Zipo

Today’s story will be told by a man. Nice change to have a man’s point of view here.

Zipo, oh Zipo. I smile when I remember that huge woman and how she made the most of what she had in the late 90s just before HIV-Aids had become such a serious thing.

Zipo is short for Zipporah. And she was some big woman. And what I admired most about her was that she did not have the looks and neither did she have the figure, but she made something out of what she did not have. Actually to be honest, she was built like a barrel. But amazingly, she could really dance, moving and shaking that huge body of hers on the dance floor at a club that used to be called Bombax along Ngong Road in Nairobi (ooposite the Kenya Science Teachers College) which used to feature exclusively African music especially from the sensational Tanzanian band, Les Wanyika.

I was a regular at the place in those days when I could not get enough of hits like Afro, Sina Makosa, and Nimaru to name a few.

I must admit that it took me a long time to figure out Zipo’s racket. I always used to be amazed at the fact that she would be seated with other very beautiful women some of whom would be left at the table drinking alone as Zipo got all the attention from men. Kwani she was using charms or what, I wondered for a long time.

Admittedly she was very intelligent, had a nice smile, laughed a lot and was actually very entertaining to be with. But even that did not quite explain why on several occasions I watched as some very good-looking men who could certainly have done better started to behave like horny schoolboys with her, being in such a terrible hurry to leave the place with Zipo for some frenzied activity elsewhere. I just couldn’t figure it out.

Then one day I happened to see a little red lace sticking out of a man’s dark jacket. Slowly by slowly I was able to piece everything together over a period of time to finally get to the bottom of the whole shocking thing.

Zipo may not have had the looks, but she had certainly figured out men.

She would arrive early for the evening smartly dressed as usual, mostly in her long flowing expensive outfits which were almost always cut low at the top to show off as much of her bulging breasts as possible. She would sit at the bar sipping a whisky pretending to be very bored. What she would actually be doing would be carefully observing the incoming traffic seizing them up, “recording” their faces to know who had come in alone and who was accompanied. She must have been good at “reading” people because she was a senior marketing person at multi-national company based in Industrial area.

By the way, the bar inside that Bombax place (which used to be where Nakumatt Junction is today) was at a strategic place where one could easily observe everybody coming in.

The band would then begin warming up with some nice cool instrumental numbers and Zipo would remain seated at the high stool right at a corner of the bar looking lost in the music, but she missed absolutely nothing as her potential “prey” continued to slowly stream in. By the time Les Wanyika started belting out their numbers, she had already known her target for the evening. It was then easy to zero in because she was easy to talk to and striking up a conversation was a breeze for her (remember she earned a living out of striking up conversations in her marketing job).

Sometimes she would hit the dance floor with her intended “victim” of the evening. Make no mistake about it, the lady could dance and was a joy to watch dancing. Many times the Les Wanyika band leader would nod in her direction and smile at her and whisper into the microphone what a good dancer she was.

The signal that she was making her move would be when she headed for the ladies. I discovered much later that the crazy girl would remove her panties in the ladies and come back to place them inside the pocket of her target. She would then whisper something to the effect that there was a message for them in their pockets and they had better be careful that nobody else in the place noticed what it was. That would have quite an effect on any man. Most would take a long swig at their drink to try and recover.

Oh and I forgot to tell you; the other asset Zipo had were her eyes. They were very romantic and could instantly change to express desire for a man. That was the other “weapon” she used on her men. Her “victims” would look at her after discovering what was in their pockets and she would give them “that look.” That was a message that no man could miss, no matter how “slow” they were.

Occasionally she would go a little further to prove that the lacy thing placed inside the man’s pockets was not somebody else’s or her spare ones carried in the handbag. A lot can happen undetected in a dimly lit place, especially under the table. She would dare the man to prove that what was in his pockets was missing from where it should be. Most would take up the challenge and that would be the killer blow that would cause most men to want to leave the place in a terrible hurry.

Other women hated Zipo, naturally. But that crazy lady was quite something making the most out of what she did not have.

I wonder what became of her.

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