Reporter
James, not his real name, won Ksh 10 million in a football bet a few years ago.
He shared his painful ordeal with Mwanahabari Reporter.
STORY STARTS. I only agreed to be paraded on the television, and my pictures circulated around the world holding to a dummy cheque because I was told it was a requirements.
I had tried to oppose this, but then I realised it was important for the betting company that I do it. In fact, all previous winners had paused of the camera.
That day, as I was busy receiving my cheque, my mobile phone was busy buzzing in my pockets. One would mistake me for a customer care agent at a very busy call centre later that day.
I didn’t pick the pastor’s call
I received calls from my mother, my mother’s sister and her entire brood, also there was this aunt I had last seen when I was in Class 1 in Kariobangi. She called me alot.
Our church pastor called, and so did the choirmaster; a very fine woman. I didn’t pick the pastor’s call, but he sent a message reminding me of my pious obligation of tythe.
My former classmates, most of whom had bullied me in class also placed a call, a good 200 of them. Some sounded drunk, actually most of them.
My landlord called, I guess she feared I would be tempted to leave my humble abode in Eastlands to move to Kileleshwa.
The girls suddenly loved me
Of course I was going to move to Karen, or so I thought. Those little smoky walls in Eastlands could not contain my excitement, and fear.
Did I tell you that my former class teacher called? He did! Mr. Onyango was the reason I failed in mathematics, but here he was claiming that the bet was proof that his lessons on probability had worked on me.
He talked about this interesting idea, that he wanted me to fund, something about importing chameleon saliva from Uganda. I remember sending him some money to cool his head as I discussed the idea with myself.
Truth is that I received a call from virtually everyone. The girls suddenly loved me, or rather loved my money, and they would throw themselves at me. I smashed them… big, small, medium, large and extra-large, so many times I lost count.
I learned one thing
My little stick became sore and painful, but remember that with every girl went a good chunk of my money. I learned one thing, that sex is only good in small doses. In fact, it kills. It almost killed me.
I loved the bars. Sometimes, all the time, I would carry nothing less that Sh150,000 in my pockets. I ruled the pubs, brothels and virtually anything worth ruling.
I bought a car, well, not just a car, but a serious machine. The kind that gobbles fuel, not the small things that sniffs at fuel. It cost me tones of money to buy that beast of an automobile, maintain and even park it. It was not the kind of car you park outside – and sleep in the house.
I hired a driver
Since I didn’t know how to drive, I hired a driver. I was told he used to drive some moneyed politician. But looking back, I have a feeling I was conned. I think this was some broke former matatu drive.
Like the rest, they all needed my money.
By the sixth month, more than half of the money was gone. I began to fear. Sleep would desert me.
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