Reading this chaotic and disorderly book called Kunst Kanibaal - art canibal - written by a artist friend of mine here in good old Mokum, his crazy adventures in the slums of Nairobi which are ruled by dark skinned sluttily dressed prostitutes, ragged street children and local throat cutters, I am transported back to somewhere in the early nineties of the last century when Nairobi was my favorite haunt, back alleys where I would pick up my models and possible bed partners alike, drag them back to cockroach rife dirt cheap hotels where I would paint them on the discarded newspaper pages of the Daily Nation english edition which I would normally steal from the upper class hotels in the better parts of town..
Where I was the Mzungu and my Swahili just about enough to say Jambo and "would you like to see my room?", - don't seem to remember these last words in the here and now though - a handfull of tatty notes of Kenian Shilling doing the job just great, now that I do remember...vividly I might add!!!
Where everybody wanted to buy my army issued military boots and the local beer tasted like cat piss but would get me drunk nonetheless which suited me just fine..drunk enough to muster up the courage to wander the dirt ridden alleys of an African metropole full with new adventures each day, each night...
I would change my hotel often to avoid crazy, drunk and drugged-up money crazed women from the street, contacts from previous modelling sessions and physical excerzise Aficionadas to kick down my door in a mad search for Mas Shillings.
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