Dear Sponsor By Duncan Kilonzo

So last week my friend, Skremu won really big on that magic site, Sportpesa. “Msee nimeshinda bonus kubwa this time, ata saa hii naeza kuwa sponsor wa Fiona” he came jumping at me in a happy-frenzied manner, like that of Ronaldo after winning the Euros. At first I didn’t understand him, having sworn off betting and all, the terminologies have never, up to this day, stuck to memory and so I inquired further on this ‘bonus’ thing, something he was really happy to answer. I know most of you guys don’t bet so I will spare you the details and sum it up in one word…money, lots of money. So anyway, we are there celebrating and start building castles in the air of how many things we would do with the money including, but not limited to buying Thika Road, eating special madondo at Kempinski, visiting Oprah, you know, realistic things. Now I know you are there asking, who is this Fiona girl he is talking about, well don’t worry, lemme explain. You see there are lot of adjectives I could use to describe her, but beautiful sums it all up. From the long flowing hair (na sio ya farasi ama ya Abuja), to the curvy edges around the waist area, to the yellow-yellow skin complexion, to the starry eyes, not to mention the filled bosom that has all members of team Mafisi drooling over. And what’s more, she knows she looks good and so she always walks around in tempting gaits and dresses tighter than Michael Jackson’s pants, in short everyone wants to dandia her.
But by respecting the laws of economics of demand and supply of course it’s hard to actually get her, hell it’s almost impossible to even talk to her, of course unless you have money, when money talks Fiona listens, trust me she does. So anyway Skremu decides to chocha himself saying now that he has gotten some windfall gains he’ll be able to meet her huge financial demands, I clearly know this is next to impossible, but who am I to down his spirits…go for it man, jenga jina haribu wallet!! So Skremu texts, scratch that, calls (which he rarely does) Fiona. After 3 failed attempts, she finally picks the call; and with a bored tone answers, ni nani? Shocked and stocked that she doesn’t have his number, Skremu stutters his name with a forced hearty laugh, and expecting her to reciprocate the laugh and light up, patiently waits for her response, but to his shock she actually hangs up! This sends me rolling to the floor in uncontrollable mocking laughter, holding my ribs that were now aching in laughter. Clearly angered by her action, Skremu decides to reveal his actual intentions to the snobby girl and texts her….
Hi Fiona, ni Skremu the guy from UoN, we met last month at your friend’s, Rehema, birthday bash, nlikununulia ile keg cup and you said you liked my dancing after that and we exchanged contacts. Anyway I am just texting to ask if you’d like to go out this Friday with me to Club Aqua. Kutakua na shisha and some drinks =)  
This text was obviously not going to work, at least not the way Skremu expected, I am very sure Fiona has better plans for the weekend, given all the guys that are after her, most of them clearly richer than my broke ass friend who is about to spend all his newly earned windfall gains on a chic who doesn’t even know his name. That, and also the fact that he included the “I bought you a keg cup” in the text, an obvious turn off for the Ciroc and Jameson- used chic. But actually to our surprise, Skremu’s phone beeps and he immediately picks it up throwing a mocking face in my direction with the “in your face” look. He lights up while reading the text, and so snatch it from him and read it out…
Xaxa Alex, aki pole sikuwa najua ni wewe, nlipotexa ximu but nakukumbuka. Btw ata nlikua natafuta planx xa weekend xaxa ntakam twende, uxixahau kunikujia ama utumane taxi na shisha pia ikuwe kwa wingi kwa xababu nakuja na bexhte yangu pia…
Now I thought that  only guys from muchatha  use the ‘x’ instead of ‘s’, but apparently even the pretty upstate girls do, a part I pointed out to Skremu, but that’s not even the elephant in the room, it is the last part of the text that was the issue. She’s bringing her friend, which is an added cost, plus a taxi, something that will cause a huge dent in the budget, a dent Skremu was still willing to take. To balance out the girl-boy ratio, Skremu offers me a chance to accompany him to the event, something I reluctantly accept but then he comforts me saying he will cover all costs. I immediately consult my limited wardrobe options and settle for a simple look, a checked Vybz Kartel sweatshirt (zile za Ngara) a faded pair of trousers that I had inherited from my elder brother and worn out third-hand bubble gummers shoes I had bought for 200bob from my local shoe dealer, Mose. Believe it or not that’s my Sunday-best look, something I still pride myself in. So the day, Friday finally arrives and I am exhilarated about the evening’s offers. You know how birds of the same feather flock together, I have my fingers tightly crossed that Fiona’s friend, Carol is equally pretty, something that prompts me to spray on some borrowed cologne, like the ones Muslims spray, Binti wa Fatuma. All clad and looking fresh, I head on to Skremu’s place.
Clad in a slim-fit beige coat, with a Jordan 23 t-shirt underneath, well-ironed khaki pants and sleek red Converse shoes, Skremu was clearly dressed to kill plus a slight hint of Polo cologne wafting airily behind him. The Sportpesa guys had really hooked him up good, unless hizo zilikua nguo za kuomba. After a short phone conversation between Skremu and the taxi guy, we head on out, not even stopping for HI’s and heey’s from other girls who were waving at us, clearly impressed by our sharp look and that rich money appearance we had going on. With our sight set heavily towards the building that is the ladies hostels, we increase our pace, with a slight swagger in our step, looking like some superstars out of a James Bond movie. So Skremu calls Fiona up notifying her of our presence, and she responds positively, tunakam xaa hii. And so we decide to wait outside the hostels, knowing it would be like 30 minutes, wakiweka make-up. While we are still there, a sleek black carbon Mercedes AMG car pulls up and parks near the hostel entrance. Few minutes later a short, pot-bellied, triple-chinned man in his forty’s steps out with a big expensive-looking phone in his hand clearly looking/waiting for someone. At first we ignore him as we have more pressing matters at hand, but what happens next shocks the crap out of us…