24/09/2025
PREDATORS ON THE HIGHWAY
π¨π πππππππ ππ Timothy Makasa
On our highways, in kiosks, vibanda and even in tiny shelves squeezed between airtime and sweets, one new miracle is ruling the day. Bright cans of energy drinks stand tall like prophets, promising fire to the bones. They are preached as medicine for the Mother-on Spots. Young men boast that after swallowing one or two, they can move mountains, shake womenβs behinds and fill valleys. To crown the miracle, they sprinkle a handful of njugu, convinced that this is the anointing oil needed for the Tokyo championships.
Kamosu, a famous truck driver, became a chief disciple of this new gospel. At Makutano junction he was seen many evenings buying not only the can but also the vendor herself. More than once Wanzia climbed his truck and off they disappeared. People laughed and said it must be because he always carried big notes and Wanzia never had change. That was how their balance sheet was reconciled. For six months, the world looked good. Kamosu was unstoppable, and Wanzia was comfortable.
Then the pot turned over. The same driver who once boasted he could roll from Nairobi to Mombasa without blinking could not even reach Emali without stopping to rest. Even two bottles of the so-called boosters could not lift him. Worse still, the man who once led morning glory fellowship with zeal could no longer even manage a normal service. When he finally went to Mulinge Daktari wa Mbio, the news landed like thunder. His kidneys had failed. Dialysis became his new timetable, a machine to clean his blood two or three times a week at nearly 9,800 shillings per session. In just eight months, Wanzia lost her best client and was left high on the highway, watching other trucks pass her by. Truly, when the drum beats too loud, it soon bursts.
Then came Kithii, my good friend and shoe shiner of the stage. He too believed the bottles were ladders to power. He could not go a day without swallowing one, and when business was good, he proudly took two. Unlike the stories he had heard, his strength never grew. Instead his heart pulse drummed like a Mboki would do to a kilumi drum in a ngolano event. At first he called it the kick of an energy drinker, but soon the kick turned into fear and had to visit hospital to see a cardiologist. In the hospital he was diagnosed with high blood pressure and congestive heart failure. Just like that, a young man was tied to monthly clinics and lifelong medicine. He discovered early that what the adverts call power is sometimes just poison in clean uniform. As the elders say, a hyena that follows the smell of roast meat may end up in the cook's kitchen.
Mwendeβs chapter was another lesson. Mwende was beautiful, she commanded both history and future, but not her appetite for these energy drinks. She had no fear, swallowing the bottles raw and in series. For her, the drinks were like water. I still don't understand where she wanted to take this much energy.
A year later, the same woman who once ate like she was on a government payroll for just eating could no longer touch even think of Mutukuβs heavy diet. Her appetite had vanished like rain in January. Doctors found she had acquired type 2 diabetes mellitus, a 'sickness of sugar.' The miracle had turned into a curse. Mwende who believed that when the deal is too good she must be called, learned her lesson too late, that not all events are worth our attendance.
Science already explains these stories, you may not agree with it for now, but may agree with the cost of ignoring to agree, later. Energy drinks are laced with high caffeine and sugar. A little caffeine sharpens the eyes, but too much strains the heart, raises blood pressure and poisons the kidneys. Sugar adds more harm, opening the gates for diabetes and obesity. All this is written in medical journals, yet adverts here show nothing but strength, stamina and endless power.
And how do they find their way into our shops. The answer is as old as our politicians' tricks. In Kenya, every product is legal provided the owner is rich and there is good market market. KEBS stamps appear easily, because what standard can you expect from a country already living with double standards.
New things always come with new problems, and predators always eat their prey faster. Here the Predator is not hiding in the bush. It is standing in plain sight on the shelves, in kiosks, in vibanda, and on every highway. Youth swallow it proudly, thinking they are building power, only to discover that they cannot even rise for a normal service in the morning glory fellowship. As the saying goes, the one who drinks blindly will one day find himself taking medicine with both hands.
