I was informed that the next direct flight to Kisumu would be the next day.
After a very successful Sacco Leaders Conference in Mombasa — full of learning, networking, exposure, strategic per diem utilisation, and most importantly, meeting the beautiful and resourceful Wanjiru — it was time to return home.
As you know, board members are special people. We had flown direct from Kisumu to Mombasa like regional governors. Naturally, we were to return the same way — direct flight, dignity intact. The conference ended Thursday evening. Friday was departure day for many of the delegates. Instead of attending the Gala Dinner on Thursday evening— which I didn’t know what that meant but wanted to attend — Wanjiru suggested we go to Mtwapa.
“It is a nice place, where things happen,” she said, like a veteran. I had never been to Mtwapa, but as a man who embraces exposure, I agreed immediately. We moved from one establishment to another, benchmarking nightlife infrastructure. After sampling several places, we settled on one that was really cool. Spacious, cool environment, no heat. Great seats. A big TV screen before us
Let us relax here and ask for a drink. Wanjiru asked and was brought wine. Before she settled on the brand, she and the waiter went into a long discussion of the wine she wanted. I remember terms like red, white, dry, wet, sweet etc. I asked for Summit. They didn’t have. “Basi late Balozi mbili,” I said,
“You cannot take beer!” she laughed. “This is not Mwisho wa Lami village, and you are a big man now. A board member. Soon, a chairman. Take something with class.”
“What do classy men take?” I asked cautiously.
“Whisky.”
I had taken whisky before. Once. At Kakamega Golf
“Give me a glass of Jug Daniels,” I told the waiter confidently. He blinked.
“We don’t have wine called Jug Daniels,” the waiter said after checking. Wanjiru leaned over.
“Do you mean Jack Daniels?” she asked.
That is what I meant. Obviously.
“Wine is not sold in glasses,” the waiter said. “Do you want tots or the bottle?” She asked. I did not know what tots were, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself.
“A bottle.”
The bottle came, plus two short glasses. Ice in another container. Water and Coke on the side. I remember pouring confidently. Taking in the first sip. Nice and smooth, nice and smooth. After that… history becomes confidential.
I woke up at 11am. The hotel staff were knocking like auctioneers. They had come to clean the room, and I was delaying them. Or rather, we were delaying them, Wanjiru and I.
“You must check out or pay for another night.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eleven.”
Eleven???
Wanjiru was beside me.
I briefly tried to reconstruct how we had reached this stage. How Wanjiru was beside me, how we came back, what happened. Blank. The last memory was smooth Jug Daniel going down my throat.
“What time is your flight?” she asked.
“2pm,” I said.
“You will make it. The flights always delay anyway. Mine is 3pm. We can go together. And thank you for paying for my flight.”
I froze. I couldn’t remember paying for her.
Apparently, the previous night I had insisted she should not travel by train, which was her means of transport. And that I had offered to pay for her flight so we could “spend more time together.”
“And you paid KQ, I have never flown KQ before; I always do Jambojet, which is a matatu,” she said, then hugged me.
Apparently, I am generous when under the influence of Jug Daniels. I did not know whether to laugh or audit myself.
“Let me help you pack, then, as you shower, I will go take my bags. I had already packed as I was to leave with the 5am train,” she said, then pulled me back in bed. For one last final encounter. We were interrupted by the hotel staff, who said we needed to leave or pay for another day. Wanjiru left me hurriedly.
At checkout, matters were difficult. I was being asked to pay for many things. Drinks from the minibar. Extra guest charge. Laundry (which I did not remember requesting). Late checkout. I started arguing, saying they should call my CEO to pay, but I was told those were personal bills. Wanjiru came as we were arguing. I could not embarrass myself. So I decided to pay. Shock me. No money. I had to Fuliza.
The same M-Pesa that had looked like a Sacco dividends account the previous evening was now behaving like a student account. I almost collapsed when I read the M-Pesa transaction messages for the previous night. What we had spent at the bar, and what I had paid for Wanjiru’s KQ ticket, was financially criminal. We reached the airport at 1.45pm. I went straight to the Jambojet counter.
“The aircraft has already boarded and is leaving,” said the attendant curtly.
“But it is not yet 2pm. I can see the plane!” I protested.
“Boarding closes 30 minutes before departure,” she said.
I argued in fluent English. She responded in airport policy.
“Next!” she shouted.
Meanwhile, Wanjiru had checked in with Kenya Airways. She came to me briefly.
“So sorry, dear… my flight is boarding. You can ask for the next flight… or maybe a train.”
She hugged me. And left. For a plane I had paid for.
I was informed that the next direct flight to Kisumu would be the next day. Fly via Nairobi? The prices required a board resolution. I inquired and was told the train would leave at 10pm, to arrive in Nairobi the next morning. Too late. But a taxi driver knew a bus that would leave for Nairobi at 3pm and arrive in Nairobi around midnight. I chose humility. Luckily, I found a direct Mombasa to Busia bus leaving at 5pm. As we boarded at 5.30 pm, I received a text from Wanjiru.
“Hey, dear, we have just landed at JKIA. As I left KQ, my board member who insisted I use a train was on Jambo jet, Karma!”
The irony was not lost on me. Me who had paid for her KQ, was now in a bus whose name I can’t remember. Life! We hadn’t left by 6pm. The bus left at 6.30pm after several announcements of “we are leaving shortly.”
Wanjiru texted again just as the bus left,
“Happily in the house with my daughter, thanks for everything, looking forward to you visiting us next week as promised.”
She had never mentioned she had a daughter!
We took over an hour to clear traffic. The journey was long. Very long. Two breakdowns. Reflection time. I was going through my M-Pesa messages with a calculator. What Wanjiru had done to me was a heist. Money was even borrowed from M-Shwari and KCB M-Pesa. Somewhere near Mtito Andei, I renounced Mtwapa. We arrived in Nairobi at 6am. I was exhausted and financially reborn. Before we left Nairobi, I called the CEO and explained everything – of course, minus the Wanjiru part. He listened quietly.
“You should have called me. I would have sorted you. That is what I am there for — to serve the Board.”
I also informed him I was completely broke.
“Come see me on Monday. There is something we can do.”
That statement gave me hope. He then sent me Sh7,000 from the Sacco accounts. Which was immediately swallowed by Fuliza. Left or right, East or West — I will never go back to Mtwapa again.
Follow our WhatsApp channel for breaking news updates and more stories like this.
