Desiderata, The Beer Belt & The Real Ugaliman

Same Forest. Different Monkeys. The Sherehe Sevens Edition

This week I’ve been distracted.
The energy that goes into a 7s weekend I forgot is immense.
This is the kind of article that says, I am happy with a draw.
No adrenaline rush while writing, no silence. Just an unmistakable hum of generators in the background and the screaming noise of the fans in the stands.
As I write this, I’m torn.
Do I watch the Kenya Lionesses take on Spain from the stand, or from our small operations base under the Nyayo Stadium belly?
For the last four weeks I’ve been volunteering at HSBC SVNS 2.
A small way to give back to a game that has given me everything — networks, travel, perspective, scars, friendships, discipline.
The Lionesses needed this game. A test. A measuring stick. A signal.
The showing?
Solid. Gritty. Promising.
Behind them, the Village thundered into life at 9am.
Saints.
Sinners.
And everything in between.

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The Walkabout: Nairobi West & The Beer Belt

Earlier this week, I played truant.
Left the stadium bubble. Strolled to the roundabout. Walked memory lane.
Nairobi West via Madaraka Estate.
Not the Google Maps version. The 90s version.
Flint-black tarmac.
Bars that smelled of old Guinness and new dreams.
Characters who aged but never retired.
Shops that doubled as pharmacies, laboratories, nyama choma joints and confession booths.
We used to call ourselves the “Young Turks.”
Firebrands without portfolios. Full of ideas. Zero cash.
Maximum confidence.
I started at Madaraka Estate shops. Club Kutwa. Our pre-game headquarters.
They had a dish called Kutwa Bite.
It required five of us contributing mchango to afford a plate for three.
That was The Struggle Economics.
Then I crossed Langata Road into what we used to call The Beer Belt.
From Lazinos to Haridge.
From Jeans & Johns to Plan B.
Bars that have seen marriages begin, end, and renegotiate.
Dreams made. Near misses sealed. Deals struck over Tusker foam.
The Beer Belt should be declared a World Heritage site.
For ambition. For foolishness. For resilience.
I stopped at Mini Pub. One of the few survivors.
That’s where we bumped into him.

Real Ugaliman.

Not a politician. Not a celebrity. Just a man whose name sounds like a rugby chant now with an American twang. A man who flew back home from the USA to make his home tournament memorable.
He looked around.
“Look at this,” he said. “This place used to be packed every weekend. DJs. Food fights. Six-packs disappearing faster than halftime oranges.”
Pause.
“The party didn’t die. It relocated.”
He pointed toward Nyayo. “It’s in the stadium now.” And he was right.
Rugby turned the Stadium into a place of hope, family and laugher.
HSBC SVNS 2 Nairobi
The Sherehe Sevens

Fan Village: Where Culture Relocates

If you haven’t walked through the HSBC SVNS Fan Village, you’ve missed something.
Food stalls smoking early. Tusker branding humming. The Singleton pop-up glowing.
DJ sets following the matches.
Khaligraph headlining Saturday. Vijana Barubaru lighting up Sunday.
Tickets KES 300 early bird. KES 500 advance. 2500 VIP.
Chants of Tumeibiwa following the SOLD OUT announcement.
M-Pesa and TikoHub working overtime.
This isn’t just rugby. It’s culture consolidation.
The diaspora flew in. Flags unpacked. Shtundz & Angie O asking….
“Where are our tickets?” “Are you at the Village?” “Where’s the afterparty?”
The energy didn’t die.
It relocated.
From the Beer Belt. To the Belly of the Beast. The Village.
Sherehe Central.

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The Unlikely Dividend: Funding Sherehe
Now let me confess something. I received a strange payment this week. One of those payments that makes you call your bank.
“Excuse me, is this meant for me?”
Am I being set up? I read through every message I sent out. Alas.
Kumbe…KenGen dividend.
Right before Valentine’s.
Right before Sevens weekend.
The Universe is playing Ferre Gola’s 100kg in the background.
I hadn’t even checked the share price first. Just knew something had landed.
KenGen shares had been playing midfield.
Not explosive. But reliable. Dividend darling behaviour.
That’s Kenya’s psychology.
We like payout. We hold for income.
Predictability beats speculation for many retail investors.
And yes — that dividend converted into:
Food at the Village. A round of drinks with old teammates. A night on the town.
Presence.
Money isn’t just capital gains. Sometimes it’s attendance fuel.
Proof-of-life revenue.

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Selling to Gatekeepers: Permission to Attend

Let’s talk truth. No one attends the Sevens without first negotiating at home.
“Can I go to the 7s?” That question is not casual. It’s a sales pitch.
Gatekeepers include:
• The spouse watching the budget.
• The girlfriend demanding quality time.
• The husband evaluating logistics.
• The kids expecting Saturday attention.

You don’t sell at the stadium gate. You sell at home. Timing matters.
“It’s once this season.” Value proposition matters.
“I’ll take the kids.”
Risk reduction matters.
“I’ll be back by dinner.” Reciprocity matters. “You choose brunch next week.”
Sales mechanics in domestic format.
And here’s the trick:
If you come back happier, lighter, more present — suddenly the gatekeeper becomes advocate next season.
That’s how you get the family to buy into a weekend plan.

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Performance: Why We Keep Watching Rugby
Culture gets you there. Performance keeps you.
The Lionesses showed promise.
Spatial awareness. Defensive resets. Composure under pressure.
The men?
Flashes of Kenyan flair. Breakdown intensity. Support lines opening space.
The killer punch for the home fans? Sadly missing.
We live to fight another day.
Tariffs took the Trophy.
Kesho pia ni siku. (we live to fight another day)
But this weekend was for the fans. The system under the spectacle.
Player 13.
The Kenyan supporter.
“Mama Milka” the warm up tune. The whole stadium becomes choir.
For six hours:
Strangers hug. Voices crack.
Nobody cares about politics or payroll.
That is not entertainment. That is belonging.
#KenyaCornerIsHome

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The Coronation: From Princess to Queen

February 6, 1952.
Queen Elizabeth became Queen while in Kenya.
Crowned by circumstance.
Now fast forward. February 15th 2026
Those of us who could not stay on our feet long enough.
There’s another coronation happening here.

MDCCCXXIV.

Most think it’s just a club.
But 1824 is the year Scotland’s first licensed distillery opened.
Whisky legalised. Contraband turned craft. A perfect metaphor.
Music pounding like war drums. Nairobi’s gladiators wear tights.
We don’t go to conquer anymore.
We go to reconnect. To laugh. To feast with our eyes.

To ask:

“Who remarried?” “Who’s still paying school fees?”
“Whose knees survived the dance floor?”
Even Eshiring’ang’a the great, the indestructible Luhya warrior, found his weakness.
Every gladiator has kryptonite.
But today’s gladiators don’t spill blood.
They spill stories with eternal heartbreak round the corner.
The Queen had run away from the tired history of whispered dreams from latter day generals in Nairobi West. Escaped to Langata Shopping Centre for a while.
But destiny came calling. She moved back to Nairobi West. Home of her fathers.
Next to some Tanks that became a railway station.
Here she blossoms.
And today we congregate to crown her. That’s the coronation. Not of kings.
Of presence.

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26,000 People = Identity

When 26,000 odd fans show up,
That’s not attendance. That’s affirmation.
Diaspora flights booked last minute.
Tickets sold out. (truly)
Fans without tickets told to stay away.
Village packed.
That’s not nostalgia. That’s relocation of energy.
Nairobi West is no longer the Beer Belt.
It’s the Belly of the Beast. The Village became the Arena.
Real Ugaliman was right.
The party found a new country.
Nyayo Stadium

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Desiderata (Remixed for the Sevens)

Go placidly amid the noise and bass lines.
Observe what matters: The roar.
Not the comment section.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly. Listen to others without interruption.
If you compare your mbogi (crew) to another’s,
You may become vain or bitter.
There will always be better costumes. And some ridiculous ones.
Enjoy your attendance . Your presence. Your small contributions.
Exercise caution in sport and life.
The world has trickery and tenders.
But let that not blind you to virtue.
Many strive for honour. Everywhere life is full of heroes.
Be yourself. Especially now.
Because presence is your answer.

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Thank You from the team that sold you tickets

To the 25,000 odd who showed up.
You didn’t attend. You activated. You believed.
You brought rugby memories. Diaspora longing. Family negotiations.
KenGen dividends. Old jerseys. New flags.
You are not the audience.
You are Player 13.
MAFANS.

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And the sun went down on one of Nairobi’s most iconic events

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