Mũratina, the golden nectar of the House of Mũmbi is slowly staging a grand comeback. If I was the ol’ brewer at Ruaraka, I would be deeply concerned-and for good reason.

First, the items for fixing mũratina are easy to come by: honey, sugarcane juice and the magical fruits of the kigelia africana tree. Throw them in a pot, tuck it in a warm corner, and in a few days—boom! —you’ve got an amber elixir potent enough to knock down an elephant.

Secondly, mũratina’s potency is the stuff of legend and unmatched in the market. While its actual alcohol content remains a closely guarded tribal secret, Kamaley, a veteran connoisseur, swears it’s north of 50% ABV. Looking at his collection of facial dents and his toothless, all-gums smile, I have no reason to doubt him.

Then there’s the cultural renaissance sweeping through Central Kenya like a hurricane. Folks are reviving ancestral traditions, and mũratina has reclaimed its throne as the official drink of rũracios, ngurario (traditional Agĩkũyũ wedding) and several social gatherings.

Gen Z kids, ever the experimental bunch, have hopped onto the amber train, whether courtesy of generous uncles or by pooling coins to buy some drink. Even Nairobi slay queens—those who once swore by Moët and foreign cocktails—are now guzzling mũratina by the gallon at rũracios. Of course, that’s after giving it an exotic rebrand: Ratish. Somewhere in the afterlife, Gĩkũyũ and Mũmbi must be clinking horns in pride.

And lastly, the only man who could’ve fought this mũratina revolution—Riggy G, sworn enemy of illicit brews—is currently too busy battling his ex-boss. Talk about distractions working in favour of tradition!

Mũratina isn’t just making a comeback—it’s staging a coup. At this rate, even the ol’ brewer at Ruaraka might soon be sipping Ratish in secret.

 

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