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An Old Conversation

When I get to City Market I don’t know where stall number one is. I linger at the entrance facing Muindi Mbingu street like a pickpocket. It smells of fresh roses and Maasai carvings, bibelot and curious, touristic paraphernalia. It’s 1:42pm and I’m to meet a 90-year old man at 1:45pm. It’s Saturday and I’m in my dirty trainers and track-pants after a morning of cycling with my kids at Karura forest. I could have gone back home for a quick shower and a change of clothes and looked presentable but that would mean being late and the gentleman I’m meeting didn’t sound like the kind who took kindly to tardiness.

I ask a vendor where stall number one is and at that exact time I start to hear the tapping of a walking cane. I turn and I see the back of an old man walking further inside the market. He’s whistling. I instinctively knew it was him. “Is that Mzee Nthenge?” So I catch up with him and I introduce myself. He doesn’t stop walking, neither does he stop whistling. He doesn’t turn to look at me, he keeps shuffling along slowly, his walking stick tapping the floor. Then he stops whistling and says, “Is it you who called? Follow me.” And we slowly amble along to the tap of his walking stick and the music from his lips. Stall number one is a big forest of Maasai artefacts. He lowers himself into a seat next to a table at the corner and points at a stool with his walking stick. I take that gesture to mean sit, so I sit like a good dog. I sit next to a handful of spears and an old man in a canoe, who is holding his chin. I avoid the eyes of the old man – er, the wooden one.

Mzee G. G. W Nthenge regards me slowly. His eyes are rheumy, the colour of honey. His eyebrows have been eaten away by age, leaving behind wisps of hair. His complexion is more fair than it is dark. A white crown. His face looks like those Khoisans we learnt about in primary school. In contrast to my shabby self, he’s in a red tie, white shirt, a cream coat and navy blue pants. Dressed like he’s about to stand on a podium. “What did you say your name was?” I tell him Jackson Biko. He says, “my sister in law has a son called Biko. Anyway, how do you know Matthew?” I tell him I don’t. “He emailed me and mentioned you are an interesting person to interview.” (His exact words were, “He [my dad] will rough up your feathers.”)

“So you want to know about my life?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stares at me. He’s doing this thing which some people – especially much older/ wealthy/ powerful men – do during interviews where they just sit and regard you for a while, looking directly into your eyes and into you, trying yo make you uncomfortable. It’s simply a male domination thing in which they try to establish a pecking order. The trick is never to look away. You look away you lose ground from the first moment in the interview and you don’t want that. So I simply stare back with a small smile. He finally grunts and stomps his cane on the ground with finality and says. “What do you want to know from me?” I tell him to tell me everything. “How was your childhood in the 30’s?

“I was born in Machakos on 8 August, 1927. Educated in Mumbuni in 1933 to 1940, then Mangu where I was expelled in form 3…”

“Why?”

“Because I was too good in mathemarics,”[ that’s how he pronounces mathematics, mathemarics]. One teacher, a father, found out that I was better than him and he hated me for that. It was jealousy. So I went to St Mary’s Tabora in Tanzania where Mzee Julius Nyerere was my teacher for two terms before leaving to study in Britain for his degree. In 1949 we couldn’t sit our exams because Nyerere was gone and the teacher who took over from him died of cancer….”

He really gets into it; the mundane details of that time. Meanwhile, I’m uncomfortable on that stool after an early morning 12 km run earlier and cycling for another two hours. Well, half of which I would get off and push Kim’s bicycle when he whined everytime we got to a hill. So my back is sore and the stool is killing the last nerves on my ass because the bike I hired had a hard saddle; it was like sitting on an activist’s resolve. Plus I’m starving. Unsurprisingly I drift off during the parts of the narration that I find unnecessary. At some point when I come up for air I catch “I was one of the first 30 African elected members of the Lancaster house.” That piques my interest. I ask, “How many of the 30 are still alive?”

“There is Daniel Arap Moi member for Baringo and there is GGW Nthenge member for Machakos and both of us are still grounded…”

“Why do you think you lived that long?”

“It’s because I was good to human beings, I was very kind to people. I was doing what God wanted and I was very good to my parents, I educated their children, I planted a lot of coffee trees and gave them lots of chicken to lay eggs for sale. I was kind. I even gave Tom Mboya, my classmate, a seat that was meant to be mine.” And just like that he launches back into the politics. This time round I’m determined not to let him go deep into those woods because that’s timber I don’t need. When I say, “I like what you said about, you know, taking care of your parents and the Tom Mboya bit, does that mean then that the rewards of selflessness have brought you even bigger fortunes?”

He says testily. “Did you not come here so that I can tell you my story?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have to sit and listen, if you interrupt me I will stop talking…you want a story so you have to listen.”

I’m 40 now, I can’t remember the last time anybody talked to me like that so I’m stung. Don’t forget my sore back and suffering ass. I took a deep breath and told myself, “Don’t let him make you cry. He can’t break you.” I half-hear him run through his career at Tabora law courts, teaching at Premier college etc. “I was a very rich man, I had a wood carving business that I started in 1950 with capital of 20 shillings. In 1958 I was the richest boy in Nairobi driving the best car in the city, an automatic car for that matter. Have you ever heard of the Studebaker vehicle?”

“No,” I mumble. I’m sulking a little. He’s hurt my feelings and the way I bruise easy.

“You people don’t know anything nowadays, you don’t know a Studebaker?!” He looks at me like I’m mad. I honestly don’t care what a bloody Studebaker is at this point. Has anyone here heard of what a Studebaker is?

“It was an American car. It was brought by some Americans who had come from Congo and were heading out back home, so I bought it off them. It was the best car around. Anyway, my business stopped doing as well when I went into politics. In 1963 I was nominated by Kenyatta as one of the eight members of the electoral commision, which I was up to ‘69, and then I become the MP for Kamukunji until ‘79 when Moi started fighting me…” And just like that he launches back into politics. He goes on for so long and I’m sitting there thinking, how do I bring him back to what I need from him without him biting off my head? I’m still reeling from his last admonishing so the wounds are still fresh. I have to be cautious here. I get a small window when he says he retired from parliament in 1997. I ask him how old he was and he thrusts his walking cane to me to read, it was a gift from the then director of education. It has inscriptions that are barely legible.

“…..something something retired 1997,” I read it out loud like a child learning to read.

“Read it from the beginning…” he commands but I can’t make out some of the words because this walking cane is 20-years old, older than most people on Snapchat. I hold the stick closer to my face and it frustrates him. “The information is there, don’t be silly, you are younger than me yet your eyes can’t see? You want me to show you how to do things, it’s written there that I was 70.”

My face flushes with irritation or embarrassment. I breathe in deeply and say to myself, “You are a professional, this is a test, when they go low, you go high…” I also make a mental note never to come for an interview hungry. And also to avoid sitting on stools.

“What do you miss in that past era?” I ask.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

I move closer to him. “What do you miss about that past era?” I say loudly. Behind him is an array of masks on a wall. Did I tell you how much I hate masks? African masks to be precise. I can never be comfortable in a hotel room with African masks on the wall. I always feel like masks possess the spirits of the gods of the woods and sometimes they come alive, especially at night.

“I miss freedom of people and justice and, you people, you blacks have let me down…” he stomps his cane on the floor to accentuate each thought as he speaks, “We didn’t chase away the British for this. They had better administration, they would make five mistakes yet now you are making 15, you are selfish, you are in bunge three days a week and you want more more money, why?!” Stomps his cane on the floor. He is visibly upset now. I want to tell him I don’t spend any time in bunge, that I have never been to bunge, that I’m a lowly writer with a sore ass and a wrecked back at this moment, and please stop shouting at me, you are scaring me.

“You don’t want to serve people, you want to earn money!” he spits. “You want to increase your income, do you know how much they earn now these people for sitting three days in bunge?”

I look at the floor. This is unfair, I’m taking the heat for politicians. There is an M-Pesa shop inside this curio shop, a few customers are gathered around the counter. A tanned mzungu lady in shorts is browsing through the shop. I let him compose himself. I look at him looking at people passing outside his shop and I think, hang on a second, this man is 90-years old, surely that must come with some privilege, if he wants to abuse you and poke your (empty) stomach with his cane, then let him.

“If you were to go back to a certain period of your life, what period would that be?” I ask more boldly now. I’m no longer scared of his wrath.

He pauses.

“I don’t understand,” he offers.

“If you were to go back to a period of your life when you had the best time of your life, which period would that be?”

“When we were fighting the British. But after uhuru of 1963 things started going down,” he stomps his cane on the floor, only this time it accidentally lands on my toes. “Didn’t I tell you blacks let me down? You blacks have done nothing since 1963.”

I chuckle. I’m amused at his reference of “you blacks.” But to his credit I’m blacker than him. I change the subject quickly and talk about marriage. I ask him what advice he’d give a young man looking to get married now.

“Deal with your grandparents, ask them what kind of a family this girl comes from, get her background, because she comes from somewhere…where do you come from?” He asks it so pointedly that I’m afraid if I tell him where I come from it might just be the wrong answer.

“I’m from Nyanza.”

“I know Samuel Anyango Ayodo, do you know him?” I shake my head. “Anyway, are there bad families in South Nyanza?”

“I’m sure there are.”

“Exactly, your grandparents would know which family this woman comes from. You can’t just look at a girl and like her from the way she dances and acts…aargh, you people, a wife is the brain, a husband is the brain, I have obeyed these rules, I have had two wives and neither of them has complained about me and neither have I complained about them because I checked them out through my grandparents…”

“But times have changed now, mzee,” I say fearlessly. “You can’t meet a girl here in the city and ask your grandmother in the village about her family…”

“Then ask your parents, ask your father and mother…let me show you my wife…” he stuffs his hand into the inside pocket of his coat, papers rustle, he retrieves a document and hands it to me. It’s a very old passport, a first generation passport, it looks like a collector’s item. “Read it,” he says. I read out the details; it’s his wife’s passport, she was born in 1939. “She married me and we stayed well and on our 25th wedding anniversary I flew her to Europe for a tour because she had good character. Check up the women you want to marry with your older relatives, they will tell you her character.”

I drop this subject and plough on with some level of amusement and a dark masochism.

“How many times have you been in love?” I ask and brace myself. What he says I don’t prepare for.

“When my wife with ten children died…did I tell you I lost this wife with eight children in a car accident? You didn’t know this?” I shake my head. “Aarh, you are really a young person…the biggest thing that happened in 1978 [stomps his cane on floor repeatedly[ was me losing my wife and 10 children in a car accident between Nairobi and Machakos. It was the biggest news!”

“How do you move on from something like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how do you deal with that kind of loss?”

He grimaces, either from that sad memory or from the foolishness of my question -we will never know, will we? “You have seen my son here, that’s my second born, he was in America when that accident happened, the one who was in the car got affected badly so he isn’t right and the other has a shop behind this shop and is married to a rich man, her husband died the other day. Two sons and one daughter. When I was admitted in hospital with three broken ribs (I was the one driving) God told me, ‘You see your friend, Engineer Nderitu? He has tried getting a baby with his wife but they don’t have any, you are better off than him because you might have lost 10 children and your wife but you still have three left. So when people came crying in hospital I had already been consoled by God.”

“Why do you think God saved your life and took away the lives of your children and your wife?”

He stares at me and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to hit me with the walking stick and I’ll pass out which seems like a better idea than the feeling of my ass getting numb slowly. He ignores my question, moves on like I didn’t ask it and I’m so amused I want to chuckle. “After I left hospital my father in law brought me a cow and told me to remarry. I was 51-years old.” He continues.

So he got married again in 1979 and got four sons, one of whom is called Matthew, the one who emailed me. Matthew is the 16th born. He looks at my voice recorder and says, “Is this thing recording?” I tell him it is. “Ask your questions,” he says.

“Y0u have had two wives and have been married longer than I have lived,” I say. “What is the secret of a happy wife, how does a man keep his wife very happy?”

“Don’t ignore her physical needs,” he says.

Well, he didn’t say it in those words, I have PGd it a bit because his exact words seemed so ugly from his stately lips. Not knowing what to say to that I nod like I completely understand. He has killed every question in my head, turned them into powder. “And few men know how to take care of their wive’s physical needs well,” he continues. “Do you have a woman?” he asks. “If you do bring her over, I will buy you a cup of tea and tell you how to do it on condition that you don’t tell anyone.”

I’m now laughing and for the first time he’s chuckling. I take advantage of that and ask. “And who taught you that skill, Mzee?”

“Wakuza Serewano from Uganda,” he says, “he trained me.” Then he gets into this explanation on how to satisfy a woman that I can’t print here. I’m chuckling through all this. “Who is this Wakuza Serewano?” I ask him and he becomes serious again. “Anyway,” he says, “ you didn’t come here for these stupid ideas.” He’s got a foxy look now. Oh, and for the gentlemen, don’t bother googling Wakuza Serewano, I did, it has only 79 results which means he’s either dead or that was his bedroom nickname.

“What is your greatest joy at 90?”

He leans on his stick and looks around the shop. “You finished your work, you go now…go with that. We can talk until the cows come home. I only came to meet you because I’m a gentleman. Where do you live?” I tell him. He says, “ I want to write a book, but someone wrote it and messed me. We finished but he said he wanted to be the president of Kenya but he never became president, neither did we publish my book.”

I chuckle.

“He’s Dr Mailu, you know him? Where is he now, is he alive?” I tell him I hope so. “Can I please get ten more minutes with you?”I ask, afraid that he will stop the interview. I’m not hungry anymore, my stool is no longer an issue.

“I don’t want to be kept a full day.”

“Just ten minutes, please.”

“Ask your questions,” he grunts.

“Do you remember all the names of all your 17 children?” I ask him.

“Of course,” he says, “were they not born one day? They grew up with us, I was not the type of man who works in the city and leaves his kids and wives in the village. I know all their names because I lived with them.”

For 90 he looks pretty good. He looks 70-something. He’s articulate. Whereas some old men have skins that look like hide, his skin looks well-nourished and healthy. I ask him how he remains fit and he says it’s because he’s a scientist, was the best in mathemarics and sciences, he uses his brain. When you stop using your brain you grow old. He got sick at 40, he says, a back problem and he was advised to change his mattress and his bed and his lifestyle. So he started cycling. “You can’t keep going by car everywhere, you have to walk!”

“Do you know the secret to a happy life?” I ask him.

“Being honest and kind. I have sent a lot of people to America for education, some are professors, you want me to ring them now?”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “What do you regret the most in life?”

He sighs and closes his eyes then he says he won’t answer that question. I ask him why and he says it’s because he already answered it. I say no, you couldn’t have answered it when I didn’t ask it. “You didn’t ask but I answered you!” he insists. “You should have listened while I was talking, my answer was there. When you type your story you will see it.”

I just sit there smiling and I guess he feels sorry for me because he says. “I hate people who are unfair, I hate injustice.” (He’s talking about you blacks, I guess).

“But that’s what you hate,” I say. “It’s not the same as what you regret.”

“Do you think I’m happy I lost my children and wife in that car accident?” he asks. “Do you think anybody would be happy? Then you are very bad. I regret that.”

“ What are your hopes now at 90?”

“I hope to die when I’m clean. I have no problems with anybody. No problems with God. I get my holy communion, I live comfortably.”

“If you were to apologise to one person now, who would that be?” I ask.

“I have never offended anyone,” he says. “Do you know someone I have offended?”

I want say “Me! Are you kidding me, Mzee? You called me silly and almost made me cry!” He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a joke now, so I let it rest. Plus there are spears an arm’s length from him. I ask him about food, what he eats to stay healthy and strong. He says fruits. “Pawpaws are the second best fruits in the world, do you know what’s the first?” I want to say kiwi but then I don’t want to get it wrong and he kills the interview abruptly so I say I don’t know and he says, “Kiwi,” and I kick myself.

“What about alcohol,” I ask, “Do you drink?

“No,” he says. “Some people drink others, well, have other interests.”

Haha. I’m dying.

“So at what age does a man stop functioning sexually?”

“It depends on how you take care of yourself. It depends on you.”

I’m now firing questions quickly because my time is up.

“Do you believe in true love?”

“I have shown you her picture, haven’t I?”

“Why do you walk around with her passport?”

“Because young women and men like you keep asking me about my wife, so I show you.”

“Why don’t you walk with your second wife’s passport?”

“Because she’s not dead!” he shrieks. “This is a useless passport…..you don’t use a passport when you die!” Good point, heaven don’t need a passport. Talking of which…

“Do you fear death?” I ask.

“No. I don’t fear death,” he says. “I have no debts. I’m not worried about anything. I don’t owe anything. I don’t walk with bodyguards like politicians, it’s ridiculous, who is trying to kill you if you have been honest?”

“You made a lot of money at some point, tell me something about wealth.”

“You have to come with your woman for that lesson. I will teach you to be rich.”

“Is money a good thing or a bad thing?”

“What do you think? Is it a bad thing or a good thing?”

“OK, let’s put it this way, do you think your life will change for the better if I gave you ten million shillings now?”

“I’m worth a lot of money, you don’t know me.”

“So what do you use money for now?”

“Food, educating my grandchildren, my last son has finished PhD….”

“Do you know what the internet is?”

“ I hear about it but I don’t want to learn more because I will get high blood pressure. My wife, took me the doctor and he was surprised that my blood pressure was better than his, a man young enough to be my son. I want to keep it that way, so I don’t need to know more than I already know.”

“What do you fear now?”

“I fear nothing.” Pause. “I fear making mistakes.”

“What do you wish God would have given you?”

“Exactly what he gave me. In school I was the best in mathemarics and science. I don’t look at someone and wish I had the talent they have, I don’t, that would be making God’s work worthless. I look at my talents and I’m happy with them. I was the best in mathemarics and science in Mangu, I told you? That’s why the teacher expelled me…jealousy!”

“Next week is Valentine’s Day for lovers, will you buy your wife flowers?”

“Me? Am I mad?” I’m laughing. He isn’t. “ My wife is a retired teacher, has a Masters in counselling psychology we have been married over 35-years, I can’t start buying flowers now. That’s for you people.”

I’m almost tempted to ask, “We people being us blacks?” But my time is almost up, even for jokes.

“What’s your definition of happiness?”

He plants his walking stick on the ground firmly and struggles to his feet, a sign that my time is indeed over. “You will come another day, you can go, you are out of questions, now you are just chatting.” I stand up and scamper out of his way, dragging my stool out of his way. I tell him, “Thanks a lot for your time, mzee, I appreciate it,” but he doesn’t say boo, never looks at me, I might as well be a talking African mask, he just taps taps out of the shop, wobbling out, he’s whistling again. Just like he had no preamble, he has no farewell. I’m completely fascinated by that, his lack of ceremony, his forthrightness, his complete lack of fucks, his colourful language and memory and the fact that he’s still on his feet at 90 and he has outlived many and he still wakes up and wears a tie and he carries an old passport in his pocket and he thinks I’m silly and he tells me to my face and doesn’t write it on Facebook or Twitter. He lives honestly.

He never looks back to see if I’m still seated on that stool. When I call my Taxify I hear him whistling away, the tapping of his walking cane receding into the depths of City Market, swallowed by the yawns of the African masks.

174 Responses
  • Shem
    13.02.2018

    Amazing!




    1
    • Mwenginator
      20.02.2018

      Another great read!! Wonder if possible to include small short pics at bottom of such writing.




      0
    • @KemetVirtual
      26.02.2018

      You’ve captured some pretty prime real estate here, bro. Thanks man. I slept too late.

      Someone should lean close to the old man’s ear and whisper about Pharaoh Piankhi Piye(744 BC) ruler of Kemet/”Black Land” ( a country that was later renamed Egypt). Then perhaps he’ll change his attitude towards the “blacks” as he calls them.

      Pharaoh Piye ruled hundreds of years BEFORE Aristotle, Plato, and even Alexander. Where were the Anglo-Saxon “whites” in 744 BC? Still clubbing their food to death with sticks before eating it.

      Sure, the post-independence maggot elite stuffed their gizzards, but that had nothing to do with them being “blacks”. Just maggoty. Mao of China starved 3 million Chinese at around the same time. Stalin butchered about a dozen million Russians a couple of decades earlier.

      Go ahead. Google “Pharaoh Piankhi Piye”.

      @KemetVirtual




      3
      • @KemetVirtual
        26.02.2018

        There’s a line of dialogue in the “Blood Diamond” movie that really burns me, a sentence the Hollywood script writers stuffed into the mouth of the Mende fisherman (Djimon Hounsou):

        “I know good people who said that there is something wrong with us. Inside our black skin… we are better off when white man ruled.”

        The line implies that “blacks” need to prove themselves in some way, that until we measure up to some blurry yardstick established by the west, we’re somehow malformed, incomplete.

        The achievements of Pharaoh Piankhi Piye(744 BC) and Taharka of Kemet/”Black Land” (who also featured in Isaiah 37:8-9, saving the Hebrews from Sennacherib of Assyria) remind that we have nothing to prove. That our failings stem purely from an attitude problem, not race.

        The Chinese sorted out their issues eventually. So did the South Koreans, after years of butchering their own presidents in broad daylight.

        We’re only started taking baby steps. Things will work out for us too, in time.

        @KemetVirtual




        0
  • TheCode
    13.02.2018

    First?




    0
  • Ndaba Kariuki
    13.02.2018

    “What’s your definition of happiness?”……I would also like to know




    3
    • Shanto Bongola
      13.02.2018

      finding meaning in life.




      0
  • Ceey
    13.02.2018

    A great narrative/creation. You did it again Biko!




    2
  • TheBlackKennedy
    13.02.2018

    “It was like sitting on an activist’s resolve…” beautiful line there.

    I do not know a Studebaker, much like i do not know “mathemarics”

    Great piece. Cheers




    15
  • Kidamakana
    13.02.2018

    “I’m completely fascinated by his lack of ceremony, his forthrightness, his complete lack of fucks”

    This was the highlight for me in this article. I would have loved to be present in that interview and witness this !!




    36
    • Riri
      13.02.2018

      Me too!!!




      0
    • Mo.
      13.02.2018

      My favourite thing about old people is that, they speak their minds with truth without regard for for mere things like people’s feelings. I want to be that care free.




      8
      • Leshy
        13.02.2018

        It’s really admirable, but I’ve always maintained that it’s an earned trait and you only earn it having reached a certain point of your life.
        For the rest of us to be like that is just arrogance.




        9
    • Haks
      13.02.2018

      Kabisa!!!!! Maaaaaaaaaaaan.
      Life yake ni simple.
      Give Zero fucks and be kind…..issa very big challenge to most of us!




      2
    • Lennox
      01.03.2018

      Me too




      0
  • Anon
    13.02.2018

    Kinda need the raw version of keeping the lady happy. What did Wakuza Serewano teach him? Take your lady for lunch on Saturday, Biko. Let him tell you the secret to riches. Though he sounds like he’d finesse your wife too. Lol. Nice read




    33
    • The Granny's Corner
      14.02.2018

      A person after my heart. That right there are the questions I want answered as well. That and what he is riding now. A man who owned a Studebaker cannot just be cycling around. He must have one of those old model Mercs that I die for.

      Oo! and that lessons on how to be wealthy.




      5
  • Stained Soul
    13.02.2018

    We the Blacks have let ourselves down. We kicked out the colonizers and then our leaders colonized us. They steal in our names (read that as tribe) and we stand around and applaud them.
    We have sacrificed honesty and glorify theft and wanton behaviour. We deserve his contempt! Is there salvation for us? Could we redeem ourselves and our country? Could we rise up and celebrate goodness in the society and reward it?




    52
    • Guchu
      16.02.2018

      Haha similar to the story of Saul the first king of Israel. The Israelites cried for a king they could see like other nations around them.
      I am kikuyu and I am ashamed to repeat some things I have heard my family members utter. The problem is we don’t read the bible and most of us have rejected God knowingly or have been misled by false church leaders.




      6
  • June
    13.02.2018

    Wow, That must have been one tough interview!!!




    0
  • Anon
    13.02.2018

    Kinda need the raw version of keeping the lady happy. What did Wakuza Serewano teach him? Take your lady for lunch on Saturday, Biko. Let him tell you the secret to riches. Though he sounds like he’d finesse your wife too. Lol. Nice read.




    3
  • Alex
    13.02.2018

    I had to google a studebaker despite being passionate about cars, never heard of it.




    3
  • Waithira
    13.02.2018

    You can’t just look at a girl and like her from the way she dances and acts…aargh, you people, a wife is the brain, a husband is the brain…
    Okay Biko but you could have just printed for us “how to satisfy a woman”. Would have loved to see the old man’s thoughts.

    And this caught my eye ” when you stop using your brain you get old ”

    Mzee Nthenge is hilarious and very authentic.




    26
  • Lither
    13.02.2018

    He did rough up your feathers . hahhah




    4
  • Eleanor
    13.02.2018

    I wish you took a photo off him 🙂 🙂




    2
    • Eleanor
      13.02.2018

      *of




      6
  • Wesh - Peter Wesh
    13.02.2018

    Haha this is a funny story. I’ve smiled through most of it. I can see myself behaving like Mzee Nthenge in my 90s. The way he really puts himself at the top of the perking order and distributes zero fucks is amazing. I guess a skill mastered through time. I could hear a bit of my granpa’s – rip – conversations in his responses. Especially the blunt but honest language on everything. And did you book an appointment for the pleasing a woman thing? You could go back and come write it for us then all women will be happy from then to future days. We will retell the story even when we get old.




    31
    • Mumbi
      13.02.2018

      Its *pecking order.




      2
    • The Granny's Corner
      14.02.2018

      Haha! You forgot to mention the ripple effect of a having a happy woman. Brighter days, happy kids, laughter in the house and a long life (Clearly evident). That man did not have to read Manson’s “The subtle art of not giving a fuck” to perfect it. I want to grow old now. This forever young thing I will drop.




      3
  • Kennedy
    13.02.2018

    Lost




    1
  • Joy
    13.02.2018

    Wakuza Serewano is his bedroom nickname




    4
    • Josephine Nduta
      15.02.2018

      Amazing read as always. By the way Serwano Wakuze was my grandfather. He was from Uganda and he had a stall at City Market too. He died decades ago.




      4
  • justmanoe
    13.02.2018

    Great read.

    Have a look at one of my posts here: http://justmanoe.com/nature-hell/




    2
  • Mkhadar
    13.02.2018

    Of Karura forest bikes and hard pedals and saddles. The last one I used had both hard saddles, too. 🙁




    0
  • Caroline Odongo
    13.02.2018

    Always a refreshing humorous read….

    ….still following…..




    0
  • Riri
    13.02.2018

    There’s something about old men that triggers me; at least with most of them. Am glad I had my grandpas when growing up, even when they are gone now, they are still my favorite human beings. Did I say they were never late; the discipline that characteristic put in us was merciless.




    6
  • Melodious
    13.02.2018

    ‘No. I don’t fear death,” he says. “I have no debts. I’m not worried about anything. I don’t owe anything. I don’t walk with bodyguards like politicians, it’s ridiculous, who is trying to kill you if you have been honest?”

    So true. Our closets creak so loud because of the weight of the gazillion skeletons we’ve stuffed in there. Maybe, that is why we spend our days looking over our shoulders to spot the shadows that chase us. We could simply be honest and have good intentions!

    Wonderful read Biko!




    31
  • MumEstin
    13.02.2018

    Nice read, as always. Thank you sir




    1
  • Agot Irene
    13.02.2018

    I know how it feels when an old person admonishes you. Makes you feel so small…. I was sulking with you. I mean how dare he and he is so oblivious of your…our..hurt.




    3
  • Nyambura
    13.02.2018

    Hhaahaha, if it’s any consolation I would have felt hurt too. I also bruise easy and people of that age sometimes talk to you like being younger than them is a crime; because you haven’t lived as long as they have. Because living in the internet era, to them, is somehow wrong? If you suck it up though, some are great conversationalists. And I kinda agree with him, your grandparents have the best advice on life and stuff.




    1
  • Nava
    13.02.2018

    City Market has another smell besides that of fish and tripe?!
    The magnitude of his loss!




    3
    • Sera
      13.02.2018

      It does!




      0
    • fridah
      13.02.2018

      HAHA exactly what i thought.




      0
  • Caroline Odongo
    13.02.2018

    ..and the title is very clever….An old conversation…




    2
  • Barbara
    13.02.2018

    “Why don’t you walk with your second wife’s passport?”

    “Because she’s not dead!” he shrieks. “This is a useless passport…..you don’t use a passport when you die!”

    That killed my ribs. Very practical man. No secrets, no hidden motives. Lesson learned: be satisfied with what God gave you. Don’t envy others, that’s like telling God he made something imperfect.

    Btw Biko you’ve never sounded so millennial, and the way I like calling you ‘Mzee’. I’ve been misusing words kumbe. You constantly complained about your ass and back, and even wrote ‘Haha. I’m dying.’ Haha I’m dying too.




    8
  • Paul
    13.02.2018

    I loved every bit of the conversation.




    2
  • Kez
    13.02.2018

    This surely caught me
    I ask him how he remains fit and he says its because he….uses his brains. When you stop using your brain you grow old.

    And this…
    Why don’t you carry your 2nd wife’s passport ?
    Because she is not dead. Silly!!!




    5
    • Lesobet
      19.02.2018

      Those were my favourite parts too.. he does not carry his second wife’s passport because she is still alive, and that the new secret to staying young lies not in cosmetics but in using your brain!!




      1
  • Mushie
    13.02.2018

    “This is unfair, I’m taking the heat for politicians.”-until this point,I was reading the word bunge in English and trying to figure out its meaning….I can’t even…I am disappointed in myself (We blacks) haha

    When you stop using your brain you grow old….wow!!




    37
    • Nyambura
      13.02.2018

      Bwahahaha I read it in English too. And did not even realize until I read your comment. I was on my way to google the meaning.




      3
      • Millenial
        13.02.2018

        AAH! its Bunge! hahaha




        0
      • Mary Nyawira
        15.02.2018

        Hahahaha I also was trying to figure out what it meant




        0
    • Kez
      25.02.2018

      Me too, I was reading it in English




      0
  • Dottie
    13.02.2018

    fantastic and great piece in deed.Thanks Biko!




    0
  • abdullah omar
    13.02.2018

    ”it accidentally lands on my toes” the capricious old man.i dont think it was accidental.




    7
  • Joy
    13.02.2018

    I have laughed! This Mzee though!!!!

    I’m thinking Kachabali…… Mzee Serewano




    2
  • Judy
    13.02.2018

    Biko this was a very nice piece. so many follow up questions thou:

    1. So if he wouldnt buy the wife flowers what will he buy her?
    2.whatS his take on valentines.
    3. How has been able to remain so faithful to one woman at a time for all those years?
    4. What sexual satisfaction techniques are those for the woman?
    5. who wrote his book?
    6. Why didn’t he become the president?

    …….I want to know more..




    3
    • Mumo
      13.02.2018

      If Biko dares ask those questions that walking stick will fall on his forehead ! Haha




      5
    • Irene Wanjiru
      13.02.2018

      Q5. He said Dr. Mailu




      0
  • Mumbi Muchiri
    13.02.2018

    I wish I was a flu in that stall to hear what the Ugandan trained the Mzee on.




    0
  • Mumbi Muchiri
    13.02.2018

    A fly on the wall




    0
  • Wanjiku
    13.02.2018

    ‘You are out of questions now you’re just chatting’. Ouch. Am tempted to walk to City Market from a building next door to see this man. Does he know the statement ‘giving zero fucks’? No, I didn’t think so.




    3
  • Yoni
    13.02.2018

    … but he doesn’t say boo, never looks at me, I might as well be a talking African mask, he just taps taps out of the shop, wobbling out, he’s whistling again. Just like he had no preamble, he has no farewell… I guess that’s his way of giving a punchline then drop the mic!! haha like Kobe. Interesting read.




    2
  • CynthiaK
    13.02.2018

    Great read, Biko. To be honest, i´ve read it twice. There is so much wisdom in the things Mzee says. My favourite line…

    ” I don’t look at someone and wish I had the talent they have, I don’t, that would be making God’s work worthless. I look at my talents and I’m happy with them.”

    If i were you, i´d not have bothered with the stool. I`d have sat at his feet and soaked up all that wisdom, all those lessons coming from the man who was the best in mathemarics and science… ha ha ha




    2
  • Claire Angoye
    13.02.2018

    Wisdom of a sage ! Followed each and every word…well articulated Biko. I don’t look at someone and wish I had the talent they have, I don’t, that would be making God’s work worthless. I look at my talents and I’m happy with them.




    1
  • Maureen
    13.02.2018

    I have laughed through the whole interview, the mzee is hilarious he really is an old man.




    0
  • Koki
    13.02.2018

    “I’m completely fascinated by that, his lack of ceremony, his forthrightness, his complete lack of fucks, his colourful language and memory and the fact that he’s still on his feet at 90 and he has outlived many and he still wakes up and wears a tie and he carries an old passport in his pocket and he thinks I’m silly and he tells me to my face and doesn’t write it on Facebook or Twitter. He lives honestly”
    How beautiful is this sentence! I want to be Mzee Nthenge when I grow up!




    2
  • dayvid
    13.02.2018

    ‘he thinks I’m silly and he tells me to my face and doesn’t write it on Facebook or Twitter. He lives honestly. ‘… you hit it right there…
    incase you decide to take him on his offer to teach you on how to service your woman… i am booking the first release of those tips… am quite intrigued.
    super read as always i could feel as if he is sitted right opposite me thanks to your epic description.
    i even could see the stares in the masks…
    its city market and has plenty of sumptuous eating joints hope you treated your empty stomach after the ordeal…




    0
    • Nigel
      16.02.2018

      I don’t see Biko eating that food, not with how he keeps going on and on about swanky restaurants.




      1
  • Smilez Kevin
    13.02.2018

    Great read! I’m gonna check Wakuza in the dark web..curious!




    0
  • Kadonye
    13.02.2018

    Dammit Biko! Why are you always PG-ing things for us…I haven’t forgiven you for sanitizing that story from the adulterous yogi who was philandering in Tanzania. Write the unedited Ugandan advice this wonderfully abrasive old man told you!




    3
    • stephanovmutua
      15.02.2018

      What she said !




      1
  • Zay
    13.02.2018

    Amazing read, i think we should have a section for over 18, where you publish the R-Rated stories haha. Would be intriguing to learn what the Ugandan man taught mzee…..




    1
  • jetnimoh
    13.02.2018

    The google part just pounced on me…..He He He…..
    I was reading like someone has put me on a timer ha ha ha




    0
  • Wawire
    13.02.2018

    Good read.So refreshing.




    0
  • Wachira
    13.02.2018

    “…the tapping of his walking cane receding into the depths of City Market, swallowed by the yawns of the African masks.”

    I love that ending!! Biko, this one has given me some inspiration to go talk to grandma and ask some of these questions. Thank you.




    1
  • Kibetu
    13.02.2018

    For some reason I figured out Mzee looking like Morgan Freeman, I picture him seating on a chair like Morgan when he acts like God in the movies




    7
  • Mohabn
    13.02.2018

    The story reminds me of my grandfather. Though long gone, a part of him still lives in me-my middle name was an implicit “order” from him. I always appreciate the wisdom that comes with age; it is tested and proven. I also love the idea that he doesn’t fear death. Death is a mystery that no one seems to come to terms with because it’s simply a mystery. I would also like to get the raw manual of “Don’t ignore her physical needs.” It was a great read Biko!




    0
  • Ranji
    13.02.2018

    Phenomenal!!!Wow!!What a read!!
    This starts out as a very enigmatic interview,but as we continue,this Mzee is quite fascinating!!Sad how he lost his wife and kids in the accident but he has really lived his life well!!

    You should have asked more about Wakuza Serewano!!Could have saved a generation!!Sigh




    1
  • Emmanuel
    13.02.2018

    what about that last nerve on your ass,hope it is now doing better Biko.Mzee is true to self………………..A deep reservoir of ancient knowledge.




    1
  • Val
    13.02.2018

    Wakuza Serewano’s gems should be given to my mister…




    3
  • Magda Wallace
    13.02.2018

    Waaaa! you read the story while jumping out of different emotions. Its the best thing I’ve read so far. I like where mzee says he doesn’t want to get more information. Clearly, The power of less, sigh




    0
  • Merci Jowi
    13.02.2018

    “I have no debts. I’m not worried about anything. I don’t owe anything. I don’t walk with bodyguards like politicians, it’s ridiculous, who is trying to kill you if you have been honest?”

    Wow! Profound. I like the old man’s brains.




    2
  • Jetoloxd
    13.02.2018

    On behalf of men who want to know the physical needs of our women. We would like to have the retracted & PGd section emailed to us. Yours truly,self appointed gang lobbyist.




    18
  • Joe Gichuki
    13.02.2018

    No questions on his 2nd liberation days? Well written, highly enjoyable anyway.




    1
  • Beth
    13.02.2018

    Amazing story. Mzee sounds like a typical 90 year old,…..with no filter at all. He sounds like he has truly lived his life,and enjoyed it and now he enjoys talking to people about it.




    2
  • JACKINDA
    13.02.2018

    About his diet, you should have asked about Chapos. If the BS about wheat circulating around is true.
    For the army of Chapo lovers out here.




    6
  • David Mwenda
    13.02.2018

    Hehe Biko u and PGing things I wonder why you always do this but that old man seems interesting




    0
  • Kalondu
    13.02.2018

    Please go back and get the secret to fulfilling a woman’s physical need…tell him it would be to save the boychild, am sure he will understand that this subspecies is troubled. Ooh, and while at it slide in afew questions on life.

    Nice piece as always.




    2
  • Faith
    13.02.2018

    Oh, I loved this story, entertaining it just has all sorts of interests.
    Good read Biko




    1
  • Jaz
    13.02.2018

    Precisely why I do not engage in intricate conversations with old people. It’s too tiring…you’re constantly apprehensive about saying the wrong thing. ..upsetting them… coming off as rude. And then they judge you too harshly for being ‘young’ and naive(rightly so).

    I was apprehensive while reading this. Uncomfortable even.




    1
    • Rose
      13.02.2018

      What? You are missing out! They tell the funniest stories!




      1
      • The Granny's Corner
        14.02.2018

        You tell him (Jaz looks masculine). I love the stories my granny gives. History and all. She actually one day told me of how they did weed back them and went ahead to narrate the merits of weed over booze.

        They can be a pain in the neck though. Especially if you just can’t sit and listen. If you want to contribute to discussions older than you.




        0
  • waridi
    13.02.2018

    “Do you believe in true love?”

    “I have shown you her picture, haven’t I?”




    2
  • Allan
    13.02.2018

    “I don’t look at someone and wish I had the talent they have, I don’t, that would be making God’s work worthless. I look at my talents and I’m happy with them.”

    Amen to that




    1
  • Rowsemary
    13.02.2018

    …Right!!! “Normal”




    0
  • Sash
    13.02.2018

    Interesting old man, truly when you live an honest life then you have no fear; even death is inconsequential.




    0
  • Moses Kariuki
    13.02.2018

    I have been giddy to the end reading through this one Biko. Now how to know the Ugandan’s secret is what has left me high and dry, how do I get this precious info. ?




    0
  • Louis Wamukoya
    13.02.2018

    Great piece! and yes, we blacks have really messed up.




    1
  • Kunda
    13.02.2018

    Thank you Biko. Its always worthwhile.




    0
  • passerby
    13.02.2018

    a bit of a dull interview but old people are usually tough too interview.it needs days to get the little tid bits of information and great stories from them




    0
  • Liz
    13.02.2018

    Such a wonderful read, really hilarious!!!




    0
  • Job
    13.02.2018

    You didn’t come for these silly ideas….that was hilarious




    0
  • Kidney
    13.02.2018

    Due to popular demand……50 shades of valentine (read “how to satisfy a woman”. 😀 )

    We want it as Mr Nthenge the love doctor put it.

    (New post!) An Old conversation II




    4
    • The Granny's Corner
      14.02.2018

      I need a transplant now. My ribs ruptured one of mine. Kidneys. 50 shades of ang’ooa?




      0
  • Mwari Wene
    13.02.2018

    The old conversation is surreal,, it makes me miss my old folks, guka and cucu I miss them, “when I grow old goals” haha




    1
  • Sometimes old folks make me feel like going way way back. When everything was dandy, problems were solved quickly and more relatives and helpful politicians like Tom Mboya, Robert Ouko were alive.
    Tons of wisdom from this interview.




    1
  • Wakonyo
    13.02.2018

    “Do you believe in true love?”

    “I have shown you her picture, haven’t I?”…




    1
  • Eunice
    13.02.2018

    I enjoyed his forthrightness!!
    That you;re out of questions and now you’re just chatting




    0
  • Nancy
    13.02.2018

    Wakuza Serewano….this gives me homework to do. I have a few Ugandan friends and will make a point of asking them questions.

    I am happy to know that you have to keep your brain active to stay young.

    Very nice read.




    0
  • Shillah Raymond
    13.02.2018

    Hehehehehehe…… I want to know the raw version of keeping wives happy. I am asking for my husband. A good read this is




    0
  • liz
    13.02.2018

    Was good in mathemarics i like that, nice piece Biko




    1
  • Vincent
    13.02.2018

    Amazing Reads Biko. Tons of lessons to learn from the old man.




    0
  • Benson Kamau
    13.02.2018

    Biko, don’t be selfish and keep all that wealth of information that you decided to sensor here, I thought we graduated high school past a year now all of us must have our ID’s by now. Please share.




    1
  • Wanja
    13.02.2018

    ‘his complete lack of fucks’ hehe




    0
  • John jim
    13.02.2018

    Biko mzee doesnt know internet..type to us what he said about women.its just for us..
    Good read..old age with lots of wisdom




    1
  • John jim
    13.02.2018

    Biko mzee doesnt know internet..type to us what he said about women.its just for us..
    Good read..old age with lots of wisdom
    Would love to know what he did with his mathematics




    0
  • Hellyne J
    13.02.2018

    “Then you have to sit and listen, if you interrupt me I will stop talking…you want a story so you have to listen.”

    I’m 40 now, I can’t remember the last time anybody talked to me like that so I’m stung. Don’t forget my sore back and suffering ass. I took a deep breath and told myself, “Don’t let him make you cry. He can’t break you.”

    He ensured you do it his way.




    0
  • Eunice
    13.02.2018

    Great read right there. I was smiling all through.




    1
  • Bonie
    13.02.2018

    Great masterpiece, the recollections, the answers and unaswered. wow blown away Biko!




    0
  • Catie Njeri
    13.02.2018

    How I laughed at every mention of the stool. What a piece!!!!




    0
  • Malaika
    13.02.2018

    Hmmm… not one of the better reads. Got bored mid story.




    0
  • Rose
    13.02.2018

    This was a great read. Really really enjoyed it!




    1
  • Kefin
    13.02.2018

    Reminds me of Gramps. Spent loads of time with him in his last 3 years; deeply wise and knowledgeable.

    Good you ditched uber BTW. Those guys, tembo wameanza kulitia maji




    0
  • Mukami
    13.02.2018

    Biko this is a nice one. Of late I have to read the comments before reading the piece. My heart couldn’t take any more darkness and tears. Meanwhile si you followup with your IT guy and move that “like” heart to the bottom of the page. It’s tricky reading to the end, then be expected to scroll back up to heart it.




    1
  • Judy
    13.02.2018

    “I have no debts. I’m not worried about anything. I don’t owe anything.”

    One of these days I’ll be able to say that… I hope it’s before I get to 90…




    0
  • Millenial
    13.02.2018

    Where was he headed to in such a hurry? At 90 what urgency could one have?

    Chatting is definately not Mzee’s thing haha




    0
  • Leona B
    13.02.2018

    Biko, now i know the kind of conversation we will have when you come to interview me. The PG-d kind……..keeping our lady parts happy……is what we gon talk about!

    Great conversation. I can imagine his diction was on point, with every syllable given its due attention.




    0
  • Nyawira
    13.02.2018

    ” I’m determined not to let him go deep into those woods because that’s timber I don’t need. ”

    This line!!!!!! Man! I wanted to lick it. Best word play I have read this year!




    2
  • Njoki
    14.02.2018

    Wonderful read Biko! He truly ruffled your feathers. This is so much wisdom; thank you for writing it so perfectly, as always!




    0
  • Mirish
    14.02.2018

    I always love reading your pieces but this one was especially beautiful and personal since G G W Nthenge is my “great uncle”! I could clearly picture this interview. I love his candidness and like you said, zero fucks! You can listen to him all day and all night until he unceremoniously says he’s done talking ha! My childhood is dotted with memories of visits to his and Aunty K’s home. Love him!!




    0
  • Grace
    14.02.2018

    Authentic….beautiful Read




    0
  • StephanieK
    14.02.2018

    Mzee G.G. W Nthenge should be a Legend. And he has too much character.




    0
  • Sheila
    14.02.2018

    “You people don’t know anything nowadays, you don’t know a Studebaker?!” He looks at me like I’m mad. I honestly don’t care what a bloody Studebaker is at this point. Has anyone here heard of what a Studebaker is?….hahahahaha..no we actually havent




    0
  • Winnie
    14.02.2018

    “What do you wish God would have given you?”

    “Exactly what he gave me. In school I was the best in mathemarics and science. I don’t look at someone and wish I had the talent they have, I don’t, that would be making God’s work worthless. I look at my talents and I’m happy with them.”

    This is my take-home. Priceless!!!




    1
  • Esenam Allen
    14.02.2018

    Dear God! I love this man.




    0
  • Rhoda
    14.02.2018

    Hi Biko, you interviewed my Uncle. unbelievable that one day , one gets to read about a person they know.




    1
  • Carol Ohonde
    14.02.2018

    Now that’s what I call aging with dignity!




    1
  • Nyokabi
    14.02.2018

    This is a sage!!! I’m so glad that you met him…Africa is littered with wisdom and here we are scrambling and looking elsewhere. Sigh…




    1
  • Mary
    14.02.2018

    “This time round I’m determined not to let him go deep into those woods because that’s timber I don’t need”. Great read




    0
  • jaliet
    14.02.2018

    This is a beautiful encounter.
    I would classify it under my strange encounters anthology
    https://www.amazon.com/Strange-Encounters-Jacob-Aliet-ebook/dp/B078T2LL3F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1518619370&sr=8-1&keywords=jacob+aliet




    0
  • Mwende
    14.02.2018

    Old people amaze me with how comfortable they are in their own skin. Their lives may not be perfect but its like they stop beating themselves up for it. Like whatever this man regrets most is not even his own doing.
    And I want to get to that point. Where you let your life be. You thank God for the talents you have and envy no one else. Plus being honest and kind to people.
    This was an amazing man you interviewed!




    1
  • ynot
    15.02.2018

    Amazing as always…whistled away to the yawns of african masks….classic




    0
  • Meliki
    15.02.2018

    I have heard this story of an MP who lost his children and wife a couple of times growing up and I always wondered how he dealt with a loss of that magnitude. Its truly refreshing to hear how at peace he with what life has dealt him.
    Truly God gives you only what you can handle




    1
  • Muhingo
    15.02.2018

    Ever noticed how many old timers use the word “ring” when they mean call??, this intrigues me….
    ……deeper into the woods coz that’s timber I don’t need….wow,wow…
    You’ve once again failed to disappoint Jatelo…




    0
  • Kawaida
    15.02.2018

    Can’t stand a stool for less than an hr, whine whine for cushioned seat. 90 utafika biko?




    0
  • Sophie
    15.02.2018

    “He stares at me and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to hit me with the walking stick and I’ll pass out which seems like a better idea than the feeling of my ass getting numb slowly”. He should have hit you for the last question Biko…..

    I remember my mum telling me about this car accident many years ago. Glad to hear he is still around and feisty as hell.
    This was a great piece !




    0
  • Grace Kari
    15.02.2018

    I think I like mzee, he would have been awesome to hang out with 🙂




    1
  • Bourgeois
    15.02.2018

    Be good to human beings…..seems so simple. Brilliant man.




    0
  • Robbie
    15.02.2018

    Probably not one of your best interviews… always learn a lot from you articles. This one not so much but I can’t blaim you. Old mzees always a hard but to crack




    0
  • Shiks
    16.02.2018

    Beauty and depth




    0
  • Cheri
    16.02.2018

    Such an awe-inspiring read




    0
  • Nigel M. Nassar
    16.02.2018

    If the name of mzee’s Ugandan tutor is Ugandan, then it cannot be Serewano. The spelling would have to be Serwano. Unless he was an outsider Ugandan. Plus that popular skill The said Ugandan taught the mzee could something called called the Western Jazz aka kakyabali, you could look it up. It comes from the western part of Uganda. And boy or boy, it’s a skill to write home about if you master it, for it always delivers. Ask them Ugandan ladies who have had the opportunity of a well-measured ounce of it. Otherwise, nice read as always. That mzee is sure something, so much so I would want to drop by when over in Nairobi just to chat with him about nothing in particular. He can be a really cool conversationalist when you are not trying to motion the conversation towards a certain angle. Wow. Interesting guy.




    0
  • Naomy P
    16.02.2018

    “Why do you think you lived that long?”

    “It’s because I was good to human beings, I was very kind to people. I was doing what God wanted and I was very good to my parents, I educated their children, I planted a lot of coffee trees and gave them lots of chicken to lay eggs for sale. I was kind.




    1
  • kevin
    16.02.2018

    but Biko you need to share that Wakuza Serewano bedroom secret, may be DM me?




    0
    • Josephine Nduta
      18.02.2018

      Serwano Wakuze was my grandfather. He passed on in the 80s. He had a stall at the City Market too.




      0
    • T.Otieno
      13.03.2018

      Good point Kevin,Biko should share the secret.




      0
  • janet
    16.02.2018

    so incredible,wow.




    0
  • Muthomi
    17.02.2018

    Ageing comes with a sense of realisation of what’s truly important in life. The little simple things that most overlook and aren’t grateful for.
    Plus Biko I’m I the only one who noticed the leap from Uber to Taxify now? I’m petty, I know.




    0
  • Infant Boy
    17.02.2018

    I have bad behaviour.




    0
  • Jungle Head
    17.02.2018

    I tell people to do immoral things in the jungle and expect to be taken seriously. Sic!




    0
  • Bethwel
    18.02.2018

    The photo for this post should’ve been that scary mask, or a Studebaker (if you managed to trace it). Awesome story.




    0
  • Esther Ndush
    18.02.2018

    Fantastic, you’ve captured the essence of the man! I know the old boy




    2
  • Moh
    19.02.2018

    Great read!




    0
  • Githiomi
    19.02.2018

    The reason I envy old age…’complete lack of fucks!’




    0
  • Grace
    19.02.2018

    Happy to encounter Mzee Nthenge again.Read his story many years ago(1993)not sure,in some old magazine and I thought to myself,What!?That was more than tragedy.




    0
  • Imani
    20.02.2018

    Do you know what the internet is?”

    “ I hear about it but I don’t want to learn more because I will get high blood pressure. My wife, took me the doctor and he was surprised that my blood pressure was better than his, a man young enough to be my son. I want to keep it that way, so I don’t need to know more than I already know.”




    0
  • Abi
    21.02.2018

    He’s not talking about David Maillu, is he?
    Samual Ayodo was one of the first MPs in the first house. Passed on about 18 years ago.




    0
  • Wairimu Muchiri
    22.02.2018

    good read.




    0
  • Ritz
    22.02.2018

    Waaa, such rudeness, but amazing story … God only knows how painful it still is to have lost is family and lived to tell … you should have told us more about his theory … and practice of keeping a women happy 🙂 .. never known you to be shy Biko 🙂




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  • teddy
    26.02.2018

    Right what we need.




    0
  • PDG Martin
    11.03.2018

    The Hon. George Gregory Wilson Nthenge! Twice my age, but in Kamba tradition, he is my brother. We share lineage. To this day, he has refused to let me pick the tab when we meet. A walking encyclopedia on matters Kenya. Calls stuff as it is.

    Great read Biko!




    3
  • Rugie
    16.03.2018

    Reminds me of the latest Quincy Jones interview. At that age you just run out of filters and fucks.




    1
  • josef
    22.03.2018

    i know him personally and i have interacted with him personally. You couldnt have described him vividly. Mheshimiwa is one guy who ran out of fucks to give




    0

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