Yesterday while I was getting back home in the evening, just as usual I booked a matatu at the sarit center round-about. I was lucky the rates were still normal because quite oftenly the touts take advantage of us having no other alternative. That is not the point, I happened to sit next to a young flamboyant lawyer, not sure if he was actually a lawyer, but judging from the conversation I was keenly following, I could tell the young man was an intern in one of the leading audit firms in town.
At first, he looked sober, composed and collected. I could tell his suit was either one week old and most probably sourced from one of the upmarket stores in town. The boy was elegantly fitting in a red tie with short hair, shiny shoes and you could tell he had a taste for perfumes. It was needless to say the guy looked corporate, because he dressed and smelt corporate. He sat on the far end of the 14 seater while I chose to sit next to the tout. I guess I did this to remind this tout to give me the bus fare balance because oftenly they pretend to forget. Purposely, such like risks I avoid them in due course. We sat in silence for about two or so minutes.
Then came two fly chic's, I guess that's how Nairobians describe red lipped, light skin & scantly dressed girls. Then again another bunch of fly chic's came in before the last two filled the back seats. We sat in silence perhaps being conscious of the gender forces that could be operating in this PSV. Lackly for this boy his collegemate came and sat at the front seat, just behind the driver seat. But at first he didn't recognize his friend. The car was now full and we were ready to take off. From the headcount, I could tell that there were almost eleven weaves and five Bald-heads the driver n the tout boy included.
There was total silence and seemingly nobody wanted any interruption of his/her peace. Personally, I love this scenario, I just had enough noise in the office, what do I need more noise for. Like it is always the norm with Nairobi touts, we started tithing and offering. The boy in front turned his head and realized his friend just seated right behind him. The greetings that followed were shaky and flowsy, somehow roudy and attension seeking. I could tell it has been a while since these two dudes have hanged out. Just as how warm we men we tend to become when we bump into one of our oldschool boys, the conversation that follows quite oftenly is comprehensive, we only try not to gossip.
Both boys were in a 5000 or so suit, of course you do not expect anybody boarding this vehicle to be in that 2500 suit from Eastleigh. I could see from the tone and the ascent that the two attended college most probably in the States. Of course I was wrong, it was Kenyans doing what they do best, faking. Given a chance I could fake my ascent better than this two chaps. Don't judge me, am just saying.The advent of the conversation came in fast and furious. My boy lost his cool, the corporate cool, which always guards reputations jealously.There's one thing I know about corporates, reputation is more paramount than character. This is another definition of hypocrisy.
As the conversations kicked, I listened keenly and so did everybody on board, I could tell from the silence. The seat could not hold him any more, he felt like now he could fly. He could not help but shout, he could not hold his hand any-more but throw the hands in the air like little weezy in a rap concert, at one point my nose was almost blown off. As if aware of the loud silence in the room and his conspicuous elegance, my boy raised his voice beyond the roof. My ears were busting and I mean literally.
The conversation was quite interesting. The two work in neighbouring institutions, both of which are international corporates. Within some few minutes I could tell the guy was earning 65,000 and his colleague 70,000. I could also tell that the guy clobbered a first class in law school. I could tell that the guy lives in a two bedroomed apartment in a lower kabete gated community. I could tell that the boy pays 25000 of monthly house rent. I could also tell that his designer suit was sourced from Sanhedrin at the nakumatt junction. Not like am this nosy, they made sure that each one of us are conciously carried along their conversation.
Can I say more, yes I will. I could tell that the boy flies to Mombasa weekly to hang out with his buddies. I could tell that the boy is single and has turned down hot chics who have come begging for dates. I could also tell the guy doesn't do Kenyan chic's, he prefers Britons over Americans. His latest designer suit was quoted 45,000 I could tell. Waauh, this boy was a fly dude right? His voice was raised to a level of beyond reasonable doubt that the fly creatures behind our backs were capturing every pronunciation of each word as it came. I can't remember all that I captured from this conversation but I also heard him mention that his weekends are fully booked up to December 2014. To this guy a range rover is an ambition of an average mediocre out there. He dreams flying choppers. Come on dude, uko na doo!
All this time I really wondered if we really deserved to be part of this conversation. Must we know how much you spend on your pants, how many clients you ve represented in a law suit. Must you tease women with how much you earn, and how hard is for any of them to afford you? Must we know how many naked pizzas you stomach in a week? Come on Nairobi, flowsing is a lifestyle I know but please, there's an audience for flowsers. Of course I didnt pretend to be listening, but I could not help but wonder how naughty we sometimes get. Nairobi women love money, that we can take to the bank man, but come on man, approach her silently and tell her, 'hey sweerie, I earn a million dollars from my company, and I would love to take you out", she surely will concept. Stop the broadcasting niggar.
My point is, sometimes we do more harm than good. At times we love it when we are just centres of attention, but in most cases, for the wrong reasons. At times we want to entice interests from certain quarters, however we attract the wrong interest. At times we go for a PR campaign, but it turns out it is a suicidal mission. Normally, my achievements and accomplishments are the affairs of my heart. I share them when need arises and when I think its appropriate. Ladies and Gentlemen, Public relations is not taught in class, but I guess you don't have to attend such a class before you know that certain conversations are to be shut up.
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