Brian is the new IT guy at a firm in Spring Valley and also my friend who we share a lot in common. The most common here being… a table at Njoro’s Pub in Ngara as we await Pogba to reinvent himself and prove his worth. Brian is the generous one between us; he buys Keg as I entertain with stories of how Arsenal is going to start flopping in November. The good thing about being a friend with Brian, he is only available for a beer on Saturday afternoon since the rest of his days are occupied with code and the mouse. I salute these guys who code amazing website and programs, you are diamonds amidst pebbles. How you stay behind those screens, adding up symbols and executing them I do not know. You deserve that coffee you take.

Last Thursday I had no classes (Perhaps you saw that TUK sorry Kenya Polytechnic was advertising its bankruptcy) and I think that has something to do with the bouncing classes. You can imagine a long weekend for a student in Ngara plus Trump won and some states in the US voted ‘weed smoking for fun’ to be legalized. I am not insinuating that we were getting high. You get. I passed by Njoro’s just to have a bite of Mutura sold by a Kao just outside the door but the devil is another one, I decided to peep inside and pap! Like a carving fixated on the seat and eyes glued on the half-filled Keg mug was Brian.

“Brayo! Kizee unafanya nini huku sahi? ” I was surprised as he was. We never met on weekdays. We greeted and hugged but not like the hug you give your girlfriend or that one you give your mum when she calls you to pick her up at T-room. It was the usual man-hug; One-handed, fast, shoulder to shoulder banging hugs. I beckoned for the waiter for a double.

“Buda! It’s good that you have come. Kai ndina thaha? (You picked my scent or what?)” He asked rhetorically sniffing on his jacket. I swear he only smelled of weed and tobacco.

“What’s up? You seem to have been sulking.”


“What scandals? Don’t tell me you banged that girl who moved in next door?” I celebrated raising my hand for a high-five.

“I wish it was so,” he felt his pocket and removed his phone and brandished this photo of a lady, perhaps in her mid-thirties and very beautiful,” this mama is making work hell for me.”

The drinks came. I sank into my seat when he paid for the bill, hoping it was a story long enough to keep them coming.

She was Jacinta Mutwiri the H.R manager at the firm where Brian worked. She drives a KC something Mitsubishi Shogun and a mother of two girls-twins aged six. Then she is a Meru, so the children stay with the father while she works. The father is not a stay-at-home Daddy but he insisted on staying with the children.

“This is the woman I run from.” He said after demystifying the woman.

“So she is hell on your heels or what?” I asked to clarify something.

“You fool of God is not getting it. She wants me so bad,” he said pointing at something below his belt, I think it’s his pants she wants. Hehe

“Now that’s where trouble comes in,” I read from his lips.

Jacinta knows nothing about computers and when this young Rookie from JKUAT comes in with all the vigor, expertise and looks, she first falls for his performance then falls fast for him. It’s a ladies’ thing and I can wait to get employed. (To prove them wrong I mean) Jeez! How could you think that of me?

Our Brian had been attending these expensive conferences as a delegate from the firm due to his outgoing qualities but when the one to India came up, he was surprised to be one of the names on the list of two, him and Jacinta. The backbone of the company, other employees thought.

“Tell me about India,” I pestered, getting really interested.

The trip was to last for a week; the first two days were so intensive that they never met for more than a couple of minutes. Then day three came, all the investors and important guests had done their presentations. This was when the lioness was let loose, she wanted to have a walk in the market to buy stuff to take home and Brian, as a way of appreciation offered to become of help.

“How would look in this dear?” Brian was echoing her words to me.

“Was it lingerie or something?” I swear that escaped my mouth without my consent.

“No, but it was close to that. It was a swimming costume. She asked for the changing room and the sales girl showed her room. I held her bags to allow her to go and try into her new outfit. Still I had not gotten what she wanted when she called out for me,” Brian was saying, I was not listening but he continued

“The H.R, my H.R was there in the tiniest piece of clothing I had seen on a mama her age, posing like Beyonce in front of the mirror. She asked me not to be shy and give her an honest comment.” I heard that.

“You look gorgeous in that one but I do not think I should be the one saying that to you madam,” Brian had said while in India. His eyes never left her body though, and that was the biggest mistake he did. She knew he was caught in her trap and soon he would give in.

“Come on Brian. We are in India, no one will know that I asked you how I look in my costume,” Jacinta said, closing the door to return to her normal clothes.

“That night she drank herself crazy and when I escorted her to her room, she fell on my chest spurring me to stay and watch over her at night. I found it wise not to leave her alone in such a condition so I took the couch leaving her to take the bed. I was also a bit tipsy and I allowed her to doze off on my lap, slowly blurring the lines of professionalism. She told me of troubles she had with her husband,” I liked his memory when drunk.

Mutwiri, Jacinta’s hubby is forty two years old, a principal in a secondary school in Tigania where Jacinta had taught business studies after her bachelor’s course. Love happened so did the twins but then Jacinta got a job in the big city which she took willingly. That was seven years ago. The distance, the exposure to life, money, women empowerment, and Maina and King’ang’i in the morning changed her. She wanted the fast life, the road trips to Uganda and Arusha, the holidays in Malaysia but the principal wanted to stay in the village and make babies. She started wanting out but as any other lady in the light, she knew that all wealth they had would be divided into two and her contribution was the bigger. In her troubles, a cute and young Brian came in who helped her edit her reports and even showed her how to use some management software until she rose from assistant H.R to H.R. She would stay in her marriage for the sake of it but with a side dish to add flavor to her life.

“So why don’t you hit it and keep quiet?” I wondered loudly.

“She is thirty six, I am twenty five. She will use me and when another Brian comes in, she will kick me out. I have a life to live too,” he argued and I instantly loved him-no homo. Just the way we love Trump for not chasing Lupita home yet.

“It’s simple then. Keep ignoring her and she will learn soon,” I advised like a brother.

“I have been doing that since India. She made advances which I repelled but now she has learnt not that I do not want her, but learnt how to reinforce her attack with claims of unsatisfactory reports, arrogance, failing website, lack of dynamism and noncompliance to policy. Today I got this message from her,” he said, showing me a short message from his phone.

We are having an executive committee meeting mid-November. Think about the report I will hand over to them concerning our staff, especially YOU.

“I think we need to pray,” I said finally.

“So do I,” he acquiesced with me and we toasted to the idea.