they’re in work-mode, they are forces of nature. When they’re in friend-mode, they unburden. Now, imagine tagging along to their events. It’s like a “bring your buddy to work” day. You’d see both sides of these people, and it can bend the mind.

A person can be two (or more) different people at the drop of a hat. We can be sharing some verbal tea, then someone walks by, the mask goes on, and it’s all business. Once that’s done, the mask goes off, and it’s right back to our gossip. However, my mind wonders, “Who am I speaking with right now? Is this the same person?”

The answer is yes. It’s work and play blended together, and it throws me off, big time.

6. Networking is hard.

With great contacts comes great responsibility. For years, my phone only had a handful of saved numbers. Excluding my landlord, the rest were either numbers I didn’t want to memorize, like bank accounts and power meters, or businesses I needed to haggle with. A month into having a Life, my contact list has exploded. Even my phone is stunned.

That’s only the first step. Maintaining contacts is another animal altogether. “Reaching out” used to be an annoying corporate slogan to me. Now, it’s a necessity. I can’t be generic either, none of that, “Hi, how’ve you been, we should catch up,” knowing full well that we won’t. I must care for my newfound contacts as individuals, as people with their own Lives. It’s a stretch, coming from talking to my cat to talking to actual humans on a regular basis.

 

I’m sure this is just the beginning of my Life. This is my experience within Nairobi, mind you. What happens if I go to another city, another country perhaps? What if I meet even more weird and wonderful people? What if I keep having a Life? Well, ask me when I’m 50.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Ian Kiragu on Unsplash