How My Life Was Supposed To Pan Out – by Mbanacho Brian

I graduate top of my class with a bachelor’s degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from a prestigious university. Afterwards, the Ministry of Education, with the blessing of the president and all the university vice-chancellors, pauses the Journalism course because the mission of producing the best journalist in the country is complete.

I intern at Citizen TV, but get hired promptly as a senior journalist. My talent is so obvious that S. K. Macharia fears CNN and BBC will snatch me if he doesn’t tie me down to a contract.

My mother receives the Head of State Commendation for giving birth to such a genius. My father, a shy man, humbly accepts the Order of the Burning Spear for his efforts.

The other media houses lament the unfair advantage that Royal Media has by having me as their employee. They want the government, through the Communication Authority of Kenya, to step in and force Royal Media to share me with them. Host the breakfast show at Nation, read the lunch news at KTN, and anchor the 9 p.m. news at Citizen TV. KBC gets me the whole of Saturday to boost their ratings.

S.K. Macharia, keen to monopolize my talent, surrenders half his shares to me, making me a co-owner. The other media houses sigh in defeat.

Julie Gichuru comes out of retirement so she can be my co-anchor on Sunday Live. She keeps blushing when seated next to me, and viewers claim it’s only me who could make Julie Gichuru look starstruck.

I meet Jeff Koinange and become good friends with him. We hang out every Saturday so he can learn from me as I also teach him how to be a Kenyan. A proper Kenyan, for that matter, not the kind that applies curl-kit on his hair and does not know what matumbo is.

Sanaipei Tande slides in my DM to confess that I have been giving her sleepless nights. We become a thing and get married in a small, private ceremony, attended by the who’s who in the industry. Maina Kageni is so heartbroken he quits radio and runs back to America to live a quiet life, away from the public eye.

With Maina gone, Radio Africa begs me to take his spot on Maina and King’ang’i in the morning. I agree, reluctantly, after talking with my business partner, S. K. Macharia, and agreeing it’s the least I can do after running their prime radio host out of town. I say yes to the job, but under the condition that my wife Sanaipei replaces King’ang’i. King’ang’i is fired on the spot.

My wife, Sanaipei Tande, overhears me singing in the bathroom and convinces me to do a song with her. The song becomes an instant hit, but no one is surprised because the whole country is resigned to the fact that I can do no wrong.

Bien calls and asks for a collabo. I tell him I would only collaborate with him on one condition: that he grows his hair and doesn’t go shirtless in the music video. Okay, two conditions, but who is counting?

We are in the studio with Bien when Burna Boy calls. He has heard my song with Sanaipei Tande and wants us to do something together. He says Bien can vouch for him, so I agree to fly out to Nigeria and do a song with him.

I become a global hit and my wife, Sanaipei Tande, becomes Rihanna’s best friend.

I become the first Kenyan to win a GRAMMY.

Meanwhile, my anchoring job is doing so well that advertisers only want to advertise during my time. I get a pay rise, which I approve because I am also a co-owner, remember?

I get a baby with Sanaipei. A daughter. Everyone who meets her insists she is Top One under One baby. That she is going to be the best Journalist and Singer in the world is not in doubt.

I end up working for BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera, and all the other global networks. Part-time, though, because no network can afford me full-time.

I turn down a collabo with Chris Brown because of what he did to Rihanna. My wife, Sanaipei Tande, tells me her best friend Rihanna is yet to forgive him. Chris Brown assures me that he understands.

I build a ranch back in my village where we plan to retire and live a quiet life, away from the public eye.

My wife, Sanaipei Tande, occasionally stops to remind me of how lucky she is to have ended up with me. I tell her I am also lucky to have her in my life, but we both understand that she is the luckiest.

We get a son later in life and name him Brian Mbanacho Jr. The great name has to live on.

I finally write the best-selling autobiography. Everyone who reads it admits it’s the best book they have ever read. They want me to write another book, but I am not ready to. It’s unfair to the other authors.

I win the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Ngugi Wa Thiong’o calls to congratulate me.

The government begs me to offer a masterclass in Journalism and Mass Communication, but I am ready to retire to my ranch with my family. It doesn’t feel right, stealing all the spotlight from all the musicians and journalists and writers and lecturers.

The day I die, many, many years later, surrounded by my family and friends, a National Holiday is declared as the country debates whether it’s right to bury me in the ground like a commoner.

But my will shall be clear: whatever they do, cremation is not an option.