No, Thank You. Peddle your advice to someone else!

I guess a majority of us have really never understood why the legal average age limit was set at 18, like at 18 years of age you can marry, get kids, move (d) out, drink alcohol, smoke. This is the age all men (it’s always them) sat in barazas across the globe and settled on it to be the right age to be thrown in a jail full of 40 year olds, it is also the age they decided, you know what? fuck this dryspell shit, it’s also about that time we got ourselves wives, or what do you guys think? one of them asked. And they all answered in unison, “Yeeeees Master.” And one lanky fellow in the crowd after a few seconds, “Then we can add another one after 2 years.” And they roared with laughter.

Ok, ignore that last part. Point is at the age of 18 and above we are considered to be adults who can make sober decisions, grownups who can decide whom to friend and whom not to. However this is also the age we solicit and most of the time get unwarranted advice from all quarters. You will be advised on which college to attend, what major to take, whom to be friend, whom to have babies with, what kind of foods to take, which political wing to align yourself with, whom to vote for……

But do we necessarily have to consume all the pieces of advice we are thrown our way, I think not. You see giving advice is easy. People are full of opinions, and we love nothing more than to share them with others. It gives us a chance to talk about ourselves: our opinions are largely based on personal experiences, emotions, and values. Yet, how many of us actually do the work required to hold a certain view?

Be wary about who you take advice from.

When literally anyone can give you advice, it should be expected that the overall quality of advice given is extremely low. Unfortunately, the people we tend to take the most advice from is our close circle of friends and family, who are often the least qualified to provide it. Like how many of us ended up being teachers, and very bad at it, simply because your pastor-uncle advised you? You wouldn’t take computer advice from a plumber, so why take farming tips from your buddy who has spent his life selling bundles mwitu?

The people that give you advice may say they have your best intentions in mind, but the truth is that it’s often the best in their mind. It’s so they can happily gloat to their friends what their son or daughter does for a living. It is the choice that they themselves would make, given their hopes, dreams, aspirations, anxieties, and risk tolerance. Nevertheless, we tend to trust these people the most.

The friends and family group is also the most biased. They attempt to point you in a direction they would like to see you go, rather than where you would like to see yourself go. They are secretly manipulating you, consciously or not. And if you continuously follow their advice, you will eventually wind up living someone else’s life instead of your own.

How often have you heard or come across trained lawyers who are eking a living out writing? Or the medical student that gives up 12 years of his life to satisfy his parents? The investment banker who hates the job but stays for the prestige?

Most people simply don’t like to see others succeed. If a person doesn’t fit the mold of what he or she should be, it threatens the status quo. Change is scary. It brings people to question their own ideals, their routines, their life. It makes them feel small. And so the ever popular advice “be realistic” was coined, to push these outliers back to the sphere of convention and mundane.

However don’t get it twisted, certain advice can be helpful. Like, when someone tells you don’t do drugs or don’t be like a Kenyan politician or don’t be a Manchester United fan. Nevertheless be selective in the advice you take. Listen to those who have the necessary real world experience, who fully understand your situation, who carefully listen to you, and who share the same values.

You can also just take the leap. Don’t wait for someone else to give you permission and lead your life for you.

Be a bit like Tom Cruise.

I don’t really keep counsel with others. I’m the kind of person who will think about something, and if I know it’s right I’m not going to ask anybody. I don’t go, ‘Boy, what do you think about this?’ I’ve made every decision for myself—in my career, in my life. – Tom Cruise

It’s your life.

Of Matrimonial Bill and Nyeri Men

“For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” Ephesians 5:31-33…so the Holy Book states. Over the years however, men have always twisted this law, getting out of their parents’ home and going to form many, wives.

If you thought women domination ended with Eve at the Garden of Eden then you are in for a long treat. Welcome to the 21st Century, where women don’t just sit(or as in many cases, cook) and laugh at your jokes that have seen better seasons while pretending to love your alcoholic brother and her witch(that’s what she will always think of your mother) of a mother-in-law .  The evolution going on at the women island is unbelievable (yet), like the other day I was surprised to see my neighbour changing his daughter’s diapers. Now I know you think am a chauvinistic bastard who still clings to the past and things that baby problems are for women to sort out(which actually is true, all men think that). However my neighbour is a Maa speaking individual, who is on record swearing severally that he didn’t just kill a lion so as to engage in such chores that would be an abomination and a big disrespect to his ancestors, there’s no way a warrior is allowed to touch babies. However there he was, changing the diapers with lots of ease and expertise like he had done it all his life, the king of the jungle had been domesticated. I just shook my head and wished Mr. Njoka, he of the Maendeleoya Wanaume fame was around to ‘save’ a brother.

 It was not a surprise therefore when I later learnt that women legislators had tabled a Marriage Bill in parliament, with among the most controversial (depending on which side you are) clauses after the contentious VAT bill. What I had seen at my neighbour’s was headed for legalization. Life couldn’t get worse. Apart from finding a job, now we had another monster awaiting us. That of marriage, which has been made even harder for to look like rocket science.

“And just like that my King Mswati dream fades away,” Chemosi commented after reading the proposed law. “I know I might not be able to sustain many souls with my imaginary income, but that should not be a reason to deny a brother a chance to have as many wives as he can vibe, I mean, where do we expect the other women to go to?”

“But seriously I don’t think the law is as draconian as it is portrayed,” Nugu was quick to point out. Immediately I knew I was in for a long entertaining evening. Nothing makes these two (or men in general) talk, argue, and even fight more than themes revolving around women, sports, alcohol and politics. It’s even worse when two or more of them are involved concurrently, like it was in our case. “Have you ever put yourself in the shoes of a child or spouse neglected due to extra-marital affairs? Yes that’s among other things the law is going to address.”

“No, that’s just a piece inserted to create a different perspective and probably influence your type, the bottom line is that men will be caged once the law is passed,” Nugu said. “Take for instance that clause where either out of desperation for a quick lay or just to cut short a long conversation with your lady, you promise to marry her, that word becomes binding or in a worst case scenario if by chance she had a recorder on standby then you could as well consider investing in tuxedos and wedding gowns. Now tell me the beauty about that?”

My happy moment was however cut short by a ‘breaking news’ story on twitter, that of a Kiambu lad who had taken the law on being friendly to animals too far. Or maybe he had sensed the effects of the bill in parliament and he was just ‘exploring’ new and ungoverned territories. Could that be reception of the Marriage Bill? Yes? No? Well that’s a story for another day

Sportpesa and Other Short Stories From Getting Your Hopes Too High

About two weeks ago the world woke up the story of a ninja who went berserk and hacked two, a manager and a supervisor at a popular Casino in Nairobi ( and before the dust could settle on that, a comrade outta Maseno University decided to gamble his school fees and upkeep money on the Valenica Vs Barcelona game( Ok, i don’t know how gambling in a casino works, i have never stepped been in one and i don’t plan on doing that any time soon. However, i have a pedestrian knowledge of how sports betting works, i can’t blame the poor student for placing his stakes so high. That was a ‘sure’ bet. And i can bet his school fees that he isn’t the only one who lost that night, it only happens that he is the only one who was unfortunate to have the media guys around him.

Sportpesa, Betin, Betway, Elitebet, Mcheza, BetYetu, Bet365, ‘uniwekee soo moja nakurudishia kesho asubuhi’ ‘ni game moja tu iliniangusha’ ‘odds ni ngapi?’….familiar?…No? Then my friend, you are safe. Sports’ betting is the new craze in town. Everyone seems to be doing it or at the very least knows someone who does it. Colleagues, partners, neighbours, squads are betting. In fact i can easily count the number of people who aren’t betting with my right hand fingers. Very few.

When I started betting I never took it seriously. Everyone was doing it and actually winning some good chums. Why not try my luck, maybe I will win something, I told myself. And winning I did, not a lot of money but a win all the same.

This, my friends, is where shit hit the fan. Just like a drug I was addicted to betting. I would bet everyday. And I will lose. Then when I am about to quit I win again. However unlike drug addiction, betting has returns, people actually win. People we know. And that’s why unlike drugs or alcohol you will never see akina Moses Kuria or Mututho leading a pack of looters to destroy cyber cafes as they do with changaa dens. Despite the addiction being the same.

As much as sportpesa has chunned out more millionares in its two years of existence than our local universities and colleges has in 4 years, it has ruined lives in equal measures. Ninjas have lost lives, broken families, broken hearts and above all most are broke.

Am not a psychiatrist neither am I a psychologist but I think what has led to majority of the post-sportpesa-trauma (I just coined that) is our human predisposibility to hoping for the best. Always getting our hopes high. I don’t mean with anything in particular. Just in general. We are wired to always try and hope that good tidings will come our way. We apply for the best National Secondary Schools and yet the best we have ever achieved is being second to last, and mind you the last one didn’t do exams. Then in High School we select Medicine and Engineering as first choices and then Law and BioChem as second options and the best grade you have ever scored is a B-, yes when you tactifully used a mwakenya in form two.

You see where am headed with this, right. It is good to be hopeful but never get your hopes high up there. Nothing good comes of it, trust me. It can literally only lead to disappointment.

Now I’m not saying you should definitely expect the worst. That’s up to you. Personally, I think expecting the worst is a pretty healthy, solid way to emotionally stabilize yourself. If the worst happens, you’re okay. You were expecting that. You were prepared for that.

If the best happens, holy shit! Everything is fantastic! The world is so far beyond what you ever expected! You thought you were going to get laid off at work and instead you got laid while getting a promotion while winning a jackpot bonanza! Having all of that happen at once was a little weird, but what a feeling! What a surprise! Reality, yeah!

Getting your hopes up helps nothing. If you always expect the best to happen, what you’re really saying is, “I want to never get excited again.” You’ll just go through life in a spoiled malaise saying, “Well yeah, I always knew I was going to join Mangu. I mean it’s good that it happened, but let’s not get excited here.”

That’s why I like the idea of expecting the worst, but I also understand that it can be a little too nonsensical for some people. So if you want to be rational about this, I have a better idea. Never expect anything ever–good or bad.

Some will argue that knowing something is going to happen, and feeling it with all of your being will make it happen. And yeah, that sounds ideal. The problem with this plan is that it is completely based in nothing and won’t work.

People think this works because they hear stories of great successes who say, “I just never believed it wouldn’t happen. I always knew it would happen. I never once stopped believing.”

What we tend to ignore is all of the people who had that attitude, failed fucking miserably, and never got invited onto ‘The Trend’. Those people are all a mixed bag of settling for children, doing jobs they hate, working with ninjas they would rather poison and living in towns they freaking abhor.

Larry Madowo has never had anyone on his show and went, “This is Kamau, he went through life knowing he would be a singer. He felt it with every fiber of his being, visualized it every day, and pursued it relentlessly. Then he auditioned for Tusker Project Fame and Judge Ian told him to go fuck himself. Now he sells ‘mutura pale ngara.”
Of course there are also people who thought it would never happen for them, and they’re a mixed bag of success and failure too.

Your attitude about what will happen is barely relevant to whether or not you succeed. Your attitude about what’s happening right now is everything. That’s what determines how you’ll go about actually doing things. And this may come as a shocker to you, but doing things is actually kind of important.

Besides all of this, you shouldn’t expect anything because it’s insane. We live in a chaotic universe overflowing with unknowns. Expecting anything is just a completely futile attempt to pretend you know the world better than you actually do. It’s wanting to feel like you have some kind of say, or some kind of control, but you don’t. You’re alone. Atoms are randomly clashing into each other out there, you don’t know what’s in anyone’s head, and you don’t have control over any of this shit.

So stop using your upkeep money for betting, stop using your advance on betting especially if Manchester United or Chelsea is involved. Yes, stop using your expectations to live in the future. You’ll never get there. You can push and push and push, but you’ll always be stuck in the present.
But it’s not all bad.

See, you don’t know you’ll fail. So try things–try everything. Maybe something good will happen, maybe it won’t, but if you don’t try, what is the point of any of this shit? What are any of us doing here if we don’t try shit?

So we should pursue hopes and prayers, because why not? We have no idea what’s going to happen, except we know nothing will happen if we don’t try. So work your ass off, expect nothing, and go for everything.

Except the lottery. Don’t be stupid. You’ll never win that shit.

And may the odds be in your favour this weekend!

Travelling in Ke.

I’m seated on the co-driver’s seat on a Toyota Wish station wagon heading to Nairobi, by the way this is the fastest means of transport lately to hit our roads. On a normal day I would doze off as soon as we hit the Salgaa stretch but we are now past Naivasha and sleep is not anything I can say is about to carry me. However the driver is about to, to carry me to hell.

You see there’s something about drivers being chauffeured, you will always find fault on your driver. Always. I am guilty of that but today it is different, this is not your average mad Kenyan driver. This a special breed of madness, a crack head on a suicide mission. I have literally been stepping on imaginary brakes every time…damnit!! We almost hit a dik dik!…yes every time an oncoming vehicle blinds us with full lights. Because just like many of us he has poor night vision, however the difference is that he continues stepping on the accelerator pedal, disregarding the several NTSA speed bumps erected ovyo ovyo.

However this ninja reminded me of the typical Kenyan road user, whether a driver or a passenger. We all have problems using the road or the means of transport, whether public or private. However I have beef with us, the public transport users. For those in the know, I have been on the road literally for the last 4 or so weekends, ok, not the long distance kind of road trips, just around and about Kenya.

And as I did these road trips, something got my attention, the scrambling for space in a PSV. Yes, am talking about the matatu woes we all have gone through some time in our lives. Especially when it’s about to rain. Unless of course you are a scion of the Mois and Jomos of this world. And Kericho, Eldoret, Kitale ninjas I know you won’t relate with this. Ooh and Buruburu route guys, I liked the way you guys are organized, the last time I saw people queuing patiently like that was during the 2013 General elections, only.

Remember when you know who said that ‘Kenyans have peculiar habits’ and we ‘caught’, actually he told us the truth as we know it, only that it was coming from him. We are an industrious people, that we all know, but we also have a downside. We hate, and I mean we are allergic to order. No, we don’t follow the set rules. Build a perimeter wall and we will find a way of climbing over it, build a foot bridge and we will definitely cross the road right on bottom of it, tell us not to go near a crime scene and boom we create a scene. Yes that’s us, and I guess we will pass these genes to the next generation.

However am tired of people who make traveling a headache, some of us LOVE traveling, I mean that and reading are the only hobbies I have remaining since they messed up the management of local rugby.

Yes and topping the list and probably the worst are the ones who get on the bus/matatu before you can get off. Seriously, It’s only polite, plus we’re getting off to give you more room. So by blocking our way, you’re only making your life more difficult. Remind me to elbow you in the stomach the next time I’m trying to get off the bus.

Then there are those who don’t move when an empty seat opens next to them, am not the one overfed you son! Just move over. It’s not a difficult concept. Oh or maybe you want my butt in your face? Be prepared to get a fresh crop dusting. And these are usually related with the ones who place items on empty seats. I get it, we all have baggage (literally). However if that seat next to you has your bag seated on it, instead of a person, you my friend is an enemy of progress.

Thirdly, the people who have insanely loud conversations on the bus. We’ve all been guilty of talking on the phone while on transit, however I’m talking about the people that positively yell. We don’t need to know about your mboch or mother-in-law issues. Please just let me read my book.

Then of course I can’t forget those ninjas who push their way into an already crowded bus. Don’t you think if there was empty space we would be occupying it by now? Isn’t that a rule of physics? And the worst part about them is that they will come in, push past everyone to get to the back of the bus, and then push back past everyone when they get off at the last stop.

Finally we have the Super PDA couples. This happens most often on the late night or early morning drunk bus. Ok, we get it , you guys are madly in love and high as kites or maybe you just met and no one was willing to go back to their bedsitter alone (Its Nairobi and its super cold) but we don’t need to see you groping each other. Do what you want in your own time but I don’t need to see your hand shoved down your significant others pants.

Side bar: major props to the girls (or guys, I don’t discriminate) who do their makeup on the bus. How do you do it?? No mirror, bumps and potholes all over the place? And you still get off the train looking fresh as an Irish daisy?

Second side bar: Major props to my boy #Maneezy aka #ArapKale can’t get enough of his debut track #Eleiyo, if you are a music lover you will definitely love this brilliant piece of work. If you are wondering what am talking about here is the link

Of Friends We Fell Apart!

Last evening I had a very interesting ‘whatsapp’ conversation with a former deskmate from primary school. Ok, allow me to go back a little back to where all these began. About a month ago I was transferred to a town which I literally bump into my childhood friends, classmates, neighbours, exes, exes-exes, crushes, foes….So I happened to bump into Lilian, the former deskie, she has evolved to one hot damsel by the way. And as is the ritual, we exchanged numbers and promised to catch up over a drink.

This never happened. However idleness brought us together over whatsapp and chatted we did, for close to an hour. You know the usual chitchat, where is so and so, who is married, who fucked up his life, who got his shit together and changed, who died(ok we didn’t talk about that, coz we knew anyway)…Then she asked how #Sammy was doing. You see if Sam and I were in this generation, we would be straight up fajjits, or people would think so. We used to be bedmates, playmates,classmates, deskmates(yes, before that left-handed teacher introduced that BS about male-female sitting arrangements), we were literally the Spongebob and Patrick of our time. But I know the reason guys still recall our friendship was due to our naughtiness, every Monday morning during those assemblies, we would rarely miss any list of ninjas who were up to no good over the weekend, either sneaking out, selling biscuits, going for second or more servings, noise making… and when Lilian asked me about his whereabouts, ten years later, I can’t blame her.

However the conversation with her kept me thinking, WHY DO WE FALL APART. I can bet a million bob that we all have that bestie from either primary or high school or even college whom we lost touch, guys whom we don’t talk to no more, ninjas we don’t know if they are still alive or not.

But the truth is that we fall apart, yes eventually you and your current bestie will grow apart. And trust me, I have been there done that. It may be due to a lot of reasons. It may be primary, a huge fight, new set of friends, or maybe because he banged your ex or he hit on your girl. But we have to accept that some friendships do not last, and that it is okay. We have to learn how to stop blaming ourselves, because sometimes there are reasons why we have to let go of some people.

Growing up means that we also have to grow apart. We may miss how we constantly make fun of each other over a childhood crush or an embarrassing moment. We may also continuously reminisce over old photographs and ask ourselves why we suddenly grew apart. But we have to move on and accept that everything has changed. Sure, it’s painful. But it’s normal.

The eve of my graduation, I spent at Sammy’s, in his hostel room, somewhere in the main campus of Moi University. That night we tried catching up on what has been going on in our lives, but then we realized the magic is gone, and our conversations weren’t as easy as before. We cannot laugh over a silly old inside joke or make fun of the same person, we aren’t Spongebob and Patrick anymore.

However, we cannot blame anyone for anything. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how it is. We have to learn to accept that sometimes it’s not healthy to hang on to some people for so long because it won’t help us become the person we want to be – it won’t help us learn, it won’t help us grow. Sure, it’s amazing how some friendships last. But we have to wake up to the reality that not every friendship does. We can’t always hold on to people and memories even as much as we want to. We have to accept that goodbyes aren’t easy. But hellos after that are even harder. We have to learn that it’s neither our fault nor theirs; it’s just how things are and that’s just how life is.

Some friendships don’t last, and it’s okay. Trust me, I’ve lost a few good ones. And you will too. So make the best of the ones you have now.

Dating 2.0

I guess ya’ll have watched Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad or Scandal or Banshee…Ok or Prison Break (I can bet we all watched this one). No series have been extensively reviewed, watched and highly rated by viewers and haters alike like the above TV Shows. So if you haven’t watched all of them or at least two of them, then I don’t know how we became friends. Ok, that’s beside the point!
Before we all commit or committed to that one person, special or otherwise, we went through a series of relationships, most of them never lasting a blue moon. Ladies will have to agree with me, you meet with a guy in a club or in some random house party, you like him, he likes you, you are drunk, he is drunk, you kiss, he goes for the knickers, you shag, but you were drunk. The following morning you are reminded of what went down but since you were brought up knowing that giving out anything for free is unethical, leave alone your P, you end up hunting down the ninja and setting up a ‘rematch’ just for the sake of proving a point. Especially to your peers who to all their knowledge know you were a night stand. The rematch would be worse, you will realize the ninja is ‘two minute nigga’ and the ninja will realize you are a ‘basin’. Boom!… and then we move unto the next one.

You see, our generation is different; we are confused and clueless lot, especially when it comes to dating and courting. We don’t commit now. We don’t see the point. They’ve always said there are so many fish in the sea, but never before has that sea of fish been right at our fingertips. We think intimacy lies in a perfectly-executed string of emojis. We think effort is a “good morning” text.

When we choose—if we commit—we are still one eye wandering at the options. We want the tantalizing mbuzi dry fry, but we’re too busy eyeing the mediocre tumbukiza, because choice. Because choice. Our choices are killing us. We think choice means something. We think opportunity is good. We think the more chances we have, the better. But, it makes everything watered-down. Never mind actually feeling satisfied, we don’t even understand what satisfaction looks like, sounds like, feels like. We’re one foot out the door, because outside that door is more, more, more. We don’t see who’s right in front of our eyes asking to be loved, because no one is asking to be loved. We long for something that we still want to believe exists. Yet, we are looking for the next thrill, the next jolt of excitement, the next instant gratification, the next one night stand.

Ok, it’s not all lost, others find, many people have found. But again say we find that person we love who loves us. Commitment. Intimacy. “I love you.” We do it. We find it. Then, quickly, we live it for others. We tell people we’re in a relationship on Facebook. We throw our pictures up on Instagram. We become a “we.” We make it seem shiny and perfect because what we choose to share is the highlight reel. We don’t share the fights, the reddened eyes, the night outs.

Then, we see these other happy, shiny couples and we compare. We are The Emoji Generation. The Comparison Generation. Measuring up. Good enough. The best. We input, input, input and soon find ourselves in despair. We’ll never be good enough, because what we’re trying to measure up to just does not fucking exist. These lives do not exist. These relationships do not exist. Yet, we can’t believe it. We see it with our own eyes. And, we want it. And, we will make ourselves miserable until we get it.

So, we break up. We break up because we’re not good enough, our lives aren’t good enough, our relationship isn’t good enough. And, the cycle starts again. Emoji. “Good morning” text. Intimacy. Put down the phone. Couple selfie. Shiny, happy couple. Compare. Compare. Compare. The fights. “Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.” “This isn’t working.” “I need something more.” And, we break up. Another love lost. Another graveyard of shiny, happy couple selfies.

On to the next. Searching for the elusive more. The next fix. The next gratification. The next quick hit. Living our lives in 140 characters, 5 second snaps, frozen filtered images, four minute movies, attention here, attention there. More as an illusion. We worry about settling, all the while making ourselves suffer thinking that anything less than the shiny, happy filtered life we’ve been accustomed to is settling. What is settling? We don’t know, but we fucking don’t want it. If it’s not perfect, it’s settling.

Yet, this is not how we date now. This is not how we love now.


And i guess y’all have watched 50 Shades of Sex oops!..i meant Grey, I watched it and I’m still recovering from the shock that am sharing this universe with ninjas like Christian Grey; oversexed-blue-eyed devils whose only job in this world is to make money, have sex and make more money!!…Ooh Lord am coming home!

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

NB: This is a throwback to more than 2 years ago!

There we were, the best of friends, one an Engineer, mind you he isn’t certified yet, by the Engineers Board of Kenya but he feels adored when his name is preceded by that title. Another, am not quite sure what he majored in College, no one knows. And it’s not because he never tells anyone but he is quite the Jack of all trades and master of one type. His folks used to write Cheques to the School of Business and Economics but the guy can’t define basic Economics jargon like inflation, equity or even liquidity, however give him a computer ‘suffering’ from any kind of virus, worm or bug. Consider it ‘healed’. That is his cup of tea. Myth has that while he had an admission and strict orders from his folks to study Economics, he rarely attended only making ‘technical appearances’ in those classes. Apparently everyone thought he was a Comp Science Major, especially because of his computer wizardry plus he never missed any Computer Science class except the exams and CATs. And then of course yours truly, completing the ‘League of Extraordinary Gentlemen’, that’s what we named our crew.

Fate or rather joblessness had brought us together. Chemosi and I attended the same High School, played Rugby for the School team and appeared periodically for the School’s Drama Club, usually as ‘extras’ taking roles as thugs, bouncers, watchmen, policemen(the bad ones) or matatu crew. Sometimes I think maybe this is what we were destined to be in real life.

After High School he was admitted to a local University to pursue a Bachelors Degree in an Engineering field, we continued keeping in touch especially since he had a girlfriend in our campus and he usually needed a room to ‘eat his bird’ during one of his many rendezvous. I had proceeded to campus too but to for a ‘Bachelors of Anything’, as the ‘Engineers’ used to refer to B.A students, mind you these are guys who have a case pending in court over the quality of the degrees. I once reminded Chemosi over a drink that it was time he went back to college to pursue something genuine and all I got for my effort was a the contents of his glass, on my poor face.

I came to know Nugu through Chemosi who was his best friend back in campus. These two were a full representation of losers in college they had been nicknamed the two musketeers, always up to nothing good. No wonder two years after graduation they are still jobless despite pursuing ‘prestigious’ courses.

Twenty minutes in the lives of these guys and you will curse humanity. Ten minutes with them and you start hating on wealthy hardworking Kenyans. Basically my life is a series, a series called ‘keeping up with the Pessimists’. To them, anyone working is a snob. “Dude look at that thwart over there,” pointing towards a gentleman seated four tables away, “Does he think he owns us or what? “ He uttered in his usual vitrioled self. I couldn’t tell immediately what he was talking about, till I saw what the guy was drinking, Heineken. Chemosi had nurtured a hatred for people who imbibed expensive alcohol, especially in downtown joints like the tavern we were.

“These are the breed of guys who used to be visited by their parents even after joining campus,” Nugu added, accompanied by thunderous laughter, of course a bitter one. “In fact am sure his mother still buys him panties and calls him ‘daddy’, what a pathetic soul,” Chemosi was having a field day. Nothing makes these poor souls happier than seeing negativity in everyone and everything. All these while I was seated there listening to their jokes and smiling wryly. Three jobless guys, drinking cheap liquor and making fun of successful people, how ironic, but that is life; when it gives you lemons try to make lemonades.

Chemosi and Nugu were still on the poor fellow’s case when a promotional advert popped up on TV. It was one of those several top up and win promotions. Instantly, like typical idlers, my two friends switched their focus and directed the negative energy towards this new platform. Chemosi, as usual, opened the Pandora’s Box. “Man, I envy that mama, does she even know how many jugs she can buy with that kind of money?” in reference to the lucky lady who had won the day’s one million shillings. A classic case of low cadre drunks, always equating everything to an amount of booze. And we aren’t a special breed.

I remember this time when an old classmate decided to ‘spoil’ us with drinks after he got his first pay check. The meeting place was a high-end club in the CBD. After recovering from the initial shock, of going to drinking at the said club, we were further stunned by the kind of drinks we had to endure drinking. We couldn’t stop calculating how many litres of our ‘usual’ the amount of one glass of the drink could have bought.

“I wonder why we are even looking for jobs, I mean if we could pull resources together and say dedicate all the money on participating on this game we could be instant millionaires,” Nugu joined in. In every set of friends there’s always a dreamer, the guy who always fantasizes of one day waking up beside Paris Hilton or hoping that their folks have a 1000 acre Ranch somewhere in Naivasha only waiting for the right time to surprise them. And in our clique, it was Nugu. “You are joking, right?” I said laughing at how someone can even think of such a lame idea. However the look on their faces confirmed my worst fears, they were actually serious about it.

I glanced at my watch, we had been drinking for more than five hours and alcohol had clearly taken a toll on my buddies. It was time to head home. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow, let’s go home ninjas,”I ordered, I was buying the drinks and as a cardinal rule among drinkers, no one questions the buyer. With a piece of broken glass in our hands (you never know your date with muggers) we bid Njeri, the proprietor of our watering hole, goodbye as we staggered into the darkness.