The morning after Mama's prayer felt lighter, like the air itself was blessing me. Birds were loud, goats were arguing somewhere behind the banana grove, and the smell of wood smoke curled through the breeze like old memories.
Kelvin was already outside washing the car. He looked up and smirked. "Bro, your Range Rover is the most expensive goat mirror in Kenya."
I laughed. "That goat just complimented my rims."
He chuckled. "Nah, it just peed on them."
We both burst out laughing loud, unfiltered laughter that you can't buy in the city. I hadn't laughed like that in months.
Then I heard them before I saw them a group of voices calling my name in that old mischievous tone.
"Jacko! City boy! Mr. BragTech himself!"
I turned, and there they were the boys. My brothers from the dusty days.
Omondi "Rasta," with his always-fading dreadlocks and fake Jamaican accent.
Oduor "Gaza," tall and thin, still wearing slippers made from car tires.
And Onyango "Messi," who never played football past primary but still claimed he'd join Harambee Stars "one day."
They looked at me with that mix of pride and playful envy that only true friends can balance.
"Eh, Jacko, we saw you on TV last month!" Gaza shouted. "You were shaking hands with white people like a president!"
I laughed and shook their hands, pulling them into hugs. "You guys haven't changed one bit."
"Why should we?" Omondi said, grinning. "If you get rich and forget us, at least one of us will remember you owe us a soda from 2010!"
Kelvin laughed so hard he almost dropped his towel.
We sat under the mango tree behind Mama's house, just like old times. The same wooden benches, the same gossip about whose goat was pregnant and which boda rider crashed where.
"Bro, you forgot us," Messi said suddenly, half-joking, half-serious. "You went to the city and never came back."
The laughter dimmed a little. I looked around their faces were older now, tougher. Life had not been gentle to them.
"I didn't forget," I said quietly. "I just got caught up trying to survive."
Omondi sighed. "We understand. Life doesn't wait for anyone. But still, when we saw you on TV… bro, we felt proud. Like, that's our boy!"
I smiled. "You still at the garage, Gaza?"
He nodded. "Yes, but business is dry. People just patch their cars with prayers nowadays."
We laughed again.
"Messi?"
He shrugged. "Still chasing the dream. But these knees, bro…"
He tapped them and winced dramatically.
"And you, Rasta?"
He leaned back, grinning. "Still DJ-ing at local weddings. You should see the brides dance when I shout 'Braggers System!'"
We all cracked up. Even the mango tree seemed to laugh with us.
Then, after a while, Gaza's tone changed.
"You know, bro, life is tough here. We've tried hustling, but without capital…" His voice trailed off. "Sometimes it feels like we're running in circles."
Silence. The kind that makes your heart ache.
I remembered nights when we shared one plate of githeri, when we'd sleep hungry and pretend we were fasting "for spiritual growth."
I took a slow breath. "What if I help you guys start something real?"
They froze.
"Don't joke, Jacko," Messi said. "You're serious?"
"Completely." I smiled. "A proper garage for Gaza. DJ equipment for Rasta. And Messi maybe a football academy for the kids here."
The three of them looked at me like I had just said I'd bought the moon.
"Bro, that's too much," Gaza whispered.
"No, it's not enough," I said softly. "You guys were there when I had nothing. You laughed with me, protected me, and never judged me. Let me do this."
Tears welled in Omondi's eyes. He quickly wiped them away, pretending there was dust. "It's just the smoke," he mumbled.
Kelvin chuckled. "There's no smoke, my guy. You're just crying like a legend."
We all laughed through the tears.
Just then, a goat decided to crash our emotional moment by trying to eat Kelvin's shoelaces. He screamed, jumped up, and we rolled on the ground laughing.
"Bro, you city guys don't know real wildlife!" Rasta joked.
I was still laughing when my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket.
System Notification: 'Loyalty Reward Humble King Title Acquired. Charisma +10.'
I smiled. "Even the system approves of my village life."
"What system?" Gaza asked, frowning.
I grinned. "Just… my internal bragging GPS."
They roared with laughter.
That evening, we went to the small bar near the main road — the one that still had chairs older than our memories and a jukebox that only played songs from 2007.
"First round on me!" I shouted.
Everyone cheered. Even the bartender, Mama Nyar Awuor, smiled wide. "Eeeh! The prodigal son returns with money!"
The bar filled with laughter, stories, and cheap rum.
Messi told the story of how I once got chased by a cow in primary school.
Rasta mimicked my first attempt to impress girls by singing Kigeugeu in class.
And Gaza reminded everyone of the day I borrowed his bicycle and crashed into a tree.
By the time we were done, everyone was crying from laughter.
Then, out of nowhere, silence fell again.
Gaza spoke softly, "Bro… I dropped out in Form Three because I couldn't pay school fees. I wanted to be an engineer like you."
My chest tightened.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He shook his head. "Don't be. Life just had other plans."
The laughter had gone, replaced by quiet truth.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out an envelope. "This isn't a handout. It's an investment. Go back to school, bro. Finish what you started."
He stared at me, mouth open. "You serious?"
"As serious as hunger," I said.
He stood up and hugged me so tight it hurt.
Kelvin looked away, pretending to check his phone — but I saw his eyes glisten.
Later that night, when the stars came out, we all sat outside, the music low, fire crackling.
"Bro," Rasta said softly, "I used to envy you. I used to tell people, 'If I had that system of his, I'd be unstoppable.' But now I see… it's not the system. It's your heart."
I smiled. "The system helps. But yeah heart matters more."
System Notification: 'Heart Alignment Level +1 — Humanity Synced.'
I ignored it this time. I didn't need rewards for doing what was right.
When I finally left the next day, the whole village came to wave goodbye. Kids shouted, "Bye, city man!"
Mama stood beside me, smiling proudly. "You made them laugh again. You gave them hope."
I hugged her and whispered, "They gave me something better they reminded me who I was."
As the car rolled away, Kelvin said quietly, "Bro, you realize you just turned your old gang into future bosses?"
I laughed. "Good. Maybe next time I come home, I'll have to book an appointment to see them."
He grinned. "Now that's the kind of bragging I can respect."
The wind blew through the open window, carrying the sound of distant laughter.
For the first time in a long time, I felt free — not the kind of freedom money buys, but the kind that comes when you finally reconnect with your roots.
System Notification:
'Mission Complete — The Village Boys.'
Reward: "Humble King Title" Upgraded. Charisma Aura Expanded Worldwide.
I smiled. "Keep your rewards, System. I already got mine."
And somewhere behind me, laughter echoed through the mango trees proof that even in a world full of bragging, some friendships never fade.