Boys just wanna have fun


Have you ever stood on Mama Ngina street, right outside International House, and one of the guards on the front steps is tapping on his phone, and a lady in a long dress is walking into the building and the sun has gone behind some clouds and a gentle breeze is blowing and the hoisted flags are flapping, and the fountain is ejaculating water from the spouts, and it rumbles on into the evening in concentric circles, and by some thoughtful design it never spills out of the pool, and it feels like time has stopped, and all you want to do is take a piss?

That’s how it was when I saw skater boy. He had frozen time with his skateboard, and the more I watched him the more I wanted him to fall over.

I was on my usual rounds in Kitengela. This time I had taken a back route to come out on the other side of the main road. This path had less dust and even less foot traffic. The chances of getting run over by a bodaboda were slim. There were kiosks and houses and kinyozis and things, the sun was out in all its glory.

Skater Boy sported a green tee. He was standing among a group of other boys, watching another boy take a run at his skateboard.

Their playground was a concrete floor outside an orange-walled building with blue metallic windows. The windows were shut. There was a single door that lay open, leading to a dark corridor.

The skateboard was improvised; nothing more than a plank of wood and a set of wheels from actual skates. The plank had been stitched with black tape, like it had been broken a few times. The wheels rolled on the concrete with a hollow-sounding growl, and the boy atop it looked like he was having the time of his life.

Skater Boy stood motionless and erect on the doorway. He was about 10 years old and he had a sanctimonious look on his face, that look that’s familiar with all boys who let other boys use their toys.

He minded how the other boy skated. He looked impatient. It seemed like he felt pain just seeing another boy on his board. He wanted to get back on his skateboard.

I felt jealous, really. I’ve always wanted to ride on a skateboard. I envied Skater Boy for his craft. And I was this close to walking up to him and asking him if I could give it a try.

Across the road was a nursery school – Rare Green Talent School. There were colorful paintings on the perimeter wall, pictures of happy children with teddy bears and ponytails. The name of that school struck me as funny. Rare Green Talent.

What was this rare green talent, anyway? Am I guaranteed that my child will come out of there with this rare green talent? How did the teachers go about discovering this rare green talent? Did they include a lot of greens in the diet? And how much do I have to pay for this rare green talent? How many greens will I have to cough up?

Maybe Skater Boy had gone to Rare Green, and there he discovered he had a knack for making things. And his rare green talent was designing skateboards.

Also watching the boys was an elderly woman seated by a fruit stand. She had pineapples and onions and tomatoes and carrots. Her produce had been piled together, interwoven like the materials for a nest. A bunch of bananas dangled from a point above the stand. She had placed herself on the far end of the orange building.

I wondered what she’d think if I asked Skater Boy for a spot on the board. Was she Skater Boy’s mom? Was she proud of her boy’s rare green talent?

At some point Skater Boy picked up the board and put it under his armpit. The game halted. The moment became still. The mood changed. A dark shadow came over them. There were pleas to resume the game. “Mi next. Mi next.”

Skater Boy looked at them with a dead expression on his face, almost as if deciding who should go next. You could tell he enjoyed sapping the fun out of the game, being all smug and shit. Everyone jostled. Everyone wanted to go next.

I hoped he’d see me and ask if I wanted to go next. But he didn’t. Instead he walked away, with the board still under his arm, and the other boys followed him like a pack of dogs. It was revolting to watch, really. How could one boy command so much power? How many other rare green talents did he have? Couldn’t he just let the other boys have fun?

Later I would chance upon two high school kids walking home. They were maroon-uniformed and slow-paced. It was around 5:30p.m and I was coming to the last turn that would bring me back to the main road. Once in a while the boy would throw an arm over the girl’s shoulders.

There was a black gate up ahead, and the couple looked to go inside. Only, they didn’t open the gate, or knock, or do anything at all. Their actions looked suspicious to me, and I wondered what they were up to.

They both went silent when I walked past. There was something fishy going on. I had a lot of time on my hands. I wanted to see what they were up to. So what I did, I walked along for a bit then turned around, going back the way I came.

The couple was standing closer to the gate now. I fancied the boy was walking the girl home. Romance and gallantry was in the air. They hugged, lingering on each other’s bodies like they were afraid to let go. They hugged and hugged, and they were still in each other’s embrace when I walked along.

Then the sun slid behind a dark cloud. All the shadows disappeared. The air was saturated with a fine bouquet of silence. It was like International House all over again. A fresh touch of fantasy had been added, and it felt like someone in up heaven had turned down the light with a fat knob.

For a moment I mused that God had gone to sleep. And that if Skater Boy was to get on his board now he’d surely fall over. No rare green talent could save him.

I turned around again to look at the couple. And just as I suspected, they were up to some cheeky business.

They were making out. The girl had her hand around the boy’s neck. The boy had his around her waist –interlocking lips, swapping saliva, touching tongues.

(I’m so nosy, gosh.)

But boy was I excited, not only for the young couple but because it suddenly dawned on me that I had never witnessed such a shameless public display of affection. It’s always in a movie. And if there’s some kissing going on around me I’m usually too drunk to notice. Otherwise I’m the one swapping saliva.

And then I thought maybe God hadn’t gone to sleep after all. Maybe He was just setting the mood for those two love birds. So He turned the knob and smiled cheekily, thinking, Atta boy, have yourself some fun.

Mike blogs at www.mikemuthaka.com

Next Monday
Pump Man

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Florence Bett-Kinyatti


Columnist Saturday Nation Writer Craft It Author of best-selling ‘SHOULD I?’ and ‘HOW MUCH?’ ~ Guiding word: Overdrive Subscribe to our Newsletter👇🏾 eepurl.com/igmN8P
  • Dear God, 
It’s me again.

I don’t pray as often as I need to, You know that. I don’t kneel by my bed in child-like humility, as Muna does. I don’t whisper a prayer in the morning. Or at noon. Perhaps just in the evening. 

This going-to-church habit is a constant false start. So is reading the Word. 

I’m often guilty but I also know: You and I have a language only we can understand. 

I speak to You through this gift You bestowed upon my Kale shoulders, this gift to write in colour. It’s a gift that sometimes feels like a curse, a burden I have no choice but to pursue. 

Yet other times – most times, actually – it’s the very breath of my essence. Everyday I sit to write, when the words flow from my head and heart through my fingers to the page, I feel You next to me. 

You are here, Lord. Hovering. Lingering. Swooshing about in Your regal robes, like a character from Bridgerton.

Sometimes You get so close I can feel You breathing on my neck and I’m like, ‘Err, God, do You mind, personal space?’

And You chuckle uncomfortably. ‘He-he, of course. Of course.’

I’m here to tell You, Thanks!

I hosted my first in-person event last March, Lord, thank You to all the lovely ladies who granted me their time and full attention. 

I’ve carried them in my heart since and every day, my prayer is that You bring them closer to the life of abundance they each seek. To their own version of wealth. 

I always call them by their name: Becky. Purity. Lindsay. Wangui. Naomi. Shiqow. Mercy. Liz. Winnie. Polly. Nduta. Lynet. 

And Mike. 

Dear Lord, I’m prepping for my next in-person event in June, Inshallah. 

Walk with me as I get there. 

Love always,

  • Highlights from our first-ever in person event hosted by Craft It and @financialfitbit 
Thanks to all the lovely ladies — and gent, hehe — who honoured us with the privilege of their time and attention. And colourful energy. It’s been weeks since and it’s only now that I’m coming down from the high. 

Thank YOU!

🎥 @mikemuthaka 

#craftit #author #MakeYourMoneyMatter #personalfinance #money
  • I am a woman.

I’m strong. I’m brilliant. I’m like a comet shooting across the sky, I’m so bright you have to put on shades to see me.

I’m almost 40, I’m almost fully realising myself as a woman and the power of womanhood I possess.

I’m so powerful that if KPLC connected me to the national grid, I’d power up this country and we’d never have another blackout.

Ho! Ho! Ho!


To recognize and celebrate International Women’s Day today, I’d like to recognize and celebrate eight women.

I have eight things to give away to each of these women:
a) Two tickets to my upcoming event on March 18 with @financialfitbit Theme is ‘Make your money matter’
b) Three autographed copies of my book ‘Should I?’
c) Three autographed copies of my other book ‘How Much?’

To participate:
1. Like this post
2. Tag women who deserve a win of either event ticket or book (tag as many women as you like)
3. Tell us what you’d like her to win and why she deserves the win
4. Make sure your tagged women follow @_craftit and @financialfitbit 

Here are the rules for the giveaway:
— One woman, one win
— Winners will be contacted via DM
— Giveaway closes at the end of this week, Inshallah, on Sunday 12 March
— Only open to people living in Kenya

All the best!

(Swipe right to see the women I’m celebrating.)

#craftit #internationalwomensday
  • My 2022 word of the year was Wholesome. 

Wholesome meant engaging in moderation and in pursuits that didn’t leave me feeling yucky.

An example: there’re weekend nights I’d go out then have too much to drink. On the drive home, I’d tell GB to stop the car every half mile so I could throw up on the side of the road. Then I’d take three working days recovering. 


No more of that nonsense.

Now I have only two doubles of Singleton whiskey and chase it with water. I eat less food and I eat better. I take my supplements. I treat myself to an early bedtime and arise with my body clock, no alarm.

I spend a lot more time hanging with my kids, Muna and Njeeh. 

I buy fewer things. 

I play the piano. 

I created a disciplined routine for my work and take Thursdays off. 

You catch my drift…

Wholesome has become my lifestyle. 

(By the way, I was asked, ‘Where does this word-of-the-year come from, Bett?’ I don’t know about other people but for me, the words present themselves when I’m journaling. My spirit tells me what it needs; I must be still enough to listen and brave enough to obey.)

My word for 2023 is Overdrive.

My two books have unlocked new opportunities for me as a writer and creative. As an urban brand. I’d honestly not foreseen them. 

I know that if I adjust my sails to where the wind is blowing, these opportunities will translate to wealth.

Last Friday, I listed all the work I’m already doing and all the new opportunities – potential and realised – knocking at my door.

I asked myself, ‘What am I taking up here and what am I dropping?’

The response, ‘None – we go into overdrive and smartly pursue them all.’

#craftit #urbanguide
  • Years ago, my best friend said to me, ‘Bett, we’re almost 40 – forget makeup, let’s take care of our skin instead.’

I had to laugh because this was coming from Terry. Terry my Kisii pal, this fine gyal with skin the colour of honey, the only practising SDA in my circle. 

Terry had spent her 20s and early 30s sleek with Arimis. That’s right, the milking jelly with a lactating cow on its logo. 

Arimis addressed all her skin pickles back then. It was her problem fixer. Her Olivia Pope. It’s the one thing that always said, It’s handled.

Now here she was preaching to us about a consistent skincare regimen in the AM and PM.


It wasn’t until Terry shared her selfies on our girls WhatsApp group that I stopped laughing. It wasn’t until we stood next her – and took these selfies – that I reeally stopped laughing: Terry’s skin was youthful and toned, plump. Hydrated. Moistured but not shiny. 

It looked like it had been kissed by the Greek goddess of radiance. 

So we gathered around her feet and said, ‘Forgive us, master. We are ready now. Teach us everything you know.’

She did. 

Terry and I now spend plenty of time before work and before bed squeezing out little portions of expensive skincare products from expensive tubes, we layer them on our face in a calculated measure.

This serum here is for the circles under my eyes and the fine lines around my mouth.

Turns out I’ve been giving away too much of my face: I’ve been looking too hard, laughing too easily.

I’ll have to spend the next year into my 40s with my eyes half shut and laughing little. I'll have a resting bitch face.

Don’t blame me, blame the retinol.

And age.

#craftit #urbanguide #urbangirl
  • I’m Bett. I’m the author of your favourite books about money. I’m hosting an in-person event in March, Inshallah: This is my personal invite to you.

#craftit #moneymaker #moneyinkenya
  • I am hosting my first money event this March, Inhsallah. It’s the first of quarterly events I have planned for the year. 

(Give me a moment here so I pull myself together long enough to write this. I’m smiling very hard right now, ha-ha, I look like a donkey.)


The event will be in-person. On a Saturday morning, a loose three hours which, I am certain, you’d have burned on some other pursuit you couldn’t account for later. (I’d probably be oiling the hinges of a squeaky door or decluttering my sock drawer.)

My guest host for this edition is Lynet Kyalo. 

Lynet is a personal finance coach under her brand @financialfitbit She also hosts @getyourbagrightpodcast 

Buy your tickets from our Market.

Early bird tickets are discounted until the end of this month.

Limited slots available. 

#craftit #millenialmoney #moneyevent #moneymaker
  • Sometimes I sit down and read my own book. 

Odd, huh?

Reading my own stories is like an out-of-body experience. Or getting introduced to myself again. An outward journey inward.

It’s fascinating.

I also read because I need to improve my writing for my next project.

We call them the Elements of Craft: things like sentence structure and punctuation, word placement, story length etc, they all inform your reading experience.

This is what makes the book easy to read, and has you turning the pages.

Cop your autographed copy and #betteryourmoney 

#craftit #howmuch #millenialmoney #moneymaker

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