1. This is how I remember it. Walking in town. Earbuds plugged in. I feel like Sakaja after I have dumped trash at someone’s door. That will show them! So this is what it feels like to be a power bottom? I am in a good mood. Someone stops me, but this is Nairobi so I keep it moving. Nobody stops in Nairobi. Only a fool. He taps me again. I stop. He says I look nice. I realise how craved I have been for compliments because at that point I was willing to follow him. But this is Nairobi. And I know my worth.

2. I am from Mamlaka Hill Chapel, kando ya Klabu, and, their mandazi is the truth with a capital T. I have eaten it hundreds of times, but it still feels like a small miracle every time, like the conversion of Saul of Tarsus.

3. Learning is much harder when you are older. I am in class with sombreros in their early 20s. Some are 19. I feel like Methuselah. They get things chap chap. Like this. It’s like they learn through osmosis. Some can miss three days, continuously. Come back like nothing happened. Putz! Did I ever miss a class in my early 20s? No. Mostly because I was never in class in my early 20s.

4. We wore uniform to class today. I have a thing for uniforms. Nurses, police officers, convicts…I mean convictions!

5. A good uniform makes a statement without you opening your mouth. It says, I’m on a mission. I know what I am doing. People respect the uniform. It’s social training. Pavlovian conditioning. They react: step aside, look down, or up, they make room for you. Have you ever seen a priest stand in a matatu? I suppose it is sacrilegious to say this—though I’m obviously way past caring about that now—but people think it’s because priests own cars. No way, Jose! It’s the uniform! Nobody wants to go to hell. And what is a better way to assure yourself a seat in heaven than to give up your one on a matatu for a priest?

6. I used to hate uniforms growing up. It made me feel regular. Like part of the Gen Pop. Watuz.

7. All the things I had hated when I was young, I wanted now. Yet all day I am someone else, and so I’d eaten my childhood.

8. You don’t make much as a bartender. Not in Kenya anyway. It’s not that bad though, but the worry of being thrown onto the street consumes the residents of mansions no less than those who dwell in slums.

9. It’s hard to be gangster when you are wearing white shoes.

10. Walking in Nairobi is a dying art. Nduthi guys on suicide watch would rather lose a limb, a leg or their life than let you pass ahead of them; matatu drivers with personality disorders, someone trying to pinch your pocket, short girls with foreheads digging into your pelvis…it’s a lot. And all this while mirror panelled buildings fling the wink of a merciless sun back into your eyes.

11. People often ask me why I am taking a Barista and Bartending Course. Nobody asks a lawyer why they chose law. Or a doctor why they are doctoring. Somehow they just assume they know what they are doing. Me? I’m not that kind of guy. Of course I know what I am doing. Mostly. I do this for the gossip. I hear some shit I shouldn’t. I hear some things said that must be said. I have ears, so I hear.

12. Also the tips. “Kijana, follow your passion. Money doesn’t buy happiness.” “Wear clean underwear in case you are in an accident.” “You should invest in Crypto Bro. It’s taking off in Kenya.” So I save his number—it’s always a he—and then I see his WhatsApp DP is a picture of him sat on a stool.

13. Wearing clean underwear is actually a good tip. You never know who’s watching. Hear word, oh. Your underwear is your true you, your true worth. At least, that’s how I remember it.