Last week but one I attended this grand event known as the Jungle Fitness Fest II held at Nairobi Primary grounds. Being an outdoor fitness event, I really needed a training kit or at least a track suit. Instead I clad myself in blue shorts and a dark t-shirt and brown unisex shoes with white ankle socks. I very much resembled a white-black guy going for mountain climbing activity.
It was the second event in their resulting activities that are expected to happen month to month. Earnestly I had held up for it irritably because I had missed the first event. Likewise I am one person who loathes being out of the scene and hold up for grapevine stories on how excellent or how the event sucked. I for the most part like it when I am in some certain spot of the venue, from whence I can tune in a circuitous manner, from where I can devour all the scent of the event, and from which I can get a pleasing feeling of transcendence of being the best review part, who came to hang out just for the sake of it.
It was hard for me to endure such test, to listen to my cousin who would be on my neck every time narrating to me how the prior event rocked, with the muscle men stealing all the glory of the show, showing me illustrations of pictures with heavily built creatures (it is only hate because personally I possess bones, no muscle, and I am almost underweight). In short I like being on the scene, and enjoying everything first hand. I would hardly participate, I would just become part of the story and I won’t be able to write of what I observed, there would be none. When I become part of the story it leaves no story, I can’t explain myself in the mess.
Right up ’til today I was truly pregnant with fervor, ready to make history somewhere. I wanted to be the first to arrive. I wanted to be the bouncer at the gate. I wanted to be the one to sell the tickets at the gate. I wanted to be the MC of the event. I wanted to be the key photographer of the event, and the starring of the movie. I wanted to be everything. From the organizer to the caterer, to the team leader, to even the guest of honour. I am such a dreamer you know. That is why I headed there as early as ten. Mind you the event was to commence at nine, and by ten I was among the first uninvited guests whose passion lies in gate crashing and ensuring that I maximize the opportunity.
Envision of occasions without these exquisite intruders (gatecrashers). Simply envision, an occasion with nothing staggering like intruders who truly bring the fun, add some little flavor to zest the occasion, and for the most part keep the spirits of the fundamental members raised up high all through. It would be exhausting if individuals like me never existed in any case. The world would be exhausting on the grounds that the common times are brimming with occasions. It would suck, it would be muddled, and it would be messed up. I am not defending my motivation to gate crash at each other occasion that I do but I am attempting to clarify the pith, the significance, the centrality and the noticeable quality of interlopers in any event, much the same as I would rundown down the imperativeness of a MC in an occasion.
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Armed to the teeth with a Nikon 10Megapixel camera, I romp into the venue with my favourite cousin where we find a few event organizers in frantic efforts to have everything in place. I am known for my philanthropy courses, and it would have spoilt my rather good reputation if I stood there and did nothing. I had taken interest a ton in orchestrating this event, from the start to the essentially particularly end. That is why I could not tire at the entrance. I had taken part in making the event a success. I had been a ghost in the event organization. I assisted so much though only one person knew who the hell I was.
As much as gatecrashed the party I had this positive spirit about it. I wanted it to shine and be fruitful. I had invested a lot of my hours doing online advertisement about the event, sourcing clients, sourcing equipment for hire for the event, and even keeping the social media engaged, making sure the audience was locked in a way, and using my public relations skills to sell the company’s profile. I did this out of passion for my work.
The first encounter was the CEO of JUNGLE FITNESS COMPANY, Mr. RAPHAEL. I swear I don’t even know his second name, maybe I have forgotten. I am confused on that part. The greeting was smooth and methodical, and I lie low behind the dark sunglasses, like I was a total stranger to what was going on. We then (me and Rehema) head for the welcome desk where we meet a few individuals, totally new to me. Rehema gives off an impression of being nicely familiar with them. It is here I meet Raphael’s wife, and later find that she was Rehema’s auxiliary schoolmate.
Well, my job is to study and observe people. I do a lot of studying. In the few minutes of our encounter, I studied Jedidah’s (the wife) behavior. I observed how she looked like, and generally her reactions to a few chats. She is tensed, apprehensive and restless. I can see the fear on her, in her eyes and can even see her face and tummy twitch in anxiety. She has this lovely baby face, and don’t think for one second that I am into someone’s wife. I am trying to create a story. I also meet their small white-like kid. She is more of daddy’s looks in colour than mommy’s.
Jedidah is just easy to go with. The lips are ever smiling even when she is not, and you can easily feel at home even when you are not invited. It is such a twist of the face, the luscious lips that tantalize, and leave you in a state of questions- ouch, what taste are those lips of? Am I dreaming or it is just me hallucinating in broad daylight? Are they for real? Of course all these make her very innocent, though she looks worried, like something is incomplete somewhere; you know.
So we have a little talk and I acquaint myself after she asks with know my name. Trust me I infrequently present myself until asked. I simply don’t on account of I am a mystery man, and revealing my identity may cause unwanted pressures which may inconvenience my peace, or or significantly imperil my spirit of the event of something. Moreover I exhort her I am Mzangila.
“Oooooh, so you are the Mzangila? You know I have seen an impressive measure of your posts on our page and been contemplating who this Mzangila guy is. So you are the Mzangila?
“Yeah, yeah. I am the Mzangila, just here with you.”
“I saw your anecdote about our occasion, as is this what you normally do?”
I just want to tell her a lot about myself, that urge then subsides in me and I serenely state.
“I am just an advertiser, I run a series of campaigns on social media on any anything, so long as it makes sense.”
“Uhhhh, (surprised) that is good.”
“But I am also a blogger.” I don’t say the name of the website regardless, just with the end goal of it. After all she might later come to know What and Who Mzangila is. It is a blog and the writer.
“I also blog.”
“Mmh, on what precisely?”
“I deal with money markets stuff.”
Just like her, I don’t ask the name of the blog. But later I came to learn she has a company that calls itself AFRICA MONEY MARKETS. . I surmise that is the name, but if it is not blame the amnesia that largely dominates my life. With so many things to do, we cut our chat and maybe will catch it later when I will be doing a story about African Money Market. I am a devotee of cash you know, and there is no reason that won’t make me try for something that connects itself to such acclaimed terminology. (Jedidah on the off chance that you are scrutinizing this you should no doubt contact me. I need to understand that stuff and maybe you can in like manner take in something from my plethora of business astuteness in the business industry. I wager you oblige some little PR to deliver forward on a more positive plot in your business.)
Regardless the event proceeded as arranged. The organizing team had also their own fears. By 11 only a few people had arrived, most of them being trainers and the invited crew who were to help in the event facilitation procedure. However, deep inside I had this feeling that something was amiss. Something was not straight somewhere. I have a reservoir of confidence that kept telling me things were going to be great though I strongly felt that conviction was lying to me on the face. I hated that.
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A parade of events transpired, and I have no gut to write most of them. It was not my intention today. I confess I am no vigorous activity man. I am a mortal engineered for the intense focused activity, something like climbing downhill and swinging on an office chair. I work out almost every day, I bet that is why I got no muscle I need a smidgen of safe sitting somewhere, and binge eating with a lot of fats and carbohydrates. That is not my advice but the nutrionist who told me that I am 0.5 points away from underweight scale. I was frightened. I cowed. I was a bimbo. An airhead. The psych went down and I did not participate in all the morning events.
The most irritating thing that I encountered that day was one the nutrionist who continued taking a gander at me. Peering toward me like a hawk, as though proposing something like “am sad for you pal, appears like you gotta few hours to live.” It was that old, cold and merciful look. It was as if it was sending me down the grave just before my expiry days. It is due to this that I decided to lift my ass off the chair and busy myself with taking photos. And I made sure that I didn’t go back to that side of the venue.
She just killed my mood.
Somehow I had this white Jungle Fitness t-shirt on me. I liked it. Don’t ask me how I got one because they were being retailed cheaply at kshs. 500. With this shirt I was officially among the jungle enthusiasts. I rolled around just familiarizing myself with the event, carrying with me a bottle of free water and a packet of milk to reenergize myself in that sunny setting.
Just as I said, I am not here to narrate what transpired during the event. I am simply telling the bits that either rocked me most or just sucked my ass up.
Late in the afternoon I did participate in the many team building activities and made a few friends for that moment. Again I am not a person that makes friends easily. Not that I am special or a sociopath but because I have so many, so many that I regret having some. So I am that picky. I have friends who will always want or will force you to remember them. I similarly have this bundle that will neglect you and case that you have ignored them when you meet. Meanwhile I have these some bit of allies who simply stay adjacent when my pocket is heavier than conventional, those that can even lick your butt opening essentially because you have some mullah to give out, as if you are a grand mullah. I have this other little part that calls itself extraordinary. Phenomenal mates will sit tight for you to come to them and not the inverse. Even when they are in a fix notwithstanding all that they have to do is act bossy and want to be the centre of everything.
I cherish more the unconditional friends than anyone. Those that you can rely on without any protest and vice versa. Fortunately that is the kind of friend I want, just like birds of the same feathers you know.
It is at this event that I saw some gigantic awesome ass that lit up my evening. There is nothing as bewitching in a man’s eye as a perfect woman with a conventional, round and gigantic ass that he can grasp or hold on in the midst of the night. I mean it such a positive notion. Really when you are walking with her in the streets of Nairobi or New York you feel like the luckiest man ever. Clearly a noteworthy ass is just a pile of shit, however to people really it is a touch of substance that can make them run wild eyed. . I met one and being the asshole I am I did not even ask for her a contact. Hey lovely, if you read this just poke me on Facebook.
That ass made me become active and dynamic. I was resuscitated at every look I threw at its bubble. It could swing so compellingly till it made me lose focus. By virtue of God no saw me ogling. And please, don’t condemn me or convict me of such wanton behavior. Once in a while, when you are single, you can’t just resist it. It is a characteristic sensation that accompanies such a fastidious power consolidated with a desire to touch that tourism fascination site. A natural phenomenon in fact.
Eventually I left. Having created some links with figure studios, who made me think like my camera was just a drop in the sea, I was assured of featuring in many of the photos. That one I made sure. Remember of all I wanted to be in that event. So the final shot was with the Muliro guy of Inspekta Mwala and the goliath musclemen who came to flaunt their muscles to the ladies who were left mouth open like the ones below. Who the hell knows if they didn’t cum in their pants?
I was tired. I bid my colleagues bye and left with my late comer cousin in his Bimmer. Damn! I love his Bimmer to death. It has this decent swag, with its brandishes’ gimmicks. It is the M5 sports model of the 1990s with an M50 engine that pulls the overwhelming chassis like it were some paper pack. When it cruises at 60km/h it looks like a jumbo jet sitting itself on the road moving at a terrific speed of 250km/h.
I greatly miss that ass. Hope I will be around to witness their third event………….
-photos: courtesy of Figure studios