Aged To Perfection.

I admit that I love a good whisky, specifically single malt. Often, the bottle claims it’s aged to perfection. Single malt whiskies range from a minimum of 12 years to 21 years or even older. My favourites are the 15-year-olds.

When I turned 40, a good uncle and friend of mine introduced me to single malt whisky. He said sternly that from then on, I had to up my game and live life at another level. I believe the whisky introduction was meant to signify that I was maturing and needed to raise my standards in all I did. Ten years later, I still thank him for that.

Initially, I would see a drink that read 12, 15, 18 or even 21 years and I’d wonder if it had been in the bottle for all those years. It must be rotten by now, I thought. I googled Glenfiddich 18 and saw that ‘its combination of liquids is aged in oak casks for 18 years’. During maturation, the whisky interacts with the wood, drawing out flavours of vanilla, honey and dried fruits from bourbon casks, and a rich, spicy and nutty character from the sherry casks.’ That’s kizungu mingi right there, but if you’re a particular partaker of the drink, you can appreciate that long, elaborate process. Now let me stop there lest my mum comes across this story and starts worrying that her son is a mlevi.

Now, where am I going with this pombe story, you might wonder? Well, last weekend was the culmination of my brother’s (and one of my oldest pals’) celebration at Limuru Country Club after his successful tenure at the helm of the Kenya Golf Union (KGU). Davie and I met in our first year on campus and have been pals since. He likes reminding me that he has known me for more than half my life; 28 years to be exact. That may be true, but it makes us sound old hehe. Davie was the one who introduced me to golf. We joined Limuru Country Club on the same day in 2006.

He had these high-flying jobs and globe-trotted quite a bit in those earlier years. Meanwhile, I was running my events company, hapa tu. Maybe that’s the reason I became the KGU chairman six years before him. He’s a meticulous guy, but what has stood out most for me is that he seeks to do the right thing, not the easier thing. His colleagues at the union can confirm that. He pleases people much less than I do. Davie is the pal who I’d have in my kitchen cabinet if I were a mkubwa in gava. He can easily sniff someone’s character and be right most of the time. Maybe his love for dogs has enhanced that sniffing, hehe.

I have mentioned my band of brothers here before. David is the one I’ve known the longest in the group and is central to a lot of what we do. I camped at Limuru for the entire weekend to honour this great man. Sometimes our time is the greatest show of respect we can give to someone. There was a nice tent set up on the foundation of our former clubhouse. As you may or may not know, our old clubhouse burned down in January. It was both a sad reminder of it, but also a good sign that life must move on.

Friendship is expensive, as my other close buddy Chris reminds me. (He’s the incoming KGU chairman.) It’s beginning to look like we’re the deep state of golf hehe. A day or two before, David informed me casually that I’d be the MC at his evening bash—like he’d just realised that he needed one. Anyway, I had no other otherwise (Kenyanese), so I accepted. That’s the expensive friendship part: being thrown under the bus and smiling by force as it runs you over. It had been a while since I had done those golf presentations, but it’s like riding a bike, so you pick it up easily.

As I was up there talking about the journey Chairman David had taken to that point, I couldn’t help but realise that old friends are a gem to be cherished. Yes, I have made many friends over the recent years, but most do not know my journey. When we have people who have been in our lives from way back, we have the pleasure of watching the movie that’s their life, and they, too, have a blueprint of ours. That way, life gets better or easier because we have folks who understand us deeply. David is that pal to me and the rest of our brotherhood of six chaps. Oh, and that’s my biggest dividend from golf, social capital.

Just like single malt whisky, life experiences have aged us to maturity, although the process is still going on. Different experiences, highs, and lows have made us who we are. At this semi-ripe age of 50, we can look back and see how far we have come with a lens of gratitude and humility. Life is not meant to be lived alone. What makes such reflections worthwhile is sharing them with folks who have walked that journey with you.

And just like a good whisky is sweetest when shared, old friendships are the same. They are the spice we need to live a fulfilling life. I’m blessed to have my chairman as my brother, together with my other mates. Our friendship is a single malt, 28 years and counting hehe. Cheers, bro, we raise our glasses to salute you for the good work you have done and continue to do. Happy to be in the African oak cask of life with you. Still maturing polepole.