I knew it was going to be one of those nights the minute I agreed to go out with Jojo and her squad. I don’t even drink, but every now and then, I get convinced to leave the comfort of my blankets for some questionable nightlife adventures. Jojo, of course, has mastered the art of dragging me out to “socialize.”
“Babe, usiku ni moja tu. Come on, si you deserve some fun?” she’d said, eyes wide with that ‘please-don’t-be-boring’ look.
I sighed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to hang out. It’s just that I have this love-hate relationship with being around drunk people. They’re fun for like 30 minutes, but after that, I usually spend the rest of the night babysitting someone who’s hugging a toilet or convincing another to stop texting their ex.
Anyway, here I was. In a crowded joint somewhere in Westlands, trying to remember why I thought this was a good idea. It was a Friday, and Nairobi was buzzing with that chaotic energy that makes you feel like the whole city is on fire. Music was blaring, people were shouting over the speakers, and of course, my friends were deep into their drinks, laughing like hyenas.
“Babe, ulichelewa!” Jojo yelled over the music as soon as I squeezed into our reserved booth. “We’re already a couple of drinks in, lazima ucatch up!”
I rolled my eyes. “You know I don’t drink, Jo. I’ll just take soda, thanks.”
She groaned dramatically. “Weh! Boring sana. Lakini sawa, at least umekuja.” She tossed a vodka-laden glass towards the waiter and turned back to her girls, who were already halfway through their cocktails.
As the night progressed, I couldn’t help but people-watch. Going out sober is a completely different experience. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion while everyone else is stuck in fast-forward. One minute, Jojo and her crew were sitting down, chatting, and the next minute, they were dancing on tables, trying to convince me to join them.
“Babe, si ukuje tu dance kidogo? Unajua, life is short, lazima ucheze!” Jojo was almost on top of me, dragging my arm. I shook my head, sipping my Coke and laughing at her persistence.
“Niko sawa hapa,” I shouted back. Honestly, I didn’t mind being the sober one. I got to enjoy watching them make complete fools of themselves, and tomorrow, I’d be the one with all the hilarious stories to tell.
Then, it happened.
Just as I was settling into my role as the designated watcher, one of Jo's friends—Aisha—stood up, looked me dead in the eyes, and declared, “Babe, we need to talk about your life choices.”
Here we go, I thought, bracing myself.
“Why don’t you drink?” she asked, swaying slightly. “Like, who goes out and doesn’t drink? You’re missing out on the full experience, you know?”
I smiled politely, already used to this question. “I’m just not into it. Plus, someone needs to stay sober enough to remind you what you did last night.”
Aisha giggled, half-sitting, half-falling back into her seat. “Okay, fair point. But still, wewe ni strict. At least try wine next time, aki you’ll love it?”
I shrugged, turning my attention to the dance floor where Jojo was doing some questionable moves with a guy who clearly had too much tequila in his system. “Let’s see if you remember this conversation tomorrow,” I joked.
As the night wore on, I became everyone’s unofficial guide to navigating their drunk personas. Aisha tried to argue with a DJ because he wouldn’t play Beyoncé, Jojo started loudly telling everyone within earshot about her plans to start a business (she has no business plans, by the way), and another friend, Mercy, somehow lost her phone three times in one night—only to find it each time in her own bag.
By the time it was 3 AM, I had mentally checked out. My introverted energy was drained, and I was counting down the minutes until I could Uber home, throw off my shoes, and collapse into bed. But my girls? Oh no, they were just getting started.
“We’re going to another club!” Aisha announced, her eyes wide with excitement, like we hadn’t just spent four hours dancing and shouting over loud music. “Si uko ready?”
I shook my head firmly. “Nope, that’s my cue to leave. My bed is calling, and it doesn’t like to wait.”
They tried convincing me, of course. “Don’t be a buzzkill!” “One more hour, bana!” “Life is short, lazima ucheze!” But I stood my ground. I was too tired, too sober, and just plain over it.
By the time I finally got into the cab and waved them goodbye, I was both relieved and amused. I love my friends, I really do, but sometimes I wonder how they survive these nights out. Maybe it’s because they get to drown their exhaustion in cocktails, while I’m left analyzing every drunk moment in full HD.
I got home, kicked off my shoes, and sank into my bed. My phone buzzed—texts from Jojo, filled with blurry selfies and half-coherent captions about how amazing the night was. I chuckled, shook my head, and plugged in my phone to charge.
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