Sunday night, I’m seated towards the end of a long dinner table, which are basically three or so tables rammed together to create that Romanian effect. The restaurant is in White Elephant hotel, an Italian spoon in Malindi; small, intimate and white. We are three black people seated in the entire restaurant. The rest are either serving wine, handing menus, clearing tables or are frozen in pictures on the wall. All around me are a sea of white faces: White faces twirling globs of pasta around their forks, white faces chortling at some joke, white faces throwing wine at the back of their throats, white faces laying thick hairy paws on the skinny thighs of their dates. I’m no racist. I like white folk.
My table is racy. Opposite me is seated my host in Malindi, a young cool stylish Brit with a ghoulish sense of humor. He looks exactly like the latest James Bond, Daniel Craig, I mean exactly. When I first met him for an introductory meeting I mention that observation to him and he had growled, “Innit?” I bet that night he stood before his bathroom mirror and muttered, “Stirred or shaken? Do I look like I give a shit?”
To his left sits James Bond’s lovely girlfriend. Clear blue eyes. Amazing tan. Brilliant conversationalist. Down to earth. Gracious. Oh, so damned gracious. She runs some sort of a water sport fitness thingi which makes people stay fit, like a gym, but in water. It’s complicated. She is also mad about surfing. She turned 33 a few days ago and the dinner is in her honor.
When we were coming down, Bond had spent over an hour clearing her birthday gift – shipped in from SA- at the immigration, a customized surfing board: a sleek white sexy thing with these little flowers at the bow. She had gone bonkers when she saw the gift. Bond, in his element, had later asked her over dinner that night, “So darling, are you going to spend the night with me or the surf board?”She chuckled and tilted her head adoringly and stared into his eyes. Angels sang.
To my left, scattered in eight or so seats are a bunch of surfers and their girlfriends. There is the silent point-five guy who looks like Eric Bennet. Next to him is his woman, sitting with one leg folded under her. She seems horny, because she keeps rubbing herself on the guy…but Bennet doesn’t mind, who would he? Next to them is a grisly haired and extremely tanned bloke with a potty mouth. He is funny. Very funny. Next to him is a black arty looking dude in spectacles, chilled out guy. Next to the black dude is a radio personality, the black dude’s chick, I suppose, because she removed a speck of something from his beard…twice. You should have seen how she removed that speck. Next to the lady who hates specks on beards is a skinny guy with blonde hair and a mischievous face. He looks stoned. Nay, he is stoned. He looks like a typical surfer bum. His eyes are red, droopy and spaced out. He laughs a lot. He keeps calling –jokingly- the grisly haired guy seated across him, “Dad”. So he will tell the waitress, “Please get dad another bottle of mineral water,” Or, “Dad, is your mashed potato soft enough for you?” Then he giggles into his napkin. He keeps this act throughout dinner but lucky for him it sounds fresh every time he says it.
Then next to him – and directly opposite me – is this bewildered middle aged Australian who regales us with tales on how he almost died scuba diving in Ozzie. He looks like he last slept just before promulgation. He is a masterful storyteller; full of witticism and imagery. Next to him is Bond. James Bond.
To my right is an old man, maybe 65years of age. He is a property market mogul, flew in from SA, travelled with us from Nairobi. He is a hedonistic man, always has a cigarette burning between his fingers, always has a glass of wine or whisky by his elbow, and always has a tale to tell about the economies, culture or life. A well informed chap. And he is a mountain of a man; 6’ 3’’, burly, big girth and a booming voice. And an irreverent sense of humor, talking to him felt like talking to Jack Nicholson, or the character Osano, in Mario Puzo’s book, Fools Die.
This guy is one of the main reasons for this post. Let me say that, this is going to be a short post because I’m writing it at 11pm Sunday and from my phone. It’s laborious.
This guy is important to me because he has lived his life. Quit his job, started a business in Dubai when everybody thought he was being foolish, in 6years he was making $3m a month! He then opened offices all over the Middle East, Europe and in Nigeria. He has been divorced twice and is now married to a Kenyan girl who is 5years younger than his last born daughter, he told me as he drained his second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “Second chances mate, second chances, you got to grab ém.”
‘’Er, more like third chances in your case.’’ I said to which he laughed and coughed hard. He seemed happy, but I have been around long enough not to take things at face value. Everyone wears a front. Everyone puts his best foot forward. Everyone wants to be thought in good light…well, except Sonko. Although the old guy was obviously rolling in the cheese, he seemed on a path; all the smoking, all the drinking, he didn’t seem like a man who was trying awfully hard to live long enough to enjoy his wealth…or young wife. But if you separated the chaff from the wheat, you found lessons in this guy.
Throughout my stay here I have been picking his brain, asking him questions, personal questions about life, about fears, about failures, about regrets, about wrong decisions in his life, about family and career and passions and drive and balance and sex and all the things that a 60yr old man will tell you that you won’t read in any book.
I’m asking him all these because I’m in a slight transition face of my life and I’m looking for help from mature man to turn the nose of my ship into the right harbor. And he turned out to be the best bit of my Malindi trip…ok, apart from some drunken Italian who kept calling Al Shabaab, Al Kebab.
Esquire magazine has a section called What I’ve Learned where they pick an icon or some random guy and ask them what they have learnt in life. The tycoon guy was my subject. And here, is a thumbnail list of things I picked from him. Hope this helps you, like it did me. Okay, some of them:
This thing will kill you. (Holding up a burning cigarette). The person you enjoy sex with the most will be the one to change you. When you make your first million, you will make many rubbish friends. Don’t seek your friend’s advice when you want to engage in a big business venture, most of them will discourage you than encourage you. This thing will destroy you (holding up his glass of whiskey), put family before it. Fuck exercise (laughs when he says this one). What has money brought into my life? Insomnia. Don’t let your children forget you. At some point, you will have to stop working for someone, I stopped at 46. The age between 33yrs and 44years are the most defining for a man, that’s when you have the chance to transform your person. Wear a condom. Religion is not for me, but I’m sure it has its usefulness. These never such thing as a bad decision, it’s what you do after it that matters. I like my pizza thin. I was robbed once: they walked into my house when I was leaving the bathroom in the morning, they threatened my young wife with rape and threatened me with death, I was humiliated but grateful I lived. Cowardice doesn’t live at the end of a gun, it lives behind the barrel of the gun (I really liked this quote, I found it sharp). I don’t use Viagra (male bravado, totally allowed). Divorce is only hard the first time. Never read during breakfast. (“What about dinner?” I asked). Or during dinner. In fact, don’t read in bed either. (Aw come, on!). Read whenever you can, you will learn from books more than you will watching TV. (I saw him read and complete two books during our stay, he calls it “speed reading” where you focus your eyes at the middle of the page and take in the top layer of a story. We both agreed it’s only useful when reading business reports, not works of art). Eat spicy chicken wings, good for you. Once in a lifetime, every man should tell his employer, “Stick your job. I quit.” (“Or,” I added helpfully, “Is this man bothering you, maám?”). Love your woman. (…and die for your country – Troy.) Fuck exercise, again. Manhood is about the show of might. You build character by knowing who you are. Respect and humility are the keys that open doors. Eat well, drink in moderation. (Hahahaha. Right, old man.) Always have your seatbelt on, I know that after an incidence in Liverpool. (I won’t recount this story here, it’s boring and windy. But in short; it was raining, he had no seatbelt on, he drove into someone’s living room as they were sitting for dinner).
There you have it, words from a tycoon. I found him very engaging, this guy. Put a few things in perspective for me. As we watched Rugby finals together, seated just the two of us in the resort’s foyer – and waiters standing behind us, glued to the telly – he turned to me and said, “You have been asking me questions since Friday, you need to also give me one lesson you have learnt.”
I didn’t have to think about it. I said, “Never trust a man who doesn’t share his peanuts.”
He slowly turned back to the telly.