Thursday 9 October 2014

Sydney Adoli L, The President

















I consider myself a rich man; A very rich man. I know some petty thieves are already making grand plans in their heads to rob me. So let me save you and I all that trouble. I didn’t mean that kind of richness. I am one of those guys who believe that a man’s richness isn’t determined by the number of ATM cards or buildings in his name. A man’s worth should be measured in two things; his word and his friends. A man who has the solid support of people who can help him whenever need arises, is in my opinion a rich man. There are those times that people will come through for you when all seems bleak. I guess that’s why our forefathers married forty women. It ensured you had sufficient and free labour, security, and a voice. I’m not of course suggesting that men should marry many wives today to be considered rich. It doesn’t work like that nowadays.

I have very many interesting friends; people as diverse as heaven and earth. Whereas the ideal weekend for one would be somewhere on top of Mount Longonot struggling to light a fire with the remaining match stick, hyenas howling in the background and the rains threatening to fall any second, another would require a room to himself, unlimited high speed internet, a laptop, TV, perhaps a music system and a shelf of the latest movies. Others love swimming, or so they say, yet while at the pool they will just be lounging at the shallow end, watching, admiring, selecting and short listing. But whatever these people are into; they are great men and women.

They are competitive, they are loyal, they are fun loving and most importantly, they challenge. Sydney Adoli is just but one of them. We don’t call him that. We call him Mzee Sad News. Mzee is not because he is old; it’s because of his wisdom. It’s because just like an old man, he listens, he consults, he weighs before making sound judgment. Is he a bearer of sad news? I know that’s what you want to know first. Calm your titties; lemme tell you a story.

A long long time ago before I started visiting the barber to do a job on my chin, before I knew the price of suits, before I knew there was a town called Githurai, even before I knew that that thing wasn’t just for passing urine, I met a man. It’s now almost decade. He wasn’t that big himself then. I’m tempted to say he was a boy. He was a member of my class in Form One Green, in the school of men. We were commoners; we had our slippers stolen together. We were rudely welcomed by zealous form twos who were eager to shed off their mono names and compensate for the frustration of being a Maseno mono. A Maseno mono had no rights, owned no property and it didn’t help if you thought yourself above the rule of mere men.

But Sad News wouldn’t remain a commoner for long. He quickly became a dispenser. No, he wasn’t distributing condoms in schools. He was dispensing drugs and food to students who were sick and couldn’t make their way to the Dining Hall to serve for themselves or those who feigned sickness for any reason. And in Maseno school there was always a reason to feign sickness.

The dispenser’s job was one with huge responsibilities and no pay.  It involved shuttling from the school dispensary, to the dining hall, the deputy’s office, boarding master’s office getting prescriptions, medical sheets, taking care of sick people and having to put up with pretenders who complained that the food they were being served was not adequate enough.

But he enjoyed his work; in fact he did it with gusto and determination hitherto unseen. To most, this was a position which meant you got to eat twice and maybe throw in the relished top soup once in a while.
I know you are still waiting for the sad news part, I’m getting there.

Maseno School had a certain kind of language that was uniquely interesting. I can’t say it was sheng coz it wasn’t.

Instead of saying ‘ntakupiga’ for example one would say, ‘ntakuingia beat’.
The beat would be said while dragging the vowel sound in between such that it would sound like biyiat.

The language was however more complex than that. If you wanted to say something was good, you said it was bad.

And just like English, there was a degree of badness. A great man was referred to as sad news and a really really great man was referred to as melancholic news.

We used to call him melancholic News but as humble as he is, he felt that was too huge a title and once the Don speaks you argue a little bit and then accept his will.

He was later to become the school uniform prefect a post that was not only reserved for the neatest but was also a symbol of standing out among the people.

But that’s not why I think Mzee Sad News will be among the best presidents KU will ever have. If you noticed I used when and not if. This guy is a real force, a natural leader. He is the guy you follow without asking questions.

I remember in our freshman year of college, Sad News used to organize a forum every Friday where Maseno old boys could dine and talk and of course make fun at each other. It didn’t have to be something fancy. Dry chapattis from the Western Mess would do just fine. It was never about the food or the venue, it was about the company.

He didn’t change much when he became Mr. KU. But he wasn’t content. He used his position not to get likes and shares but to start a foundation; Hope Hands Life. A doctor in making, he devoted his time to organize political leaders and organizations to commit resources to give information, provide free screening and treatment of common cancers such as cervical and breast cancers. He used his position to organize runways for pregnant women and thus raising awareness on challenges of pregnancy. He used his position to ensure that through his Foundation, he could touch a needy child with a dream. Give them hope and a chance at realizing their dreams. Yes he is that guy.

Ladies and gentlemen am not describing an angel, am describing a man with faults and fears, a man who may sometimes, even without meaning, err. But the good thing is that he will always pick himself up. He is that friend you can’t stay mad at.

It’s a shame I won’t be able to vote for him because KU decided I had overstayed my welcome. If I were to go back to KU today, it would be for three reasons; to play hockey, to chase after those damsels I hear recently got admission and definitely to vote for this nigga.

Long Live Mzee Sad News. (‘Yule Miss Taveta nilikuona naye kwa picha sasa story yake niaje?’)

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