There are no luscious women in Peaky Blinders. The women wear petticoats. And pantyhose. Their dresses are bulbous, like failed parachutes. Most are windy, with brittle wrists, sharp chins, and pointed stares. However, most women on Peaky Blinders are sexy, sharp and strong. They smoke constantly and don’t mix their whiskies with sodas. They have it neat -and they don’t make a face. Nobody can resist Tommy Shelby’s wit and confidence but ultimately you will be seduced by Polly Gray, his aunt, the Gypsy Queen, who goes everywhere with her black Madonna and a razor in her hat. Polly will cut you. She represents first-wave feminism, the force behind The Shelby Family. Polly is also a witch, she can talk to the dead. She knows things that none of the men in the series will ever know. She’s intense and smart and when she sits on a problem, that problem is squashed. But then Polly gets undone and it leaves you questioning why you need a television in your life. Because you can’t take it anymore, not after Luca Changretta, one of my most favourite villains on TV, also gets undone. Peaky Blinders is an abusive relationship.
I’m watching it for the second time because once isn’t enough. And it was with a heavy heart, after watching Polly go up in embers, that I found myself at a small intimate gathering at The Bull in Karen, on the evening of my birthday. I was wearing my Peaky Blinders T-shirt, a gift from Lady, a nod to my obsession with Tommy Shelby and his razor gang.
Birthday parties are like funerals. The libation. The raising of glasses. The eulogy. The hugging. The only difference is that you are present as a witness. And nobody is crying or wearing a T-shirt with your face on it. It was also my nephew, Tony’s, birthday. He’s turning 31. So, we were killing two birthdays with one bottle of whisky. It was a great night, a band was setting up on stage. A fire burnt from metal barrels.
At some point, Tony and Ebow, another nephew once removed, came over to where I was standing with a drink in hand. They call me “Uncle Biko” because I have watched them grow up: from babies to toddlers, boys, and now men. Ebow is 33. I like it when they call me ‘Uncle Biko’. It’s an identity that evokes wisdom and age.
“Uncle Biko,” Ebow said. “we were wondering what advice you would give your 31/33-year-old self.”
“But we want you to be well marinated first so that you don’t hold back,” Tony said. “So we will come find you later after your second whisky.”
I said. “Boys, this is your lucky day. I’m so glad you guys have asked that because I have more than one piece of advice for you boys. I have five. And may I kick this off with the first, seeing as I’m already in my second double?”
They said sawa, then.
I stepped closer to them and, for dramatic effect, lowered my head so that they could move in, and gather around.
“Save,” I said and looked at each of them. I wasn’t being dramatic. I wasn’t employing the power of the pause, I was simply letting this sink in because it’s a heavy lesson. Money is a lesson young men should learn before the cock crows twice.
“When I started my first job my mother used to pester me to save but I never listened because I was like, ‘It’s my first job, I’m earning 20K, the hell will I save? Let me enjoy my first salary first.’ So I didn’t pick up the saving culture until much later, at 30, when I lost my last job in employment. When you start saving early, you are off to a great head-start because you are learning the art of delayed gratification and sacrifice.”
Don’t wait to save when you have more money to save, I said. Because you will never have enough money to save. You save what you make. Whatever you make. It’s not an exercise, it’s a principle. And you don’t pay bills and meet other financial needs first before you save. “You save first before you take care of your financial obligations,” I told them. “And you try to save 30% of what you make.”
They nodded. Or maybe they were bobbing their heads to the music.
“And still on money,” I pressed on. “There is nothing like little money, just a little thinking.” And a fool is very soon separated from his money. By the way, in my head, I was Thomas Shelby and I was saying these things while wearing a Peaky hat (which I was) and it was raining and the top of my hat was dripping with water. And these boys, Tony and Ebow, are my soldiers taking instructions because they are going to go into the rain and they will shoot someone in the knee.
We touched glasses and drank to lesson one. “Now, come back later.” They disappeared back into the crowd and I went back to shooting the breeze.
After twenty minutes the pair showed up again. I was on my third double and there was a feeling that the night would never grow old and we would be as young as we felt. The band was getting into it. Great band, it seemed. They were called The BoomBox Band.
“Are you ready for lesson two?” Tony asked.
“Are you?” I asked, disengaging myself from the group I was standing with.
“Every man has his sin. All these men here,” I gestured at the gathered, “they each struggle with a sin. You know, Achilles Heel. Men have many sins, but there are three major sins for men: Women. Alcohol. Hubris. And lately – I’m told – gambling.” I was firing them off with my fingers. These are the sins that bring damnation. Something stands to destroy a man and any of these things will destroy you. Unfortunately, you can’t change the sin you have been assigned any more than you can change your fingerprint. Because these things can come from your bones, your blood, deep in your genes. You aren’t unique as a man, your journey is not special. You will walk the journeys other men – better men – have walked before. The road remains the same, it’s the landscape that changes. “Women. Alcohol. Hubris and now gambling.” I repeated with my fingers.
“The trick here is to discover your sin very early, accept it, and then manage it,” I said. If you know you have a fear of heights, step away from the ledge.
The relentless pursuit of sex will steer you off center. And we all have done some pretty idiotic things because we were thinking with our peters; driving across town in the dead of the night, in the pouring rain, to a remote place you have never been to and have no business being at – risking life and limb – because a girl called and said, “come over.” So you fired your car and left into the abyss, in an era without Google Maps. You know it’s unfulfilling because you beat yourself up as you drove back home, wondering what demon that was that made you drive all the way. “Post-nut clarity.” Trojan Prince Paris, ran away with Helen, the gorgeous wife of Sparta, to the city of Troy and the Greeks came with their force. “The pursuit of sex for the sake of sex will waste your time, waste your money and it will stagnate you,” I said. “So don’t centralise tail. Manage it.”
Then there is alcohol. “I don’t have to tell you gentlemen what a wrecking ball of alcohol is.” We all know someone who has been ruined by booze or is getting ruined by booze. How it takes over and whittles your mind and body and leaves you a cask of a man. Some men are more prone to addiction than others. If you are then you should exercise more caution than the rest. “If you can’t handle your drink you have no business holding it.”
Then hubris. Thinking you are the shit, the cock of the walk. Most times you end up as a feather duster. “ You never need to prove anything to anyone. Not on the road, not in the office, and not in the bar. “There is never any need to put your balls on the table. Not one reason.” I paused.
If I were a smoker, this is the point where I would have lit up and smoked as I looked at them through the smoke. Instead, I pointed at Tony with my glass, “So, what’s your sin? Do you know?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, what is it?”
He told me.
“Good. I said. “You, Ebow?”
He also told me.
“Great. Don’t be consumed by them.”
They left and I went to the washroom where I met someone at the urinals who said, “Are you still with Total Kenya?” He was clearly mistaken because I had never worked for Total Kenya but I wanted to know where this conversation would go, I was ready to start spinning a grand yarn, instead, he ended up talking about himself.
Later, when the boys came, my friend Ben – who we all call Japs – said, “I’d like to advise these boys as well.”
“Sawa, what’s your advice?”
“For the word of God will never fail.” He said.
Paul, who was listening in, and who has been very active in church these past years for whatever reason said immediately, “That’s Luke 1:37?”
”Exactly!” Ben hollered excitedly. “Nothing is impossible with God. You will face challenges that seem insurmountable and you will think that you need real or human intervention and that God is a removed abstract concept. I wanted you to know that God is real and you need to trust His ability to intervene. One of God’s everlasting promises is that He will never forsake His people and God will keep that promise. He keeps his word.” There was a hoop because now a few friends had gathered to listen in and if you knew anything about Ben you wouldn’t imagine him thumping the Bible over anyone’s head. I wasn’t too surprised though. He reads the Bible like a novel and gets a rise from debates on the interpretations of the Bible.
He wasn’t done though. “I have one more piece of advice.” He held up his hand. “If you are lucky you will discover your gifts, some people don’t really get to discover their gifts, so you will be lucky to discover yours and when you do,” he placed his hand on Ebow’s shoulder, “don’t be obsessed with it, be obsessed with the Giver of the gift.”
That wisdom almost sobered me up. I said, “Damn, Japs. What are you drinking?”
Now a baraza had formed around the boys, chaps in their 40s ready to throw their hats in the ring.
“How many do I have?” I asked.
“Three,” someone said.
“OK, the third lesson I’d give myself at your age. “It doesn’t matter what talent or gift you have, if you aren’t disciplined and if you aren’t consistent it will amount to nothing. You only go as far as your discipline can take you.”
That morning I had been in Karura Forest to start my 47th with a 10km run. On the trail, I suddenly realised that some tall chap in all-black, hoodie covering his head was racing me. I wondered for a second if I was running with the prince of darkness. He ran gracefully, with long sure limbs. Is this Lucifer? I wondered with excitement. [I’d love to meet God, yes, but I’d also like to meet the devil. I suspect the devil has better jokes.]
Anyway, I don’t race people while running just as I don’t bother with Subaru drivers and their testosterone. But this guy was either testing himself against me or trying to challenge me to test myself against him. I noticed he was very fast on flat surfaces but poor on hills. He eventually passed me at the 8km mark and finished before me. I finished a minute or so behind him. Anybody who saw us at the field thought; those guys finished a run. Not one person thought; that that guy in black finished the run faster. Because it doesn’t matter who finishes first. Run the race with the air you have in your chest. Stay the course. Don’t look at anybody’s run. Endurance, consistency. It’s about not giving up on the difficult parts of the run because that’s where you test your mettle.
“Tony, you are a runner, you know what I’m saying,” I said. Running long distances is an exercise in life.
“Paul, let’s hear yours,” I said. Paul is 46.
“Mine is simple,” he said. He was sober, he had a throat infection, and was on antibiotics. “You guys are now a generation that venerates quick wealth.” Yes, he used the word venerate in a bar at night on my birthday. But then again he’s a media fellow. “Nothing that you get easily is any good because if it’s too easy it’s probably not worth it. And if it comes too easily it shall leave. Nothing is easy; building, rising in your career, and lasting relationships. It’s work. You have to give yourself time and effort to achieve meaningful things.”
Someone refilled my glass as Julius, my brother, showed up because who doesn’t like to join a group of people gathered in a half circle? Julius – although younger – has always been a very serious sort of fellow. Although he’s 45 his internal age is about 60. He only started loosening up as he approached his 40s.
“Mine is to tell you guys about time.” He said in his usual lecture voice. “The two most powerful warriors are time and patience. [That’s from Tolstoy.] Your lives are graded on time and how you handle and view time is very important. There are many problems that only time will fix, so give time time. Secondly, the perfect time you are waiting for to accomplish certain things is illusory. There is no perfect time to buy a car, to build a house, to get children, or to make your money.Stop waiting for the perfect time. It doesn’t exist.”
“Yes, There is never a good time to do anything!” Paul chimed in. “The time is now. The time is when you decide to do it.”
“You start when you start. And you start with what you have.” Julius said. “So start.”
“Gogo,” I asked Kevin, “Have anything to say?” He runs Tukalime and is about to turn 40. He sighed and said, “Well, let’s see.” Pause. “You will find yourself in certain rooms, in certain spaces…none of this is by chance. Every interaction happens for a reason, so make them count. Be present in those spaces and make them count.”
“Oh and exercise, guys,” Japs said. “Exercise is great for your thinking and your body. It’s fuel for the mind.”
I added more fuel to my drink. The evening wore on and it reminded me of the saying, ‘Time is a game played beautifully by children.”
***
We have four slots left for the creative writing masterclass on the 6-8th November. Reserve a slot HERE.
I’m also hawking my books HERE.