By by Isaac
I love my aunt. She raised me like one of her own, and she still calls me “mtoto wangu” even though I now have a beard that can host a political rally. But last December, when I went to shagz (our glorious countryside), I made one mistake. I asked for the Wi-Fi password.
“Eh?” she said, holding her mwiko mid-air like she’d just heard me confess I was dating Lucifer’s cousin. “Why do you want the Wai-Fai? To do what?”
“To check my emails, Auntie. Maybe also watch a movie…”
That’s when it began.
She put the mwiko down slowly. Then she gave me That Look. You know the one? The one reserved for people who say they don’t eat ugali or prefer instant porridge.
“Let me tell you, these things… they are the reason children no longer greet elders. The reason marriages are breaking. The reason cows are producing less milk.”
Cows.
Blamed Wi-Fi for cow productivity. Peak shagz analysis.
I tried to explain. I told her Wi-Fi is just internet. You know, like communication. News. Even church summons. (I dropped that last one hoping it would soften her.)
“Church?” she scoffed. “If it’s really church, why are people using it while brushing teeth, in the choo, even during burial speeches?”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Eventually, she “allowed” me to hotspot from my own phone — but not before warning me not to stream anything that would make the dogs bark at night or disturb the spirits of our ancestors.
Honestly, rural Kenya is unmatched. Where else will you hear someone say Facebook is a CIA plot, or that your smartphone is listening to you because it has “those white things” inside?
—
Moral of the story? If you’re going to shagz with gadgets, just be prepared. You might leave with your soul, but not with your privacy — or your phone charger. Because everyone borrows and no one returns.
—
Would you like another story in this style — maybe about Nairobi matatus, sufuria politics, or the struggle of buying avocado from a serious-faced mama mboga?
