MERU DAILY

Construction worker Working at a Construction site. Photo/Business Daily.  Listen my good people. You always accuse me of telling stories za jaba, but today’s tale is as real as your landlord’s knock at the end of the month. This is the story of a foreman — a man who thought mjengo money was a lottery jackpot. Now, let me start by saying this: I, myself, have tried mjengo. With all my degrees like a thermometer, I thought I could survive anywhere — even at a construction site. Eh, my career there lasted shorter than a TikTok video. One time a fundi told me to “bring Cobra.” I, being academically decorated, asked him which bush the snake would come out of. And that was the end of my mjengo career. Later I discovered Cobra is a tool, not a reptile. But today, it’s not about me. It’s about a foreman with manners smaller than Airtel bundles. For those who don’t know, a foreman is the guy in charge of workers at the construction site. The one who, if you trip and roll down with a bag of...

Meru Pool table players at the Aquadel Sponsored Pool Tournament at Kwa Murugi. Photo/Felix Kinyua. Ladies and gentlemen, we finally have the final cut. Nairobi opponents, this is your fair warning. And take it from me—a journalist who doesn’t need to pick sides but still enjoys poking fun at both. On Saturday, destiny spoke. Out of Makutano’s finest, eight warriors survived the battle of sticks and pockets. To not mention them would be criminal, so allow me to give free publicity to the names now haunting Nairobi dreams: Renson Muita, Peter Gatobu, Timothy Kithinji, Boniface Mutethia, Nelson Mwirigi, Francis Mutwiri, Michael Irungu, and James Mutwiri. Nairobi, these are not just names. These are your incoming problems. But Aquadel, as usual, doesn’t just sponsor tournaments—they host full-blown soap operas. First on stage: Kimathi Martin a.k.a. Kamani, Aquadel’s HR and Financial Controller. Instead of talking payslips, he schooled us on Aquadel’s journey—how they entered the market, l...

  Images of Sugarcane. A myth has it that sugarcanes should not get into a bar. Photo/Getty images. Disclaimer: No sugarcane was harmed in the making of this story. However, several egos, pool cues, and friendships at Mikocheni Base did not survive. Proceed with caution. --- The Rule Nobody Tells You My friends, there are rules in life that no school or government ever teaches you, yet breaking them comes with serious consequences. One such rule is simple: never, ever enter a bar with sugarcane. I know—it sounds like comedy. How can an innocent stick of sweetness, the village toothbrush, the poor man’s dessert, cause chaos? Sit back, let me explain. --- The Myth That Sounded Like Nonsense Last Friday, while hyping myself up for the Aquadel Drinking Water Pool Tournament , a friend whispered a myth so outrageous it could have come straight from a Nollywood script: “ Never carry sugarcane into a club. Because the moment it enters, blood must spill.” He insisted it’s the gospel truth,...

  Participants of the Aquadel Sponsored Pool Tournament. Photo/Felix Kinyua.  Haya basi, hayawi hayawi huwa. Our Swahili brothers said it best — and true indeed, the 6th of September Aquadel Sponsored Pool Tournament was nothing short of fire. Or should I say more fire🔥. We were back at Murugi’s Base for the second time, and let me just say — grandeur doesn’t even begin to describe it. At exactly 5PM, the place was packed tighter than a matatu on market day. Even Murugi herself had to run around sourcing extra chairs, and still, people ended up watching from the windows like it was a free Netflix subscription. In short, this thing was sold out before it even started. ---   The VIP Corner Guests follow the Aquadel Pool Games at Kwa Murugi’s Base.  Photo/Curtesy. As the self-declared “press” (don’t argue), my eyes were glued to the opinion makers, sponsors, and influencers who came to sip their Aquadel water while pretending not to scout the competition. Mr. Alex Mugu...

Picture of a Tenant Moving out of an apartment.  Photo/The Standard.  The Landlord Chronicles My friends, I’ve discovered that when life throws stress at some people, they reach for alcohol, pick unnecessary fights, or start pointless arguments. But not me. No, I turn to my faithful companion—digital ink. Writing is my therapy, my courtroom, and my evidence locker. Whatever happens, I document, so I never repeat the same mistakes twice. But today, my people, the joke is not on me. I am the injured party. The aggrieved soul. The innocent tenant wronged by a landlord so petty he could make a mosquito look like a Nobel Peace Prize winner. Let’s start at the beginning. Three months ago, I packed my humble belongings and waved a heartfelt goodbye to my former landlord, Mr. Mwenda—affectionately known as Baaba. May the gods of rental peace forever bless that man. In the two years I lived in his rentals, never once did he knock on my door with unnecessary drama. He minded his busines...

From Left: Collo (Event Coordinator) Ali (Mikocheni Captain) Mr. Kirema (guest from Nairobi) Bloko (Aquadel CEO) Mr.Koome (Petroleum and Fuel Business mogul) Mr. Mwenda (Mikocheni Chairman) and an Event Attendee. PHOTO/Felix Kinyua. Friends, I promised to keep it sporty today. Not because I suddenly joined ESPN, but because one wise elder at Kwa Cobbler Base pulled me aside and said: "Young man, your stories are so sweet, we feel like extras in a Hollywood blockbuster." Fair. So today, no dramatic violins. But let me confess—what went down on Saturday still deserves popcorn, vuvuzelas, and a standing ovation. --- Aquadel in the House Aquadel. Aquadel. Aquadel. ( Yes, I called them three times, because in African tradition, if you don’t repeat it thrice, it doesn’t carry weight). And honestly, these guys just refuse to act normal. This Saturday, Mikocheni Base had the rare honor of hosting two distinguished guests: Mr. Nicholas Koome, the petroleum and fuel mogul—arguably one...

  Street boys Popularly known as Chokora's playing Cards. Photo/Cargo the Chokora Movie. Ladies and gentlemen, loyal readers, frenemies, and those who just clicked here to confirm if I really said what I said—yes, I’m about to say it again: very few of you, if any, can match my life experience. Don’t fight me, fight your childhood. Now, before you ask why I’m not the president of this great republic, I’ll tell you: it’s not because of votes, scandals, or even haters—it’s the age limit. God and the Constitution are in an unholy alliance to keep me away from State House. For those who’ve read my memoir Roads Less Travelled: A Street Kid’s Memoir (dropping online October 9th—please clap), you already know I’ve lived several lifetimes. I was once a “Commando” on the streets, famously known as Chokora for three years, back when Nokia 3310s ruled the earth. Transformation? That’s my middle name. If you’ve gone from sniffing glue in Makutano to holding an M.A. degree, please see me—we co...