Your kids are millennials, internet kids, they are fast, impatient, nearly uncontrollable, lazy and with no self-drive. They’ve been taught how company law works, why a mitochondrion is so important in the human body, but they’ve not been taught how to make and manage money.
Two Fridays ago, after clearing my second last semester, I walked out of campus at around 1.00 am, a fresh cigarette keeping me company during that dark and cold Rongai night. I took myself to Ongata Rongai town with the key intention of doing the things (save for smoking weed and fornicating) university folks do to let some steam off.
Together with some friends, I found my idle self at a club on your way to Kiserian. I bought a beer at the entrance and the distasteful sight of underage students dancing like baboons on heat hit my eyes with a resounding bang.
I sit at the counter. Always. My pops: a former teacher and whisky enthusiast had me remember to do so when in a pub.
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The revellers were aged between seventeen and twenty-one. Few had a drink. Others were drinking from the same beer bottle and incidentally, all of them had one dance style for each song that blared from the speakers. Odi Dance. If I was a lady and my boyfriend Odi dances, I’d be a silly sad girl!
Then scores of the boys in there had neither style nor decorum whatsoever in asking a girl to dance with them. They simply sneaked behind the girl and begun rubbing their groins on the girl’s buttocks.
In five minutes, my bottle of Pilsner empty, I walk out of the club. I bump into a couple fighting, a boy carrying his supposed girlfriend and a group of girls being picked up by a man in a Toyota Noah. College life is the best.
As parents lie in bed each night, their children pursuing higher education live a lie.
