At 89, lawyer John Khaminwa continues to practice law with enviable clarity. Asked about the secret behind his longevity, he offers a discipline so simple it almost sounds mischievous: he has never left his house to go to a bar in search of alcohol. Why chase spirits, he seems to imply, when one already has a perfectly good spirit at home?

This mindset, he explains, was shaped by his mother, a strict Quaker who warned him that alcohol was poison. He does not preach prohibition, however. If offered a drink at a friend’s house, he may accept it. His rule is not “never,” but “never foolishly.” Bars, in his telling, are less social venues and more waiting rooms where wisdom occasionally wanders in and forgets why it came.

His advice is refreshingly balanced. Those who can control their drinking may do so in moderation. No thunderbolts, no sermons — just restraint served neat. The humour lies in his gentle skepticism: he makes excess sound less rebellious and more like voluntarily misplacing one’s common sense.

Scripture itself carries similar wit disguised as warning. Proverbs speaks of wine that sparkles invitingly before biting like a serpent. In modern terms, it’s the friend who smiles warmly before emptying your wallet and your dignity. Proverbs also calls wine a mocker and strong drink a brawler — hardly glowing character references. Even the Bible, it seems, understood public relations.

Here is where reality sharpens the joke. Moderation works for some; for alcoholics, it is often a mathematical impossibility. Telling an alcoholic to “drink responsibly” can resemble advising someone with a broken brake pedal to “drive carefully.” The intention is noble, the outcome uncertain. Abstinence, though less glamorous, tends to be more reliable — like choosing not to wrestle a snake simply because it looks calm today.

Khaminwa’s philosophy blends discipline, inherited wisdom, and practical moderation. His life illustrates a quiet truth: longevity is often built on small, unremarkable choices repeated stubbornly over decades. Avoiding excess may not be exciting, but neither is replacing damaged clarity.

There is also gentle irony here. Many toast to long life with the very substance he largely sidestepped. Yet he stands steady in the courtroom, proof that wisdom sometimes ages better than indulgence. His mother’s stern counsel, once unfashionable, now reads like an investment that compounded handsomely.

The lesson is neither moral panic nor rigid abstinence for all. It is awareness. Alcohol can be companion, decoration, or disaster, depending on who is holding the glass. Know your limits. Protect your clarity. And if you ever feel tempted by the serpent in the cup, remember: snakes rarely split the bill, and they have terrible bedside manners.