#WeAreOne: SPONSORS' LIVES MATTER

The other day I was driving to the village. So, I decided to pull aside into some restaurant in Naivasha to have a snack in the name of pizza, which some people gladly call food. My eyes hovered around and easily rested on some fine girl, seated alone with a couple of high-end phones before her. She was sipping some juice. 

My heart never skipped a bit like it used to do in my primary school compositions – this time round it stopped completely! She was fine to the bone. I concluded that those people that died before simply seeing her were actually in an unnecessary hurry to return to their maker. 

This beautiful lass made me almost agree with Jehovah witness guys that heaven is actually here on earth. I saw some nice hips, lips and fingertips that could even heal the sick. Maybe for pro—bono purposes, she stood and walked all the way from the side extension of the restaurant, across the main restaurant and into some car; she picked something and then was back to her seat. All this while I had sufficiently ‘eaten with my eyes’; this is the time you pity Chinese people for sure.

By the time she got back we were just finishing talking about her with my pals and as soon as she rested her generous sitting allowance on the plastic chair, set her bewitching dashboard for public scrutiny with two excited boobs scrambling for the rays of the sun way above her collar and only converging to birth a deep and sexy cleavage, a heavy built nigga came around with food. The man looked like money, smelt money and made us look like some lost boys arriving from fishing in the village river – with no fish. 

The man was of age – the kind that God could have used to lead the Israelites from bondage in Egypt. He looked like he probably had a wife whose hair had begun graying like the guy’s beard. The guy had a bald shave on his head – they do it to conceal the stubborn white hair. He probably had children older than this girl and perhaps I was actually age-fit for the girl but that’s a story for another day- At least by now I know where my rib has been long lost. This man evidently had a vibrant relationship with money; they knew each other and money had found safety in his hands. Probably with my earnings I need to live and die about seventy times to get somewhere close to him. Anyway, Mungu mwenye alimpa ndiye alininyima.

This guy was probably a sponsor. And this is my story for today. I pay due cognizance to the pains and perils of sponsors, their feelings and determination. I stand with sponsors. It is not their fault. Money just arrived late and somehow it still wants to be used. Honestly, there is nothing bad in a man’s life like money arriving too late in life – it guides your fragile bones where your heart dreads. It literary turns you into Jesus and you can feed multitudes when that campus girl arrives at Dusit in the company of Carol, Kate, Pesh, Kish, Tish, Mish, Shish and all the other ishs she could gather. Sponsors grew up in bad times; at the time girls dressed like they were going for a night vigil daily, today our girls dress like they are going to take a shower in town – what do you want Mr. Sponsor to do? 

You know life is just interesting: when you are young you have energy and time but you don’t have money, when you are in middle age you have energy and money but you don’t have time, when you are old you have money and time but no energy – and then God says he will still judge us and throw some into everlasting fire, yaayee, God, haven’t we suffered enough already?

It is a high time we officially recognize Sponsors as a tribe in Kenya – a minority tribe, a special interest group at that. Let’s work closely with them for cohesion purposes, let’s seek partnerships with them to be able to attain our collective goals as members of the infamous Mafisi Sacco – Sponsors are here to stay whether you like their faces (which are often not good) or not.

In case you have been directly wronged by a sponsor, like say, he took your girl; please exercise restraint and remember that vengeance belongs to the Lord. Work hard, make money and when you are grown, rich and affluent, his daughter will be ripe for the game. As for now, Nairobi men, I appeal to you to maintain calm and step aside to pave way for sponsors’ investigations on your girls.

Alenga Torosterdt.