Recently, I was sitting in Jukistopia feeling, shall we say, quite out of aces. That demigod, Kenya power, had switched off Ngong from their grid power. It was dark outside and my mind was darker. Only Kimmie would occasionally brighten the evening with that quizzical look of hers wondering why I was taking so long to light our evening fire. Meanwhile, I drifted into a “me time”; that nowhere where sometimes men go to. It is at this nowhere where I met The Gambler. The 1978 Gambler by Kenny Rogers.
Yes. I was listening to what I sometimes listen to. Country music. 90% of my music time, i.e. about 1 hour every week, I listen to country.
Now this day the die for the music genre falls on Kenny (may peace be upon him) Rogers. This Kenny man was singing:
On one summers evening
On a train bound to nowhere………
….and he goes on and on about these two travellers upon a train, strangers to each other. Stranger one who claims to be an expert gambler but turns out to be a scrooge, bums a cigarette out of this other one who is sipping his whiskey pensively, and for good measure, a matchbox too. He doesn’t stop there. He goes on and asks for the whiskey as well, is given and downs it. I pitied the traveller. It is like courteously inviting a Nairobi chic to your Munyiri’s fish and chips takeaway. She starts by mining the single sausage buried under your chips.
But anyway, here he was a traveller going nowhere and now with nothing to go nowhere with; his cigarette gone, kibiriti gone, whiskey gone. Worse, no company because after gabbling about his gambling life, the hustler swigs the last drop off the bottle and throws the miserable bottle out through the window into the darkness….no. He hands back the empty bottle to its owner….no. He crushes “his cigarette”, and goes to sleep still holding the bottle. Maybe, I don’t know.
And it dawns on me, I was sitting on this high pedestal pitying the guy while it happens to me every time.
The song was still playing…
……. “Son, I’ve made a life
Out of readin’ people’s facesKnowin’ what the cards wereBy the way, they held their eyesSo if you don’t mind my sayin’
How many times have I, let some wag read me like an open book identifying my gullibility and vulnerabilities just by reading my face. How many cons can establish when I need a miracle, a cheap car, or to get rich quickly and offer me just the solution. Why does it happen yet some of these people don’t bother to hind their ravenous intentions? They come clearly telling you, “brother I live off the fat of the land and I can see through you”
I can see you’re out of aces
For a taste of your whiskey, I’ll give you some advice.
So I handed him my bottle
And he drank down my last swallow
Then he bummed a cigarette
And asked me for a light
So you hand them the little you have, but the types, don’t stop there. No. Having established they can borrow a yard they nibble and gnaw slowly to a mile. All along promising to teach me how to play “the game”
The night got deathly quiet,
He said if you’re gonna play the game, boy,
What game? I don’t want to play any game, but someone will decide to teach me how to play it anyway. For example, you have lost a job and feeling low of the low. Yet their expressionless faces give away nothing as they descend on you when you nights are deathly quiet to introduce you to GNLD, or some such pyramid or Ponzi scheme. And before you know it your retrenchment money is kaput.
My phone battery too is almost kaput, but the song still plays on….
And when he’d finished speakin’
He turned back toward the window
Crushed out his cigarette
Faded off to sleep
When these people are done saying, and doing what they need to do to take your money, our gamblers turn away from us, crush their cigarette – our cigarette and contentedly fall to sleep, leaving us to contemplate our bad situation made worse
Luckily, ‘Cause every hand is a winner, and every hand is a loser, it is not the situation that should define you, but how you react to the situation. If, the song says,
we know when to hold ’em
Know when to fold ’em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run
sometimes we turn into the proverbial phoenix, and rise from the ashes to turn every hand into a winner. We ….
…. never count your money
when you’re sitting at the table.
There’ll be time enough for counting
when the dealing’s done.
We make a pact with ourselves to never be victims again. Not counting our gains and resting on laurels but instead to be forever vigilant. As they say, an err becomes an err only after it is repeated. In which case, you just hope your god will be gracious enough to take you in your sleep.
