Threat of being shamed on ‘Dead Beat Kenya’ almost made me wet pants

Last week Kenyan men woke to news that would drastically transform the way they deal with mpango wa kando (secret lovers) business.

Most of us were eager to find out if we were listed among the many sperm donors on a certain Facebook page called ‘Dead Beat Kenya’.

Frao was the first one to alert me about the #deadbeatdads. “Dude, you have been busted by Polly,” he told me in a text message. I was in a meeting, and I was the one taking minutes. I tensed up. I was confused. I was angry. I began sweating. I was not hearing anything. My world was swirling in circular motion.

I tried to scribble on a paper fully knowing that the lady seated next to me had managed to steal a glance at my phone, and had seen the message. I ignored her. She nudged me. When I looked up, I met eye to eye with my boss. Masikonde, are you okay? Huh? Sure I mumbled.

sweetly asked

Apparently my boss had asked me a question and in my confusion I had not even heard it. That explained my workmate’s animated nudging.

“Please come again,” I asked my boss sweetly, never mind I have always considered it taboo to tell a lady to ‘come again’ in a conversation. Can we have the retreat in two weeks’ time? I said sure, not even knowing what was going on. “Are you sure?” she asked somewhat concerned.

“Well, my mind had trailed off...” I confessed. As soon as the meeting was over, I called Frao. The son of a woman, fully knowing the kind of turmoil I was going through, disconnected my call with the Android standard reply, “I can’t pick your call now. What’s up?”

work station

Ati What’s up?! My damn world, perfectly arranged was under attack! I called a second time. He sent back the same message. I got more worked up. “PICK UP YOU FOOL!” I wrote with trembling hands. By now I was chewing my fingers, my nails were long gone.

I went to the washroom. Nothing came out. I tried to push the way they do in labour wards. Still... nothing! I went back to my work station, and resigned myself to my fate as I waited for Frao’s call.

The bugger finally called after half an hour. It felt like half a year. “Bro, things are not good!” He said in such a solemn tone you would have thought he was a priest presiding over a funeral. “What is it bwana,” I growled.

“Do you remember your ex Pauline?” Fool, who forgets his ex, especially if the break up was dramatic? I asked myself but I wouldn’t share the same thoughts with Frao, lest he hoarded more information.

“I just spoke to her...” I cut him short. “Frao, you still speak to that b!%c#?” I said it in such a ruthless manner that I’m am sure he immediately did what he is fond of doing; putting the phone on loud speaker at arm’s length.

kneel down

“Listen, please” he pleaded his case. “She called me and asked me whether she should put you on the D ead Beat Kenya page.” I had not even heard about the page. “What is that? Some sort of a competition thing or what?” I asked.

“Tony, instead of being sarcastic, you should be thanking me. In fact, you should kneel down, kiss my leather boots and worship the ground that I walk on,” he boasted.

“Why?” I asked. “I prevailed upon her not to put you on the page. Just Google it,” he concluded.