Breaking all birthday rules at Red Ginger

There is something deeply suspicious about grown African men throwing birthday parties. It sits in the same uncomfortable corner as telling another man, "Goodnight". I learned that lesson the hard way one chilly evening after a long phone call with comedian Eddie Butita.

"Goodnight, brother," I said. He smacked his lips in disbelief.

"Uniambiaje mwanaume mwenzako goodnight? We acha hizo bana, umeangusha gangster points." (How do you tell another man goodnight? Come on, you've just lost your gangster points.)

That was the exact feeling that crept down my spine when John Christopher invited me to celebrate his 40th birthday at Red Ginger.

Red Ginger is Nairobi’s newest dining hotspot, the kind of place where every socialite seems duty-bound to take a hundred photos before ordering a drink, only to flood Instagram with its picture-perfect aesthetics.

I must admit, their posts had infected me with a serious case of FOMO [fear of missing out]. I had already promised myself that one day I'd take my woman there to find out whether Red Ginger truly deserved all the hype. From what I'd seen, the place was stunning. What I never imagined was that JC, as he proudly calls himself, would be the reason I'd finally walk through its doors.

I've known this brother for years, and I cannot remember the last time he booked 30 tables just to break bread with family and close friends. Certainly not at 40. At that age, I figured a man should be growing wiser, not louder.

I expected him to summon ‘the boys’ to his palatial home for marathon chess matches, glasses of his beloved Tennessee whiskey and enough laughter to keep the neighbourhood awake until dawn. JC has never struggled with volume. If anything, silence has always struggled with JC.