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.
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