Heee, Kenyans! Eti Wantam 🤣🤣.
To be honest, the coined term peaked most of my interest. And I swear, I’m not even mad about the political undertones; it’s the sheer creativity of the term that’s
got me hooked.
From the streets to the timelines, Wantam is the vibe of the now.
And trust me, in my office? We’ve got our own version of Wantam, and it’s a whole soap opera.
Our workplace is like a museum of dinosaurs—sorry, I mean, C-Suite
executives. These folks didn’t climb the corporate ladder with degrees, skills, or even a sprinkle of competence.
Nope.
Their secret weapon? Age.
Just pure, unfiltered years on Earth. You hit a certain birthday, and boom, you’re handed a corner office and a
fancy title.
Meanwhile, anything new—be it software, ideas, or, God forbid, young people — is dismissed as “childish.”
Flexibility?
That word sends shivers down their spines like you’ve suggested they try yoga in a boardroom.
Enters Adusdus.
These are the fresh-faced, bright-eyed newbies—usually young, always eager—who waltz into the office thinking they’re about to change the world.
The oldies, though? They’re out here setting traps like they’ve been training for the Hunger Games their whole careers.
It’s like the moment an Adusdus steps through the door, the C-Suite smells blood.
A few weeks in, and the poor Adusdus is either running for the exit or getting “restructured” out of a job.
It’s a ritual, I tell you.
A corporate rite of passage.
And then there’s Wantam, the ferryman. Oh, you thought Powder Flower was the ultimate office villain? (If you don’t know Powder Flower, umekua wapi? Start this blog from the beginning, hapo chini, and thank me later.)
Wantam is a different breed. Not your garden-variety, loudmouth schemer. No, no. This guy is strategically
psychopathic, a ferryman. Ferrying Adusdusses across their one terms.
Picture a colleague who slides up to every new Adusdus like they’re auditioning for Best Supporting Actor in a Nollywood drama. “Ati, these people? They’re not your friends,” he’ll whisper, leaning in like he’s sharing state secrets. “They’re
already gossiping about why I’m talking to you. They want you to fail, but me? I’m here to help you settle in, my friend.”
The Adusdus, starry-eyed and desperate for an ally, falls for it. Hook, line, and sinker.
They spill their life story —where they went to school, their dreams, their favorite
chai spot. Wantam nods, smiles, takes mental notes like he’s writing a CIA dossier.
Plot twist!!
That little detail about your weekend side hustle? It’s now “proof” you’re not focused on the job. Your complaint about the broken coffee machine? Suddenly, you’re “negative” and “not a team player.”
Before you know it, the Adusdus is out, and Wantam is somehow getting a pat on the back from the dinosaurs upstairs.
What’s wilder? Wantam thrives. While the Adusduses are dropping like flies, this guy’s getting promotions, bonuses, and probably a reserved parking spot.
Why?
Because Wantam plays the game. You know, office politics—that shadowy chess match they don’t teach you about in school. They’ll tell you it’s optional, but let’s be real: if you don’t play, you’re out. Checkmate.
Me? I’m allergic to the game. My maddening mind – bless its overactive nose and overthinking neurons – can’t
stand the stench of it.
The moment I smell those political shenanigans, I’m halfway out the door, drafting my resignation letter in my head.
I’d rather sniff out a good story or a fresh mandazi than navigate that corporate swamp.
But Wantam? He’s the
ferryman, rowing his boat through the murky waters of office politics, ferrying Adusduses from hope to despair while somehow keeping his own ship afloat.
And the craziest part? He makes it look easy. And that should make your Maddening mind boggle.
The Maddening Mind is an attempt to scribble my life, specifically through my experiences in the different work spaces I have been in, with some lessons, somewhere in the stories.
