It was 7:23 in the p.m on Thursday evening when I rushed into the nearest eatery, KFC to be specific, with a determination to set a strong base before the night’s inevitable indulgence of booze. My friends and I had already agreed to defy convention, to live up to the famous Nairobi adage that states: Only the brave can start their weekend drinking on Thursday, while the rest wait till Friday to open their throats. That night bravery was to be our badge of honor. We weren’t just drinking but we were announcing ourselves as the fearless few who dared to stretch the weekend into an extra day of drinking, laughter, and recollection of memories. The reason for all this was to celebrate my departure from Kenya as I had just landed a new job position in a company located in the UK.
I left KFC Kimathi Street in a hurry even before I could finish the food I had ordered, the bucket. My friends had called, and their excitement was contagious. The waiters packed the rest as takeaway, and I rushed out. Just outside, still smiling at the thought of what the night ahead had instore, a rugged looking lady stopped me. She asked if I could spare her some of my food and without hesitation, I handed her the packed food. I had only eaten two pieces anyway. She thanked me softly, and I thought nothing more of it as I logged into my phone to request for an Uber.
A few minutes later I secured one that whisked me to Lavington. The destination was The Kettle House, Nairobi. At the club, the music loud, the crowd was alive dancing to old Kenyan playlists as the theme on was TBT and so the DJ had to keep it that way. The drinks flowed without mercy and by midnight, I was already wasted, lightheaded, lost in the haze of the neon club lights and basslines.
That is when I saw her.
A lady in white.
She was stunning, as beautiful as Lucifer herself is described in the Bible. A very radiant and perfect lady with beauty that burned too brightly to be trusted. Her white dress shimmered under the flashing lights, like false light masquerading as purity. And when she finally spoke, her voice was sweet yet unsettling. My friends cheered as I stepped away from the table urging me on, convincing me that I had bagged the prize. But in truth, I was powerless, tempted, ensnared, drawn in as though she had whispered directly into my soul. I just couldn’t resist her charms.
She leaned close, her lips brushing my ear, and though the club roared around us, her whisper cut through like a serpent’s hiss telling me to walk out with her. My body obeyed before my mind could question. I followed her out of the bar and into the cold night as if I had nothing to worry about even for the very chilly weather.
Mist curled along Muthangari Drive and the trees formed a dark archways like a cathedral of shadows. She walked ahead and I behind with my steps heavy withy will stolen as if I were Adam reaching for the forbidden fruit. Each step deeper into the night felt like surrender…
And then suddenly a hand seized mine.
I snapped back. My senses returned in a rush.
It was her, the rugged woman from earlier outside the KFC with whom I had given my food. She pressed a folded note into my palm with her eyes burning with urgency as if to tell me read it now. I opened it with trembling fingers and what it read were four our words:
“Don’t go with her!”
My blood ran cold. I looked up and locked eyes with the woman in white. Her gaze told me she already knew. It was a look that stripped me bare. It was a look filled with both beauty and some terrible dark power. I turned to the rugged woman for answers, but she had vanished like smoke. And when I spun back around, so had the woman in white. The only trace left of her was the faint shimmer of the white dress dissolving into the night mist as if the darkness itself had claimed her.
For a moment I stood frozen, shaken, until finally I stumbled back to The Kettle House to our table. My friends stared as I sat down pale and silent, wondering what had happened but I said nothing.
That ordeal has stayed with me. I know no one will ever believe me if I tell them, so I carry it in silence, though it gnaws at me.
I have always wondered what that rugged woman saved me from or even better yet in what way did the woman in white find out that those were my last days in Kenya? What is this that crawls in the dark cold night looking for vulnerable revelers to devour?
But all said and done, let us remember Nairobi is a vast city. A city of light, laughter, and ambition, yes, but also of shadows, whispers, and secrets. You can never truly know what roams its streets after dark. So when the night calls, be careful whose voice you follow because apparently not all pretty smiles are genuine!!!
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