The wannabes: Boring wannabes who talk big

I had a bizarre text conversation with this wannabe called Ojowa the other day. ‘Do me a favour,’ he texted. ‘I need the contact of your top HR person right now!!!’

‘Would you mind telling me what it is all about?’ I said, all the while with a one in a million chance of actually hunting down HR contacts to give to this Ojowa feller (he is one of those big talking bores in whose company you will not only not enjoy your beer, but in all likelihood pay for his afterwards).

I think it is very unfair that boring wannabes get to talk big and drink beer on your bill.

If it was up to me, they would be picked up by those psycho cops of Mwingi, driven to a thicket and shot seven times in the chest. And if they somehow survived and staggered to the road, and a good Samaritan picked them up and took them to hospital, the same psycho cops would follow them there – and polish them off in the small hours of the morning.

Seriously, though, those kind of Good Samaritans can only be found in Mwingi, and the general Ukambani area. If it was Nairobi, and you crawled out of the bush, bleeding from bullets and begging for help, your supposed saviour would speed off.

Not so much because they think you are a decoy thug covered in tomato sauce, (although that is also possible). But because they are wondering who will pay for Zarovi Car Wash after you have bled like a pig into the springs of their nice back seat.

‘I cannot tell you much. But I want to merge my newspaper The Walker Daily with the SMG, and I believe I have the business negotiation skills to do it,’ Ojowa texted me.

Not one to pass a chance to ‘enjoy’ a wannabe fantasist, I called Ojowa up: ‘The Walker Daily, buddy? Have you been drinking Johnny Walker, daily?’

‘Be careful how you talk to me, Tony!’ Ojowa warned me. ‘After the merger, you may find yourself an employee of Ojowa Media & Telecommunications Holding Company.’

Now I was beyond Johnny Walker – my suspicions tending towards chang’aa, followed by a long session of smoking ngomi (weed) – as Ojowa warmed up to the madness and fantasies resident in his head.

‘I already own Jambiani Beach Hotel in Zanzibar after months of hustling. My main international businesses petroleum, minerals and property, have good returns. With one oil shipment from Russia or Iran I can gross fifty billion bob. My dream of Ojowa Group, a global business empire, is ripening. Now all I need is your help to meet your HR; and branch into media to consolidate my conglomerate.’

‘Big Boss,’ I whispered respectfully, ‘but didn’t I spot you at bus station the other day hopping into a matatu?’ This, by the way, is a word by word transcript of our conversation, outlandish as it sounds.

Ojowa hesitated for a second, cleared his throat, then said with uncertainty.

‘That’s why we people from Western Kenya remain poor, Mochama, and workers for Kiuks (sic). Investments first, luxuries later.’

I had had, and heard, enough. ‘Enjoy your wannabe fantasies, buddy, but no way I’m introducing you to anyone. Na nani alikuambia eti Wakisii are busy working for wasapere? Jipe shugli – join the a prown chaget challenge.’

You’ve all met futuristic fake fantasists like these, wannabes who always talk of their bright tomorrows. Residents of dreamland! How can you brag about future ‘achievements’, in all honesty?

Like Nike said, first, Just Do It!

tonyadamske@gmail.com