The First Time You Learned to Cheat, the Compton Capitalist, and Why Your WhatsApp Goes Unanswered

Iteration. Collaboration. Accumulation. Same Forest. Different Monkeys.

Image Courtesy of Forbes Instagram

As I watch the KSSSA Term 1 games, my mind drifts back to the last century when we played those same games in Term 1.
The Kadenge Cup.
Under 55 kilos.
That was the rule.
Simple. Clean. Binary.
You either made weight or you didn’t.

Now around that time I was in that awkward phase.
Voice cracking somewhere between soprano and alto.
Eating like food might be banned tomorrow.
Half a loaf of bread compressed into 2 fat slices.
Condensed before your senior could say
“One rabble”.(mono,junior etc)
Disappearing without discussion.
Every term a new shoe size.
Parents looking at you and saying to themselves “Seriuosly?”.
I was sitting at 60 kilos.
The cutoff was 55.
Close enough to dream.
Far enough to frustrate.

So I did what desperate boys do. I starved myself for two days.
Dropped to 57.
Still not enough. Still outside the line.
But I had to play.
I walked toward the weighing area, there was that old scale.
The heavy one.
The type used to weigh warus (wedges), vitunguu (onions) and carrots for the dining hall.
No digital forgiveness. No rounding off. Just truth.

Before I stepped on, a dimunitive guy pulled me aside.
Quietly. Like he was about to show me something important.
He pointed to a group of boys upside down against a wall.
Not quite a handstand. Something in between.
“That’s how you do it,” he said. Ten minutes upside down.
Lose two, three kilos on the scale.
Game live.
That’s how I played the Kadenge Cup.
Not because I couldn’t make weight.
Because I had just been introduced to something NEW.

We met it on a school field.
That one team everyone feared. Not because they were better.
Because they were older.
The bearded striker with shoulders like a teacher.
The “transfer” that happened just before the finals.
Quiet. Efficient.
Nobody asking too many questions.
The name on the team sheet that didn’t match the face warming up.
And in the stands?
Adults clapping. Coaches explaining. Officials looking away.
That was the first classroom.
Not where we learned how to win.
Where we learned that winning could be negotiated.
Last week the KSSSA released an audit for the 2026 Term One Games in Kisumu. Western Region alone. Thirty-eight students flagged. Overage players.
Falsified documents.
Names not in NEMIS.
Faces that didn’t match the portal.
Thirty-eight.
One region.
One term.

The whistle that didn’t blow in 1987 is the same whistle that didn’t blow last week. Only difference is now we have systems to prove what we already knew.
Here’s the real problem. Once you see something wrong happen often enough without consequence, it stops feeling wrong.
It becomes normal.
And once it becomes normal, nobody needs to teach it again.
It just shows up later.
In offices. In tenders. In boardrooms.
Same script. Bigger stakes.
That’s when you realise… nobody is coming to fix it for you.

The Line
Somewhere else, far from school fields and excuses, a man walks into a ring.
Looks his opponent in the eye and says,
“I’m sorry… I love you.”
Then proceeds to thump him with Burukenge-ish fervour.
(severe, merciless, or thorough beating)
Deontay Wilder
That line sounds mad until you understand the context.
This is not a game.
Fighters have died in that ring.
That’s not storytelling.
That’s record.
And yet, inside that violence, there is something the school field didn’t have.
A line.
Not a referee’s line.
A personal one. Internal. Non-negotiable.
You don’t walk into that ring hoping the other guy cheated.
You don’t hope the officials look away,
You either respect the line… or leave with serious injury.
Sport exposes you like that. Eventually.
You can fake documents. You can manipulate systems.
But when it’s just you and reality, the truth comes out.
Always.

Accumulation Doesn’t Make Noise
While some of us were learning how to bend rules, someone else was learning something slowly.
Madina Okot started playing basketball in 2020. Not 2010.
Not with much backing. Not with an elaborate plan. 2020.
Six years later, the numbers start telling their own story.
12.8 points. 10.6 rebounds. 22 double-doubles. SEC leader.
First-round WNBA projection.
Same origin. Same environment everyone complains about.
Different response.
No shortcuts. No tricks. No negotiation.
Just repetition.
The thing about accumulation is that it’s invisible while it’s happening.
Nobody claps for practice.
Nobody celebrates discipline.
Nobody trends consistency.
It looks boring. It feels slow. It tests your patience.
Until one day the numbers arrive.
And then people call it talent.
It’s not talent.
It’s time.
Applied properly.
For longer than most people can tolerate.

The Almost Trap
Then there’s Arsenal F.C. Top of the table. One goal up. Game under control. Everything in their favour. They lose 2–1.
Not because they’re bad.
Because they didn’t close.
That’s the uncomfortable truth most people avoid.
Failure doesn’t always collapse loudly. Sometimes it leaks.
Quietly. Slowly.
You don’t notice it until it’s too late.
Almost winning. Almost finishing. Almost getting it done.
Almost is dangerous.
Because it feels like progress.
But it pays like failure.

Image courtesy of Kevin Kiarie Instagram

The Excuse We Love
Kelvin Kiarie boards a flight alone.
No federation. No ministry. No delegation.
Crowdfunds his trip. Lands in Benin. Competes.
Gold. Silver. Clean.
Same flag. Different mentality. The system didn’t show up.
He showed up anyway.
That story is uncomfortable. Because it removes our favourite excuse.
“We’re waiting for the budget.”
(some pundits argue that skating falls under ministry of transport)
He didn’t wait. He moved. Results followed.
Simple. Not easy.
Hungry

Your WhatsApp Is Not the Problem
You’ve sent that message. “Hi boss, hope you are well.”
Blue ticks. Silence.
You wait. You justify. “Maybe they’re busy.” You follow up. “Just checking in.”
Silence.
Let’s stop lying to ourselves.
That message was never going to get a response. Because you didn’t ask for anything.
You didn’t direct anything. You didn’t close anything.
You started a conversation you had no intention of finishing.
This is not a WhatsApp problem. It’s a clarity problem.
The old email culture trained us badly.
Long intros. Politeness before purpose. Padding before point.
That world is gone.
Today you have two seconds.
Not five.
Two.
Appointment seeking. A hot topic with most of my sales training cohorts.
“Hi [Name], I’m reaching out because of X. I can help you achieve Y. Can we lock 15 minutes on [day/time] or on later date/time]?”
(Pro tip) Your prospect will almost always choose the later date/time (delayed commitment)
That’s it. Direct. Clear.
Uncomfortable if you’re not used to it.
Effective if you are.
Comfort is expensive.
Clarity closes.

THE COMPTON CAPITALIST (Andre Romele Young)
Iteration Is Not Sexy
A kid in Compton is making beats.
Unknown. Underpaid. Learning.
That kid becomes Dr. Dre.
Not overnight.
N.W.A. Death Row. Aftermath.
Working with 2Pac, Eminem, 50 Cent, Kendrick Lamar.
Each step refining the last.
Only Three Individual albums in thirty years.
Not because he couldn’t produce more.
Because he understood something most people don’t.
More is not better.
Better is better.
Then he pivots. Headphones. Beats.
2014, Apple Inc. buys it for $3 billion.
People call it luck. People call it timing.
I call it genius.
It’s none of those things in isolation. It’s iteration. Over time.
Talk about success becoming Chronic.

Even Legends Must Move
For years, power had a sound.
Engine. Precision. Control.
Aston Martin.
James Bond.
Now the world is shifting. Electric vehicles. New manufacturers.
New definitions of premium.
The question is no longer whether Bond goes electric.
It’s who builds the car.
And if that answer changes, then power has already moved.
If Bond can evolve…
What makes you think you don’t have to?

Image courtesy of Angelique Kidjo Instagram

Same Voice. Different Frequency
There was a time Africa had one dominant sound.
Rooted. Powerful. Commanding.
Angélique Kidjo carried that.
Now the sound is faster.
Global. Digital.
Ayra Starr is the embodiment of that shift.
Old vs new.
That’s the narrative we like.
It’s also lazy.
The real story is collaboration.
The moment the old voice doesn’t resist the new one.
The moment the new voice respects the old one.
That’s when evolution happens.
Not replacement. Expansion.
Same forest. Different frequency.

The Thread

From the school field to the ring. From Mumias to the SEC.
From Compton to a $3 billion deal.
From your WhatsApp to missed opportunities.
Same pattern.
Some people learn early that rules can be bent and never recover from that lesson.
Some people learn where the line is and never cross it.
Some people wait. Some people move. Some people almost finish.

Some people close.

The basics are not boring. They are everything. Ignore them and life exposes you.
Respect them and results follow you.
Madina didn’t skip them.
Kiarie didn’t skip them.
Dre didn’t skip them.
The Elephant is slipping. And the table doesn’t negotiate.

Same Forest. Different Monkeys.

If this one landed close to home… good. It means you’re still paying attention.
Most people aren’t.
They’re scrolling, reacting… but not responding to their own lives.
So before you disappear—pause. Not for stories. For a decision.
Stop hiding behind “I’ll get to it.” Silence is not a strategy.
Unread messages don’t change outcomes.
Avoided conversations don’t fix themselves.
Delayed action becomes regret.
If this touched you—pull a seat. Welcome to the conversation.
Subscribe. Share. Tag a buddy.

Before you go:

Send one message that actually asks for something.
Finish one thing you’ve been “almost” doing.
Revisit the rules you made optional.

Because life checks. And when it does… no blue ticks.
Only results.

Same Forest. Different Monkeys.

Mubarikiwe. Jah Bless.

Go with song.