There are bad decisions, and then there are jioni plans that should have stayed in the drafts. So this girl calls me, all casual, “kuja away.” No red flags, no disclaimers, just vibes. I show up thinking I’m about to enjoy soft life… only to walk straight into a live episode of “Wrong Place, Wrong Time.”

I knock.

The door opens.

Instead of the warm welcome I had scripted in my head, I’m greeted by a fully grown, well-fed, no-nonsense human wall. This was not the girl. This was the boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend—this man looked like he does bench press for breakfast. For a split second, my ancestors started drafting apology letters.

Fight or flight kicked in. But Nairobi rent is too high to die for romance, so I chose WiFi.

“Boss, tunauza WiFi…” I said, with the confidence of someone who had never sold anything in his life.

He stared.

Not blinking. Not talking. Just staring like he’s buffering whether to beat me or hear the offer. He says “No,” but continues to look at me like I’m the entertainment for the evening.

At this point, retreating would be suspicious. So I committed to the bit.

I moved to the next door.

Knock.

“Tunauza WiFi…”

And the next.

And the next.

By the fourth door, I had built a full character arc. I wasn’t escaping anymore—I was working. Cold calls. Door-to-door. Hustle. Grind. Survival.

That day, I learned two things: one, away haiwezi. And two, in Nairobi, your ability to improvise can literally save your life.

Love is sweet, yes—but sometimes, WiFi is safer.