Kenyans drink all the time; to celebrate, to mourn and or for no good reason. Scattered all over Nairobi are pubs and bars. Each estate has at least a pub or pubs nearby. If not you’ll never miss a wines and spirit joint at a corner. Here, you Kenyans will drink away their sorrows or happiness.

According to my observation here are some of the types of drunkards.

The cool drunkards

These are the people who will out drink everyone in the pub but will maintain their cool like they are sober. They won’t walk around making noise like primary school kids during break time. In fact every bottle they take seems to increase their sobriety. These chaps can drive their vehicles safely back home.

'Mike Tyson' drunkards

You know of those people, minutes after taking a sip, starts feeling like he can knock down Floyd Mayweather. Once the devil’s piss hits their head, they become invincible. You don’t want to risk their ire. Blows will rain on you if you slightly differ with them. These kinds of people are probably being bossed around by their wives, and their try to square out in bars because naturally they are cowards.

Those who will reveal all their secrets

These are my favourite kind of people. Once high, they’ll tell you everything. They’ll tell how, where and when they first had sex and with whom. They tell you in graphic terms until you can picture it yourself like an actual blue movie. And their families too. They bare all. Every single weakness and mistake they have.

Most importantly they’ll give you their m-pesa pin number. If you are a good friend you’ll respect the secret information but if you aren’t you will wipe everything off their account and act like nothing happened.

Flirty drunkards

They’ll approach every single woman in the pub. If she declines (of course they often do) he will yell expletives, something about how dirty her cookies are. They’ll repeat the same process again and again until they are overcome by the amount of alcohol in their system.

The lone drunkards

It’s rare to find a lone person drinking. Every so often you’ll find a bunch of groupies seated around a table, even going further to merge tables to fit their numbers. They’ll laugh loudly at half-jokes especially made by the ‘sponsor’ to make him feel good about himself or motivate his wallet. But then you’ll find a lone man, sipping his beer silently by the corner, contemplating about his problems or probably how to tame the runaway corruption in the government. A hero of some sorts, you know.

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