The Art of Lies and Love: A Keg-Side Revelation

Men Enjoying Keg at a local joint. Photo/Daily Nation.

Ladies and gentlemen, gather around—grab your favorite bottle of Jug Daniels (you know, that backstreet version of Jack Daniel’s with a suspicious aftertaste of rusty taps and broken dreams). I have something to confess, and I say this with the weight of a thousand heartbreaks and one very bruised ego:

I have come to the rock-solid conclusion that I will never understand women.

Now, a wise (read: wildly intoxicated) friend once whispered a golden nugget into my confused soul:

“If you want to win a lady over… lie to her. Lie like your romantic future depends on it.”

I scoffed. “Surely, not all women fall for lies?” I thought to myself, still clutching onto truth like it was a university degree I paid full HELB price for.

But curiosity—and loneliness—are dangerous companions. So one day, I gave in.

The Pre-Lie Era: Where Honesty Got Me Nothing But Solitude

Before embracing my new life as a charming fibber, I was what you'd call a truth enthusiast. I’d walk up to a lady, chest out, and start spilling my academic accolades, travel escapades, and enough braggadocio to make Elon Musk blush.

The results?

Consistent.

Predictable.

Depressingly lonely.

I’d always end up going home solo, holding nothing but my wallet, my integrity, and a solid 7% phone charge.

Enter: The Keg Queen of Makutano

One particular night, armed with false hope and real Keg money, I stumbled into a joint whose walls smelled like dreams deferred and secondhand regret.

There she was.

Beautiful. Radiant. Slightly dizzy—but who wasn’t?

Let’s call her Bilbo—because like Tolkien’s character, she looked like she’d been on quite the unexpected journey. And me? I decided, “Why lie to this one? Surely she’s not here looking for a Forbes cover model.”

So I poured out the truth like a heartfelt TED Talk on relationship transparency:

My degrees (with transcripts in my Google Drive, just in case),

My career (with flair),

My international escapades (borderline believable),

And yes, my dreams of settling down with a woman who didn’t think 5 rounds of Keg were foreplay.

Her response?

She matched my vulnerability with the Great Wall of Lies. According to her, her father owned "several plots in town," had "two cars" (maybe Hot Wheels), and they were “just going through a rough patch.” Of course, I nodded respectfully, while silently questioning why she was chasing discounts on 30-bob liquor.

But I let it slide. I’m a gentleman.

The Plot Twist: Pay for a Round and Face the Wrath

Now, here’s where things turned darker than the backroom toilet of that joint.

I politely asked Bilbo to cover just one round. One. Uno. Moja. After all, we were five rounds in—on my tab—and I was beginning to hear voices (none of them saying “thank you”).

And just like that, her "daddy’s little landlord" persona crumbled like a Mandazi in hot tea.

She erupted. Loud enough to make the deejay pause mid-Bongo.

"You're broke!" she screamed.

"You’ve been lying to me the whole night!" she hollered—ironically, right after telling me she owned a boutique in Dubai.

People stared. The waiter smirked. Even the rats behind the counter paused mid-snack.

I did the only honorable thing:

I exited the scene with the grace of a disgraced politician.

The Moral of This Spilled-Keg Tale

So dear readers, here's the burning question I leave you with:

Why must we lie for love?

Has romance become so materialistic that honesty is now a turn-off? Or is it that the game changed, and nobody sent me the updated rulebook?

Kevo, my friend—you were right all along. From now on, I shall lie. Lie like a campaign manifesto. Lie like a CV in the hands of a fresh graduate. Lie like… well, Bilbo.

Because if that’s what it takes to get under the skirt these days—so be it.

I rest my keg.

About the Author

Felix Kinyua is a freelance journalist with a sharp pen, a curious mind, and a love for storytelling that dances between satire and hard truth. He holds a degree in Communication and Media and a Master’s in Public Policy and Administration. When he’s not navigating the complex world of public discourse, he’s observing life from the backseat of a matatu or the corner of a Keg joint—always with a notebook in hand and a story to tell.