It was a tyranny of nomination beers

The recent party nominations saw unprecedented pouring of dough for booze in exchange for votes at the local. Never since the last “erections” as Kang’ethe calls them, has Wa-Hannah’s recorded such insane sales. Even Nyambu, the counter girl who experienced ‘false labour’ and could have given birth ‘any minute’ according to Owish who is not a midwife, had ‘delayed labour’ because “pesa zilikua nyingi kuliko kura za Baba Yao!”

It is very strange how God fearing Kenyans behave at the prospect of free alcohol, courtesy of political aspirants who call themselves “mheshimiwa mtarajiwa.”

Each thronged the local and threw endless ‘helicopter rounds’ resulting in a ‘tyranny of beers,’ proving that alcohol is very different from Waka-Knife’s soup, starring lots of red pilipili from Kinangop.

For one, free booze sees to it that thinking goes out of the window next to the yellowing calendar dating back to the 2007 General Election. There is sudden discovery of hidden talents in dancing. The mouth gets an involuntary tendency to motorise thoughts before the head sieves them. The liver refuses to process onywaji at the same speed one is drinking subconsciously fearing the open bar might close before “nimetoa lock.”

Then of course, free alcohol, has strange ways of erasing one’s memory such that Gachiri, the taxi driver, gassed to Kabati past Thika town, yet Papa English, his customer, lives somewhere around Garden Estate over 80 kilometres on the opposite side of the highway.

Papa English, who normally swills only three beers a day, had the capacity of depositing 20 bottles of Tanye (Tusker) in his weak odiero system with dire consequences. He tried jumping from the upper floors of the local convinced he’s superman. He fell mgongo wazi on Gachiri’s taxi hence the trip home by the said Gachiri who had knocked down 25 bottles arguing, “Gari inajua nyumba za wateja wangu!”

Owish imbibed copious tots of Yohana Mtembezi, staggered to the toilet, locked himself and never came out.

Diameter, the political analyst, ended up peeing inside the bar fridge mistaking it for the local urinal door and all a smiling pregnant Nyambu, who had swilled 15 bottles of ‘engine oil’ “ziongoze maziwa kwa nyonyo” could ask was: “Unanioshea pombe na mfereji mfupi ama?”


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