This strikes me as probably the most [add your adjective here] statements I have witnessed in '24 (and we've had a cornucopia of such this year, have we not, Sister?)
I know not of the fortitude and robustness of my Kenyan Bretheren/Kinswomen, but it strikes me odd that a person would (fully?) come to know FE in an East-Africa locale . . .
. . . is there an application open for the fly on your wall?
Actually, - and this occurred a number of years ago - truth to tell, (and precisely because it is such a great story, why not relate it?) I made the acquaintance of Guinness Foreign Extra in a cosy bar in a UN training base, where I was on a (HEAT) course prior to my deployment to Somalia (I was seconded to the EU and had been sent to Mogadishu as a political counsellor at the time).
The thing is, those highly alcoholic versions of Guinness were actually brewed in Africa, and not in Ireland or the UK.
When I first heard of them, related in tones of awed wonder by my friends, (and I vividly recall this) as an undergrad in a pub, sitting with friends, - the (cardiologist) father of one friend - home from a stint abroad - who was funding our beverages for the evening - I didn't believe these wondrous tales of a legendary (highly alcoholic) version of Guinness that could be had in a continent that lay far from us.
At that time, the only people I had ever heard refer to it were diplomats, or clergy, or medical professionals - in other words, individuals whose professional work and world took them to the sort of places where one could find this nectar, and whose children I knew at university. Naturally, I didn't believe them.
I had put Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy (and any and all versions of God) behind me: Thus, why believe in the existence of an exceptionally robust version of Guinness brewed for the export market (especially when such delights were denied us at home in those days)?