Waithaka’s, the local bar, was their regular meeting point. Each of them had a regular schedule at Waithaka’s, but Saturday was the day that brought them all together.

Jonah had the demeanour of a middle-aged adult who came from affluence but set out to live a different life. The work he’d put in to shed off the privileged skin was evident, but every once in a while, his past betrayed him. When he was hammered, an accent slipped as evidence that he attended schools that cared much about pronunciation as they did spelling. His view on possibilities wasn’t limited to what is, which had him debating a lot with Bosco, but what they argued most about was the taste of different drinks. The taste of fine whiskey still lingered in his tongue, and he hated it when Bosco gave undeserved praise to subpar drinks.

Bosco only became part of them because he was always present at Waithaka’s. He was loud, stingy, mostly sexist and never quite knew when to stop. He was always going overboard with everything. Perhaps that was why his wife left him, but he’d never mentioned that as a reason. Everyone who found him at Waithaka’s knew about his divorce. They knew about their two kids, how he’d saved his wife from a life of poverty and how she’d turned into a nagging wife whose ambitions made him feel small, but his version of the story claimed she was disrespectful and had external influence. She took the kids and left him on a cold day in mid-July without warning, taking not a single item from the house except their clothes. “When that sponsor dumps her, she’ll come back crawling,” he often told himself.

Bill was a calm, nerdy guy who always sat in the corner at the counter, except for Saturdays when he joined the rest at one of the tables. He enjoyed talking to Jonah because he gave him insights into how the upper side of society worked. Bill’s smarts had gotten him far, but his extroverted nature prevented him from reaching the next level. They all liked him because he bought drinks. He may have appeared spendthrift because of that, but it was only because he felt he got value from their interaction. Even Bosco eventually became someone he could stand, because he filled up the gaps of silence. He was like a radio programme running in the background.

Sam and Kush frequented Waithaka’s less than the other three. Sam made it very obvious he was there trying to look for deals or sell something. He was funny and always had interesting stories of his adventures. Kush had a stable job and a beautiful family, and he wasn’t there for any reason other than that he believed a man should spend less time at home. “It’s how you keep the peace and respect,” he often said. He left Waithaka’s a bit earlier on Saturday because he needed to drop off his family at church the following day.

A friendship budded among these fellows. The conversations moved from Waithaka’s to group chats and social media commentary.  They bantered over football, basketball and rugby. The crypto markets became a bonding area for some of them, while the rest read past the conversation and moved on. Politics, however, brought them all together. The regime had successfully turned everyone into an active citizen. Sometimes they even shared opportunities.

They all went to Waithaka’s that Saturday. There was a major football match. People at the bar were donning their clubs’ jerseys. The usual chilled mood at the bar had given way to excitement. Jonah couldn’t care less about football, and neither did Bill, but they enjoyed being there. Bosco was in the company of two women. He normally couldn’t handle one, so they waited to see how the night would go.

Kush stayed longer that Saturday after his team won. They’d been on a losing streak, and that was a defining game for them.

“You’ve decided to break the curfew today,” Bosco teased him.

“And you’ve thought of multiplying your problems,” Kush retorted.

Bosco growled in protest. The others joined it, laughing.

“Jonah’s not complaining about the drink today,” Bosco remarked.

“Maybe I gave up on teaching you taste,” said Jonah.

“Waithaka’s is the wrong school for that,” Sam joked.

Bill bought them another round of drinks as they enjoyed the night.

Bosco’s girls got into a fight in the washrooms, and one of them decided to leave. The other one came back to a drunk Bosco. He’d gone beyond his tipping point and could hardly keep a conversation going with her. A visitor at the local scooped her up.

When the majority of them became functional the following day, they joined the group chat. It was the usual banter, a few memes and catching up with events around the world.

“Is any of you able to get a hold of Jonah?” Bill asked them.

They suddenly noticed his silence in the group chat. It wasn’t too unusual because sometimes he’d go off the grid for a few days. Sam pointed that out.

“We were supposed to meet up in the afternoon and he always keeps time or communicates,” said Bill.

They all tried to contact him but couldn’t reach him. Then, suddenly, they realized that none of them actually knew where he lived. As a matter of fact, they’d never been to each other’s houses.

“I think he lives in Syrana Apartments,” said Bosco.

“I think it’s the building next that one,” said Bill.

They deliberated and finally concluded they should ask the bartender at Waithaka’s. She was off, but they were given her number. She took them to his house, which was a few buildings past their guesses. It wasn’t lost on them.

They knocked at the door a couple of times before letting themselves in when they got no response. The door had only been locked using a latch. They went past the living room into the bedroom where they found him. He was still and cold. There was a bottle of alcohol and a bottle of pills on the bedside stand.

The bartender screamed. The neighbours came, and the cops were called. He was taken out in a sheet. Bosco cried. Bill went numb. Sam and Kush began coordinating the next steps. They learned about his family when a stern, wealthy woman showed up demanding to move Jonah’s corpse to a different morgue.

Bill, Sam, Bosco and Kush tried piecing together what they knew about Jonah. They’d talked a lot yet knew very little about him, but most importantly, they couldn’t answer why he’d gone that way. They tried talking to the bartender, but it seemed that, except for occasional hook-ups at his place, he didn’t open up to her either. Jonah was buried a week later at his family’s home. It was their first ‘road trip’ together, and it ended at Waithaka’s when they got back, reminiscing about the moments they shared in that bar, unsure how to process what had happened.

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