Summit Malt: Damn!

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Anyone in the freelancing business will tell you that there are bad days and good days. Bad sucking days boring and greasy, that you find yourself working on some project for more than twelve hours straight, with calls and emails from the other end.  I tend to think about freelancing as a self-imposed slavery where one changes bosses every single day.

Tuesday, July 14, 2017,  was such a day for me. When I clicked Ctrl + Enter to submit the project to the client, there was only one thing in my mind, a drink. That is where this story begins.

Walking up the stairs of Club Scarlet along the Eastern Bypass, I saw an offer, Buy two get one free. In drinking circles, the law says ‘always redeem the deal for a free beer’.

Summit Malt it was; in a small bottle with a big bottom and a neck that hangs on the hands after taking a sip. My beer is always ice-cold, and I will never understand how a man, with children a wife to boot, no, to keep, and acting sponsor to six girls in Nairobi and one in Meru, sits down in a club and calls for a warm beer. Beer should be taken cold, period. Whether the July cold is freezing balls into nothingness.


The first sip of the Summit Malt was, ‘Fuck, shit is good’. My hand refused to return the bottle to the table, so I did a hat-trick of sips as Wayne Rooney pushed a sublime goal against Gor Mahia in a packed stadium in Tanzania. It was surreal watching Rooney in an Everton Jersey playing against homeboys. Changes. And speaking of changes, Arsenal has delivered its preseason hope to its disillusioned fans by buying Alexandre Lacazette, the second-top scorer.

By the second and third and fourth sips, I was shouting myself silly to the girl opposite me, forcing her to take a sip of the gold in my hands.

Here is the way to drink Summit Malt:

  1. Take a mouthful sip of that damn cold fucking strong taste Malt.
  2. Let it hang in the mouth for 10 microseconds
  3. Push the whole drink to the roof of your mouth as you swallow
  4. Repeat the above steps three times before placing the bottle on the table
  5. Most important: drink from the bottle.

Pushing the bottle to the roof of your mouth as you swallow feels like getting a big hug from your crush. The coldness and strong barley taste washes all your troubles away, gives you hope and courage because you know that you are stepping on self-actualization at that particular moment. It goes down the throat to your belly like a David Beckham free kick, making as much contact with the walls of your stomach as the ball rolling from topside of the net to the far corner.

By the second and third and fourth sips, I was shouting myself silly to the girl opposite me, forcing her to take a sip of the gold in my hands.

The second, third and fourth sips feel like a warm shower at 4:34 Am on a Friday morning in the month end, knowing that this day will be a free one. Y’know, stepping into the office with pure leather loafers and designer jeans and a V-shaped T-shirt that assures the world that you know the direction to heaven.  As the water falls on your belly down to your thighs, with the menthol soap flowing all through, you tell yourself that the intern will go out with you, tonight.

The second bottle tastes better, and that’s where I got laid. My biggest fear as a Kenyan is opening the first beer, it flows like demons in the head of Kendrick Lamar only for the second beer to taste like the lyrics of Kamatia Chini. Summit Malt scores a good one on that front, as it keeps its promise of a better sip, better experience, better life and more vigor.

It is a fucking good drink


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