The difference between a NAIROBI’s CHIPS FUNGA and a Mombasa one…MMMH!

There is a Nairobian Chips Funga and there is the Mombasa Chips Funga. And they are all as different as a mango is from a tomato. Let’s call them CFs for simplicity.

Mostly (Nairobi chips Funga), she is ageless. You can’t tell her exact age. She looks young, possibly in the mid-20s, more often beautiful especially when you are mid-way the fifth bottle, and the dim club lighting.

Most like claiming that they in a college or a university; MKUs, Kimathi, KEMU, Daystar, Catho, KU, CUEA et al.

You simply identify her by what she takes. Unpolished ones mostly stick with Black Ice and announce their intentions by dancing aggressively, shaking their bum, whether existent or not.

She can dance with any man who shows up and does not mind doing socket or a shocking lap dance and an unsolicited kiss. If you see her with the man for the first time, you will think that they are an item. They move pretty fast these ones.

Then there is the category that goes for Kingfisher and Wood Pecker. Those bottles drive me nuts. They have the worst shape ever invented after condom shoes. A woman who drinks Kingfisher, will most likely not demand a Taxi or a cab as they call it, if she decides to go with you.

Then there is the pretentious crowd that goes for Red Ice or orders wine or those things they serve with lemon slices. This one will most likely demand a taxi and can even offer to pay if the man looks too fidgety with the charge.

What is common however among all the Chips Funga is their calculated naivete. They make the man see that he has gotten himself an easy lay, while they actually lead a man on.

What is funny is how men get rid of them the morning after. She just wakes up around 6.33 am, reaches for her hand bag, fishes out a ‘teeth-brush’ if she carried or just swallows a fingerful of Aquafresh in her mouth, straightens her hair and head to the bus stop to catch the Matatu and get to Church early enough.

As one of the funniest Kenyan on Twitter put it on Twitter, ‘some Chips Fungas are so perverted that they buy P2s along the way to church and use the wine to swallow them.’ The thought itself is mortifying.

The act of carrying a Chips Funga is the ultimate casual sexual exchange. Here two random souls meet for a purely carnal exchange without even a single string attached. Wait! May be a drink or breakfast if the man somehow has a heart. Most men actually chase them in the morning without even raising their heads, pretending to have a hangover. Unless ‘he’ is up the morning and feels like ‘moaning’ glory before sending her away.

Now officially, there is a class of young women who are servicing young employed men who stay in flats in Lang’ata, Dohnholm, South B, South C, Zimmerman, Roysambu, Kasarani etc and any other estate that struggling middle-class men have settled. They don’t want much. They don’t even want to know your first name, or even your number. The first rule is to never get emotional or demand a replay unless you both enjoyed the sex.

Trying to engage a CF in a constructive conversation will make you dump her faster than real fries can be wrapped at Sonford. They have this thing about struggling with college, business or ‘jobo’. They invariably sound like those girls on beauty pageants when they try to be intellectual; like insisting that they like swimming, travelling and reading novels. Anyone who believes them?

If you frequent the same joint, you might bump into your CF in the days to come and you will Hi 5 each other, if you will remember each other, that is. Since she will be in the company of some bespectacled nerd who she will whisper to ‘He is a colleague,’ or whatever she might designate you on the spur of the moment, you could be the movie guy, you know. Some CFs as are so famous that they are known in clubbing circles and their profile has gone down given that they know the insides of more houses in all suburbs than the busiest Water or Electricity man.

You walk with her to the club and she is offering familiar hugs to men along the way to the dance floor. And that is the Nairobian CFs. Disciplined, subscribes to the age-old dictum of no-strings attached. Now over to Coast.

At the Coast, it is a different ball game altogether. Apparently, at the Coast if you succeed to get a CF, you are in for a shocking morning after.

No, it is not about the paranoid myth of Jinis. No, they can’t disappear with your electronics into thin air. For one most women in clubs at the Coast, are after the dandy, old, white men. The old white men do outrageously bad things but at the Coast, one is for the money anyway.

Chips Fungaing has not really sunk in to the levels of ridiculous permissiveness it has in Nairobi, but it is not uncommon to occasionally get a decently young and beautiful chicka you can wrap hot and get home to devour.

The really drama starts in the morning when she wakes up and the pillow talk goes something like…

SHE (In the Coastal Swahili Accent): Sasa tutazaa watoto wangapi?

HE(Confused): Mmmh

SHE:Kanionyeshe jikoni na uniwekee nguo pamoja nikaoshe…wapenda wali wa nazi kwa kiamsha kinywa…

And along that vein…

That is what befallen good old pal. Thrice, the women have demanded a ring in the morning and a show of commitment and enough drama to fuel the gossip of the gossipy, lazy Coastal people who are his neighbors.

Some things we only learn the hard way.

Sila