Yes you read right. Hell hath frozen over and the prospect of meeting this man is giving me goosebumps, sending chills down my spine. Before you question my sexuality (which is just about the most integral asset I have in the courtship industry), Kevo is not just an ordinary man, not quite.
Standing (or sitting, it's all the same really) at about 5'2, he has the weight of a sumo wrestler, a fact he seems to be rather apprehensive about. Apparently, his doctor has warned him severally that failure to keep his weight down will leave his wealth in the hands of his Nairobi bred asthmatic sons, something that Kevo cannot stand. He claims to run a mile each day coupled with a hundred sit-ups and I, of course, am not foolish enough to tell him otherwise. "The beer belly is nothing but a product of hard work, good brains and determination. Indeed you cannot own a fleet of lorries or own apartments without one," I always encourage him. To this end, he quickly orders two beers for the clever boy.
In two days, my team is playing against his. It is Chelsea against Liverpool this Friday and due to the fact that I am not a complete moron, you can gather which team I plead allegiance to. Supporting different teams is usually a make or break for beer buddies, but not Kevo and I. You see, I am always keen to remind him that they do not have football like Liverpool had back in the day. The likes of Fowler, Gerrard and the black wizard Djibril Cisse were class acts. In fact, their 2005 Champions League triumph was something of a fairy tale, something no other team has the cojones to accomplish. I furthermore point out the exuberance of their manager and the budding crop of youngsters they have in their midst. "Champions in waiting this Liverpool," I explain as bitter bile runs down my throat covered by a fake grin. The Heineken basket that comes my way does make amends nevertheless.
We met a few weeks back. It was a grim evening, watching my Chelsea take the beating of an unpaid prostitute in a religious state for the umpteenth time. After my usual two sodas which enabled me to watch three consecutive games at the cost efficient price of 100 bob, it was time to leave. As I hurried to beat the gate closing time at my apartment to avoid begging a watchman who slept outside to open the gates and hand me a different fate to his, I bumped into this fat stranger. "Watch where you're going you imbecile!" he blurted out in his drunken stupor. Normally, a confrontation would ensure as I have a certain tolerance for disrespect when my team is filth, zero! However, this was different. As I had no money to cater for broken bottles or unnecessary arrests, I chose the high road and murmured a rather silent "Bite me!" Staring down the floor in rage, there before my very eyes lay a brown, big, fat, leather wallet, presumably the drunk's. I bent over to pick it up, only to stand and meet the eyes of Kevo, this arrogant, pompous smug looking drunk who reminded me of the corrupt politicians portrayed by newspapers satire cartoonists.
To my dismay, he just turned around and walked away, only to stop a few paces away, at the club's entrance. Clearly, he had seen me pick up his wallet and was waiting for me. He signaled one bouncer, who came to him at once. To the best of my knowledge, this had all the makings of a royal beat down for his amusement. He had sadistic eyes and the physique of a child who suffered bullying and was left out of sports and recreational activities (read flirting with girls), a combination for a monster in his rich prime. I had read stories of men who'd castrated, murdered and dumped others in a ditch for far less. I shan't lie, I was so scared that my cock shrunk, my feet trembled and my lips dried. I wished I had left a will or something, disposing off my broken bed, two pairs of shoes and the jiko I had been banned from using in my rented residence. I wondered whether my girlfriend would still love my rearranged toothless face and without the ability to achieve a full erection. Gathering up all the strength I had, I walked over to him ready to give him his wallet and take the beating he deemed appropriate for scum like me.
At least this once, I got to feel the anxiety of a virgin bride on the wedding night before her groom pulls down his pants. I knew that pulling any theater would be detrimental to the cute bar-tender whom I had told endless tales of my vast background in mixed martial arts, but all that mattered little then. Right there, in that very moment, I felt everything. I felt fear, rage, shame, sadness and guilt, which was probably why his hug caught me by surprise.
Apparently, he had no idea he did not have his wallet on him. The dimwit was so drunk that he could not have told whether I was picking up a unicorn or tying laces on my sandals.
He then pulled out two thousand shillings from the wallet which seemed to have more than a hundred of where those two came from. Holding back tears of pain and regret was probably the most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my life. Flashbacks of my landlord banging down my door while I proclaimed my great abundance of wealth to my woman came to me like Noah's flood. Unpaid bills and debts owed at my eatery, barber's and shop also lingered. Anyway, giving me the two thousand from his kitty, he urged me to call a cab as he left with his newly found bulky chaperone.
As soon as he left, murmurs of how wealthy this old geezer was started to tinkle one after the other, in quick succession. Apparently, he liked to be called Kevo to feel younger, no doubt a personality disorder according to most psychologists in the local tavern. It was common knowledge apparently that he had very few friends, but his well trusted aides grew rich quite quickly. He sold drugs of course (the source of all wealth people cannot explain) but had he not transformed Mathenge (the butcher who had tested meat on a cat before serving it to him and therefore saving his life) to a probox owning, hardware owner in Thika? Had his 'drug money' not bought him a fleet of courier lorries and more apartments than King Mswati owned topless wives? Had all bar-tenders from Thika to Nairobi not allegedly been bedded by him, and all unanimously declaring that he was as great a lover as he was a money maker? Well, at this point, I could not help but stare at the cute bartender Mwende who started to seem disinterested in the way this conversation was going. I also left the club at this point out of spite, perhaps cognizant to the fact that Mwende would notice how brazenly I had stood to her honor against such vile rumors, which I knew in my bones to be true nonetheless.
I digress, anyway, my agony turned into hope therein. As I had earlier pointed out, Kevo is not just an ordinary man. I had the feeling that our run-ins would not stop there. Nor should they. For, I had woken up lost, but now I'm found. Hopeless but now tomorrow sits anxiously is in the corner of my eye. I was destitute, but now my cup of joy overflows. I was now looking forward to the endless possibilities of having such a resourceful acquaintance. I love life!
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