Fake Up, Flex Down: Vile Forex Iligeuka Wash Wash Kwa Mama Beshty

A picture of revellers enjoying themselves in a club. Photo/Getty images.

Makutano, kuna mambo zingine ukiwa sober unakumbuka na unajiuliza, “Hii ilihappen kweli ama ni ndoto ya hangover?”

Well, my weekend confirmed one thing — Meru nightlife is now just a theatre for fake up, loud flexes, and the rich acting broke while the broke act rich.

So, I took a short trip to Nanyuki — that cold land they call Mwisho wa Leri — and came back with a few coins and a lot of curiosity. Then someone whispered about this “exclusive, high-end, next-level, VIP-only, strictly limited, invite-only-but-anyone-can-enter” club in town.

You know the type — where posters have champagne bottles and the DJ’s flyer looks like a Hollywood movie cover.

I pulled up. Respectfully. Alone. Focused. Alert.

Now let me describe the setting.

Outside, it looked like a presidential rally.

Inside, it smelled like desperation, secondhand cologne, and budget heartbreak.

People were dressed like they were about to inherit the family business — only for you to realize the business is imaginary.

There were beards that didn’t match the eyebrows, jeans tighter than bank loans, and accents that had clearly been imported from TikTok.

Then came the MC. Ah, the MC.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you thought noise had no purpose, meet this man. He didn’t talk — he shouted with rhythm. Every word he said sounded like it was fighting for attention.

He grabbed the mic and belted:

“Tonight, we honour our Forex Kings! Vijana wa mtaa walioomoka! Washa sherehe! Na kama uko na birthday, kuna 10K from our boys of the night!”

Eeeh?

Forex kings?

Let me tell you, I’ve met real forex traders.

They’re quiet. Calculated. They dress like accountants and spend like widowed billionaires.

They don’t show up in fake chains and act like Jehovah’s witnesses of champagne.

But these ones?

These were not Forex traders.

These were wash wash boys on night shift — doing PR through loud music and rented vibes.

Anyway, back to the show.

Ladies started claiming birthdays they hadn’t earned.

The 10K started flying like manila papers in a KU lecture hall.

Bottles were popping. Phones were recording.

And somewhere in that crowd, reality quietly left the room.

Then came this soft-spoken guy who mentioned it was his birthday too.

Maybe he thought the hype was inclusive.

Big mistake.

The MC turned slowly and said with disgust dripping from every syllable:

“Mwanaume unataka pesa kutoka kwa mwanaume mwingine?”

The crowd laughed.

The bottle girls danced.

The spirits left the building.

And that’s when I noticed the real show.

In a dim corner of the club sat a group of quiet gents. No iPhones, no theatrics. Just soft conversation and hard liquor.

They were drinking five times more than the “Forex crew” — and doing it with monk-like calmness.

No announcements. No birthday clowns. No need for validation.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is quiet wealth.

Unlike the center-stage circus, this one didn’t need MCs or mood lights.

Now fast-forward to 2:43AM.

The DJ packed up his cracked laptop.

The fake nails left with their owners.

And I, the loyal scribe, made my usual pilgrimage to Mama Beshty’s sanctuary of honesty and sodium.

And guess who walked in behind me?

The MC.

The “Forex” boys.

Thirsty. Broke. Slightly confused. Still in clubwear. Now arguing over who pays for Pilsner and smokie-pasua.

Makutano, that’s what we call “Fake Up, Flex Down.”

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And Before I Go...

Let me give a special shout-out to someone from my past.

Back in campus, I had a silent crush. Her name was Sue.

Bright. Sharp-tongued. And a loyal reader of blogs — including this one, if she hasn’t blocked me yet.

One day during our campus years, Sue looked me dead in the eye and said:

“You? You’re just a wannabe.”

She didn’t whisper. She projected — like a graduation speaker.

And while her words cut deep, I didn’t respond with bitterness.

Because even then, I knew…

The real wannabes are the ones throwing 10K in clubs while their prepaid meter is blinking red.

So, to Sue— if you're reading this:

I was never that petty.

But I must say, I’ve come a long way. From heartbreak to headlines. From budget lunch to blogging about bottle service.

So if you ever find yourself kwa Mama Beshty sipping what you sip at 3AM, tell them, “I knew that writer before he was funny.”

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About the Author

Felix Kinyua is a seasoned journalist, strategic communications consultant, and satirical columnist with a passion for capturing the soul of everyday life through humor and insight. With a background in public policy, media, and storytelling, Felix uses his writing to spotlight social dynamics, challenge pretentiousness, and spark conversations that matter — all while keeping it real and entertaining. His work blends streetwise observation with thoughtful critique, proving that truth — when told well — is not only powerful, but hilariously unforgettable.

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