The Guy With Unfinished Business.

Let’s say you know a guy. This guy is young, he has to be, because there’s an age you reach and people can no longer refer to you as ‘guy’. He’s about 30 years old. A modern guy. By modern, I mean he drives a Subaru. No, scratch that, that’s too much of a cliché. He does own a car but it’s certainly not a Subaru and no, he doesn’t call it ‘my moti’. It’s a modest car, like his manners. By all accounts, he is just an ordinary fella eking a living in a big city people love to refer to as ‘hii ni town’.

Like most guys, he has dreams and ambitions, the kind that come to the big city to die. He probably wanted to start a family by the time he hit 30. A loyal wife, a son who takes after him, and a daughter who thinks the world of him. Like most guys, he expected his career to peak early. He wanted to retire early too, and move the family to a part of the country where July doesn’t feel like you moved closer to the North Pole. He imagined it would be around the coast where he’d be able to spend his days on the beach with a cold one in his hand and his wife by his side, and nights by the bar sipping whiskey with men who have made it like himself. He pictured his weekends spent in solitude typing away at a philosophical autobiography of a life not just lived but lived well.

Before the coronavirus pandemic hit you used to convene a kikao with the guy over a cold one and you’d catch up about life, soccer, women and everything else that guys talk about.  There was this time he spoke about a new farming project he had embarked on and you saw his eyes light up as he illustrated how his project was the ‘next big thing’ because he had ‘done his research and knew you could never go wrong with farming because everybody needs to eat”.

You remember wondering what happened to yet another ‘project’ he had begun a few months prior to the kikao so you queried, ”Kwani uliamua aje na ile project ingine? You were to open an online shop or something”, 

”Hiyo niliacha Bro. It was too hard and the market was saturated. Lakini hii ingine, hii imeweza”, he intimated as he beckoned the waiter to bring another round of drinks.

You spotted the pattern – another good idea that had to fall in line next to a litany of ideas abandoned for the ‘next big thing’.

”What about the online magazine you said you’d start”, you quipped.

”Achana na stori ya magazine msee. I’ve outgrown that ****. Besides, nani husoma magazine siku hizi”. 

”Ulisema umefanya research na unajua utapata ready target audience”, you reminded him.

Ah, we wacha. Magazine ni kazi mingi. Hii farming ndio real deal”, he blurted out, throwing hands in the air defensively.

You left it at that because there’s only much you can do to stand in the way of a guy who has decided to do something. Or to quit something.

You changed the subject. ”Did you patch things up with the June?”, you asked, hoping to liven the mood. June was a girl he’d met and swore she was the one he’d tie the know with for a happily ever after kind of life.

”Achana na huyo”, he retorted.

”Kwani what happened?”, you pose.

Stori ya madem ni tricky msee”. 

You left it at that, knowing that maybe prayer, would save this guy from being like most guys with hopes, dreams and ambitions in their minds, but unfinished businesses to show for it.

Till next time.

The Exit Plan

The Masks We Wear

High Stakes

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  1. Good read

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