Being man, you’ve to buy, no matter what!

What you need to know:

Wape kila mtu mbilimbili hapa—give everybody two-two. A man utters that and, instantly, he becomes the most respected man at the table… unless, of course, a tougher drinker gives a subsequent round of the same nature and when the number of tablemates has increased from four to six.

As we keep noting in this space, a man’s popularity at the grocery is mainly measured by his all round purchasing power—that is, the way he exhibits he can spend, not only on his throat, but on the throats of others too.

Wape kila mtu mbilimbili hapa—give everybody two-two. A man utters that and, instantly, he becomes the most respected man at the table… unless, of course, a tougher drinker gives a subsequent round of the same nature and when the number of tablemates has increased from four to six.

Now if you’ve a keen ear, you’re likely to hear a lady tell a fellow woman seated next to her: “Huyu ndiye mwanamme.” Oh yeah, the other woman will agree.

They’re in effect suggesting that of all the guys at the table, only the fellow who has ordered an obscene round, is a real man. Mwanamme ni pesa!

For reasons that only drinkers seem to understand, buying booze is considered a mark of greatness. And the more one buys, the more respect one earns from fellow drinkers.

Smart fellows exploit this thinking and wangle beer out of others, fellows we can liken to praise singers a.k.a. court poets, who know that flattery can win one anything.

Old readers of this old column are sure to know them—smart, clever fellows who will call you “boss” while the fact is, you’re a nobody at your workplace.

Yeah, they’ll address you as mkurugenzi when you’re actually a junior clerk at the company you were questionably employed, thanks to your aunt’s close association—sssh!—with the actual mkurugenzi. It’s called technical know-who or something like that.

Some guys are very susceptible to empty praise, to the extent they’ll actually bend overly backward to buy a huge round of drinks, even when they don’t have the money. How do they do it?

It’s easy when you’re at a grocery where you enjoy some amount of trust.

You simply talk nicely to the manager who will instruct the akaunta to give you what you want and record your bill on which you’ll append your name and signature. Simple.

But of course, a most foolish thing to do, if you ask Wa Muyanza, that is, buying booze—of all things—on credit! But what can a man do when his good reputation is at stake? Good reputation, oh yeah? Ha! Ha! Ha!

East Africa’s King of Twist, Daudi Kabaka in his song ‘Mwisho wa Mwezi’, refers to such conduct as seeking ‘’madaraka ya ulevini’’. Delusions of bossmanship that partakers of alcohol seek to acquire, or even proclaim, at drinking places. Some, even when they’re not yet drunk.

It’s clear this is the kind of experience that has influenced this other fellow who, as soon as you set your foot at this grocery you regularly patronise, shoots up from his chair and greets you very ceremonially.

“Welcome sir; mzee wetu; you’re most welcome,’’ he says while giving you a huge bear hug. It’s like you and him are the best of buddies in the whole of Bongoville, kumbe wapi!

He then turns towards his table and introduces you to people who actually happen to be more accustomed to you than he and you accustomed to each other. You might say the guy is introducing you to your friends. Pombe!

“You guys, meet Mzee Muya…the most accomplished pressman in Bongo… he’s unbeatable, that’s why I give tip-offs for big stories to no one but him…I swear he’s the greatest…” he says and continues to tells more lies about your journalistic prowess, linking you to stories which, according to him, shook the country. Uwongo!

You’re sure the other drinkers take him least seriously, more so after he associates you with a newspaper they know you don’t work for presently. Interestingly, nobody bothers to correct him, just as you don’t. Why should anyone bother?

He concludes his lengthy intro by inviting you to his table of six occupants. Of course, you decline—as politely as you possibly can. He sadly accepts your excuse and, leading you to where you’ve chosen to sit—at the counter— he says in a whisper: “Bro, my ATM outlet has let me down… can you afford to lend me, say 20 thou? I’ll refund you tomorrow… I need to buy a round at our table, just like other men.”

You say sorry, informing him you can only afford 10 thou. He says it’s okay.