They say that your workmates are not your friends, just do your work and go home. But when your employer hogs 6 of the 7 days to himself, you have no option but to be friends with your colleagues. You have no time to make new friends. Unless you are employed by the government where you work from 10am to 2pm and have the whole afternoon to ask internet strangers for nudes, you have to be friends with your colleagues or die a lonely death.
Forget all that crap from fake-woke internet motivational speakers, there is nothing wrong with being friends with the person you spend 8 hours a day around (as long as you are not engaging in coitus with them). I get it some of them might be snakes, but you are surrounded by snakes everywhere. Your neighbour, your lover who is also giving it to your best friend behind your back, your wicked aunty who is always asking when you are bringing them your other half, I could go on but you get my point. They are everywhere. Like reggae, they can’t be stopped. The only way to run away from snakes is to become a caveman.
I am friends with my workmates. Some of them, at least. They are great people. And they do come through when you need someone to come through for you. Besides, how am I going to increase the readership of this blog from 3 to 8? I have to constantly make new friends, then burden them with the social guilt of being declared fake friends if they don’t read my blog. That’s how it works, ask any fake woke internet celeb.
When you work in the private sector, you have to find something to keep you sane. Not necessarily a side hustle. For example, I blog (I was going to say I write, but writing is what Biko and Magunga do. The rest of us, we blog). For some, it is alcohol that keeps them sane. How? I don’t know. We don’t judge though, this is a safe space. Others, music- and for that, they constantly have earphones plugged in. Then I met a colleague who deejays for fun.
It was a slow day at work. So we got to casually chatting up with each other around the office. Occassionally pretending to be busy and ruthlessly focused whenever someone walked in.
Pro tip: When it’s a slow day at work, no one should verbally acknowledge that it is a slow day. Putting it out there jinxes everything and it suddenly becomes overwhelmingly busy. So on slow days, you just get to doing our things without anybody acknowledging that is a slow day. And when the boss walks in, you pretend to be super-busy. Because the moment they ask, “slow day, huh?” everything is jinxed. You don’t even look them in the eye.
Sorry for digressing, but what is wisdom if it is not shared?
We got around to discussing music. I don’t know how we got to that, and how I was making contribution to a discussion about music. I know nought about music except for three things.
First, anybody who doesn’t like Eminem doesn’t deserve to live. Second, Akothee and Octopizzo shouldn’t call themselves musicians. They can call themselves artists (whose form of art has no name yet), but not musicians. A fizzling bottle of Coke is more musical than what the two artists feed us. Third, play Kenyan music.
One more thing, Imma get a Riccobeatz hoodie and you people won’t know peace! You have been warned.
Anyway, he casually dropped that he was a DJ.
“What do you mean you are a DJ? As in you mix music!?”
“Which clubs do you perform at?”
“None. I dj for myself. As a hobby”
“F*** you.” I said that nicely. It was a compliment. That’s how we men compliment each other.
So I gave my flashdisk and asked him to put some of his mixes in it. I would pick the flashdisk the following day. To be honest, I expected them to be trash just like all the mixes our girlfriend’s favorite DJs play us and the others we find on Mixcrate/Mixcloud. I pictured myself selecting files then hitting Shift+Delete (permanently delete).
The following day came, and he handed me back my flashdisk. It was a slow day, so I plugged it in my PC and started sampling them. (If anybody from HR or IT is reading, this is pure work of fiction. None of these happened in real life). My mind was blown! The mixes were orgasmic. Just like the other days, I was looking forward to 5pm, only that for a different reason.
Long story short, I now have 33 hours of Grade 1 mixes in my possession. Pure bliss. I believe that when we get to heaven to play harps with the angels, DJ KenB’s mixes will be playing softly in the background. The guy is so good he even made a mix of World Cup anthems. I didn’t know any World Cup anthem beside Allez Allez Allez, Waving Flag and This Time For Africa.
DJ KenB has everything for everyone. Old Skool Kenyan Mix, Old Skool RnB. Lovebirds are also taken care of with a Valentines mix. In fact, if you are one of those people who swallow their tongues when their crush passes by, the Valentines will do the talking on your behalf. He even has a Latino mix for those who believe that just coz Latino porn is good then their music is good as well. He makes Latino music sound good.
The best thing about DJ KenB? He doesn’t scream his name every 5 seconds like your favorite DJ. He just lets the music play.
“So how did you learn to DJ?”
“I got tired of DJs forcing me to listen to music I didn’t want to listen to. At first, I asked a friend of mine to make a mix of my playlist. But his turnaround time was that of a government official when the government isn’t looking for clout, so I decided to learn how to DJ myself.”
Apparently, he has a ghetto friend called, wait for it, Mesaya. And Mesaya is your go-to person for anything you need in these streets. Whatever he needed, Mesaya had it- I’m not sure if it’s in the name or it is pure coincidence. Btw, Mesaya is the guy’s official name. Not a nickname.
Because I care, and I like sharing, here’s the link to DJ KenB’s mixes- hearthis. If he doesn’t become your girlfriend’s favorite DJ, get yourself a new girlfriend. She doesn’t know good things, and doesn’t deserve love.
Side note: I know he already has followers on hearthis, but just like the white man and Kenya’s black panther, I discovered DJ KenB. Go argue with the white man who discovered Mt. Kenya.