The Wannabes: Return of the summer bunnies

This is becoming something of an annual rite for me, writing about the summer bunnies - like Madaraka Day, or like having Halloween on Christmas.

Every time I try not to write about these wannabes, they pull me back in! Or fix and fasten themselves on my table. Like this wannabe the other day - let’s call him Austin because he ‘comes from Australia,’ never mind that Austin is actually my ancestral kinsman.

I was at my table in the company of two colleagues, ladies whom I run into at the local that very day, and discovered we are actually neighbours. We bought a bottle of wine to split three way as we talked shop.

Punde si punde, here came Mr Austin - and with little invite, plonked himself on our table. ‘Hi, pretty ladies and gentleman, I just came from Aussie a few hours ago and was told this place (Nerkwo) has the best nyam chom.’ Here, Austin took a big sip of his Tusker, and burped.

That’s the first thing about summer bunny returnees. They imagine that we Nairobians/Kenyans are very friendly, that we have missed them sooo much and want to welcome them with open arms.

“I left Kenya in 2008 for Queensland, in the Land down Under, when the PEV became too much. Do you know where that is?”

That’s the second thing about summer bunny wannabes.

They think they are the only ones who have seen or ‘been places’ and that we born Kenyans think Nairobi is the world’s biggest city. I could not resist, and said to Austin.

‘I only know queen’s Landing (an in-joke for those who watch ‘Game of Thrones’) and isn’t the land down under those unspeakable, unwashable places in one’s underwear?’

Ignoring my wit, if I’ll say so myself, Austin went on.

‘I was in school in Brisbane for primary, then Alliance for seco, then I went to the UK for university before winning a masters to the USA.’

My bullshit ‘wannabe’ detector was now in high alert.

‘I also was in Alliance,’ I lied. Which year did you leave?’

A look of panic got ensnared in his eye. I could see Austin desperately trying to size up my age, so he could say another date outside of my ‘Alliance’ experience.

He went for the topic changer, gazing firmly at my lady colleague for whom he clearly had the summer bunny hots.

‘In Aussie, I make about six thousand dollars a week,’ Austin said. ‘But I want to relocate to Kenya and start an IT firm here that will get tenders from Safcom and Celtel.’

The lady he liked, scenting blood, immediately asked him to buy a second bottle of wine for our table. Austin looked like she had plunged a dagger into his heart - or pocket.

He whispered to a waitress ‘how much is the wine?’ but she betrayed his concern by holding the bottle by the neck and shouting, ‘hii ni Sh2,400.’ The wannabe sadly produced the sum, and then made sure to take off before our colleague ‘impoverished’ him farther by reducing his Tusker fund.

Yes. The only ‘summer bunny’ we will all welcome with open arms is our uncle, Obama, when he comes back to his ancestral home in a month’s time. The rest are just a little bit too funny.

And we can’t wait for them to return to the ‘land down under.’

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