I was in the Kenyan capital, Nairobi, during the US presidential elections. I saw, I felt and I smelt the madness of Kenyans. Okay, we know them as wild and short-tempered, bearing in mind the chaos that erupted in the aftermath of the presidential elections late last year.

But Kenyans can also be euphoric when there is a reason to celebrate.

When the US president-elect Barack Obama's victory was finally official, a lean-bodied shabbily dressed man walked into the bar of Panafric Hotel on Kenyatta Avenue. He wasn't speaking, he wasn't yelling, he was just dumb. Grinning from ear to ear, he went straight to the counter, ordered a Guiness and within seconds he was on the second bottle.

And you wouldn't blame him. Not when "his" man had just been announced US President. He was not the classy type who could afford a drink at a posh hotel or come and drink at anytime of the day - 10:00am today. He had simply sworn to himself that he would drink himself silly if the "son of the soil" became president of the superpower. This man, like other Kenyans, had had his eyes glued to the TV for the last month or so as the race for the White House reached its peak. And it was not just watching any TV station - it was CNN or BBC. All over Nairobi, people walked with earphones, listening to their phone radios.

Two days before the election, the atmosphere was tense. The sound of the chirping birds didn't seem reassuring. The weather was chilly as if to say nothing was to be taken for granted, that perhaps things might not go well.

Small groups gathered on the streets and discussed the latest developments as they unfolded. Meanwhile, zealous vendors were making an extra buck out of T-shirts printed with Obama's pictures. The prospective buyers were apprehensive. Should they buy? What if Obama lost? But they always took two or three with them.

And by last Tuesday night, when it was obvious that their son was winning, people took to the streets chanting and yelling. At Carnivore club, Kenyans grooved the night away - never mind that the next day was a working day.

Same thing at Safari Park; people danced, drank and ate all sorts of roast meat, ranging from crocodile meat to chicken.

The day the results were announced, you just had to endure pedestrians smiling and talking to themselves. Deafening noise filled the air. The matatus unrelentingly drove around the city, hooting like there was no tomorrow. They were only hindered by the traffic jam. Bumper stickers and headlines screamed one thing: "Obama."

You would not be surprised if you got a punch in the face. Women, men and children were all throwing their punches in the air. One woman hit her fist hard on a metal that left her bleeding.

Those who had conferences underway did not escape the excitement. I was covering an education conference at the United Nations office in Gigiri. Every speaker seemed to have one salutation - Obama.

"Today is the only day when Africa has a happy face," said Kenya's education minister, prompting laughter.

"Today is a day of hope; so let us mean business," another commented.

Of course, it wouldn't be that easy to concentrate. And who cared anyway? The journalists were conspicuously absent. The few who turned up didn't care to follow up the usually sought after high profile personalities. Why? They already had headlines for the next day.

The country simply forgot about its Kibaki woes and the alleged stolen election. President Kibaki was himself exhilarated. "I am happy with the way Americans have chosen their president. We hope it will make a difference and I am quite sure that nobody will regret it. It is a wonderful development."

Little wonder that the next day was declared a public holiday. It was in honour of the once little-known Kenyan boy who had come so far.