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The putrid air that characterizes this street is now synced into
my respiratory organs which was in a pathetic state barely a few months ago.
The pollution wraps itself around my body like the second skin I neither want
nor need. The air has a rotten, dirty quality everywhere a person can think to
go. It smells of sewage and washed up dirt. There is filth in every particle of
the pollution; a product of our own greed and societal pyramid. This is a
perfect example of neglect which can easily cause climate change because the
toxins are quite evident and if not used to, can sting the eye. Indeed, on this
streets we have given up the fight against pollution.
The cracked sidewalk on your way to Gikomba from OTC is like the
jagged gap-toothed grin of a certain old junkie I am forgetting about though I
can reminisce his visage but the figure is quite blurry and looks like a
mirage. Though the road is supposed to be a dual one way, so many hawkers cheek
by jowl, so many squirming lives that line one side of the dual way. At
intervals are the concrete street-lamps, once coated in glossy silver colours,
now dappled with grey chips of grime. The road is a monochrome patchwork, lined
with a tedious boarder of tar. Despite some shoddy fixes by the county
government or any other road body, the road leading there is in cracks and the
potholes grow larger with each passing hour.
Oh! I simply consulted Google and realized that the initial OTC
stands for ‘Overseas Trading Company’ and not ‘on the cool’ or ‘over the
counter’ as I had speculated. These streets are capriciously cruel. Hordes of
humanity strut laboriously in order to go eke for a living amid disillusion
which is evident in their visage. All they can do is hustle hard though
there are some who are becoming distressed and will exit the scene sooner than
they expected.
In the morning as I normally trot to my duty station, there are
these tramps who sleep on the footpath who have been addled and ignored at
best. They sleep in grunge filled sacks and their mouths are usually laced with
saliva while some have their teeth exposed, which are tarred due to drug use. They
sleep on the hard tar and people pass as if nothing is wrong. In fact, many of
the panhandlers have worked in the same corner every day. Some seek for alms
and have become resistant to the fact that there is another life other than the
streets. One thing is that you cannot ascertain is whether they ever change
clothes amid the ravaging effects of the Nairobian weather.
It’s never good news when you are told that your next destination
in terms of designation is the populous Gikomba Market. I felt belittled,
unworthy and despondent. How could they decide to lower my stature too low that
I am assigned to ply my trade from Gikomba? Indeed, someone had saw it fit that
I needed to be stationed in Gikomba. What was the rationale in picking me and
not any other person to go support a branch that was struggling and has that
name that is synonymous to stuff going for a song? Ideally I find it as a test
of faith and spirit. My natural optimism in my new-found home is upbeat. Though
it took a toll on me for quite some time, I am still proud to be a salesperson.
That’s how flexible one should be.
There was this colleague who we were assigned to report to this
duty station. I had initially wanted to inform him of this ‘good’ news on a
shared Whatsapp group but rescinded and texted him instead to personally inform
him of his new found home. He said ‘thanks’ which he never meant and till now,
he is still stuck in his former station unwilling to secede from the bondage of
uptown deluxe. It’s called sticking to lanes.
There is a complete contrast when you arrive at the work station
though. The air is cosy and serene. You know the how banks are supposed to be.
It does not reek of the sordid aura that characterizes the scene outside. The
ambience is delectable and coy. This contrast gives a fortifying demure which
relieves the body from the rush hash on your way to the office that is outside.
It’ like you have emptied of the latent laden that clogs the air channel.
What I instinctly love about my job is the fact that the
camaraderie is quite bountiful and fetching. Like it looked quite unprecedented
for a chap like me to accept this demotion in terms of job location. This
is because the serene location of our former office is no more. In the few
months that I have been working for this bank, I have worked from three
different locations. The first had one of a kind intimacy that soothed even
though there is lots of pressure in this job. The kind that if you are weak
hearted, you only get paid the first few months and the next you are up and
about somewhere else.
Then again when you work for an institution and you have not
leveraged in such a way that you bring business to it, my friend, you need to
accept it. That you are still an employee and it is only hard work that will
differentiate you with chaps who are a notch higher on the job pyramid.
Virtually in all organisations, there are usually some politics
that drive the business. We deny it but it is the truth. There are those
individuals who are like owners of the business. They call the shots and can
make or break your career aspiration. When you are in good terms with them, you
can easily ascend the career ladder to where you want to be irrespective of the
fact that you are not even a performer. Yet at the base of the pyramid the best
you can do is think optimistically.
That’s why we cannot deny that be there are sacred cows and ghost
workers who receive a salary and you have no idea what their role actually is
in the institution. But you sometimes get too engrossed with some other stuff
that even thinking of them is never part of your rote.
Anyway.
When it rains in Gich, there is this outlet that floods the road
near the bridge that Nairobi River passes under. It is a mixture of a little
bit of sewage which makes it kind of greenish. As such, if you do not have gum
boots you have to seek for an alternative of gaining access to the other side
of the road which is not flooded. It’s a short stretch by the way. Apparently,
there is always that thrift guy who modifies a bridge which you have to pay some
bucks in order to cross. They use the wooden stand which they normally place
their bargain products on to reap from ineffective county government. You have
to part with only Ksh.10. in order to make it to the other side. This is enough
to take you to Githurai in the morning which is fifteen kilometers away while
this is only a stretch of two metres. Plus those guys who charge you for this
service never mince their words, you have to badge to their demands because
that’s life.
I paid the amount the first time, the second, I had got acquainted
to a shortcut where I pass in a very risky ‘panyaroot’. You pass next
to some women who prepare all sorts of meals that range from eggs, githeri, omena,
beans, meat in the open and the place is not only dingy but can make you lose
appetite the first time here because of the conflicting aromas that rent the
air. After sometime, you will find yourself among the customers you were
wondering how they stomach such environment, to appetize on these meals. This
route is inside the periphery of ‘Machakos’ bus station and has very
few users as opposed to the road that leads to ‘Gich’ a better slang for
Gikomba. Obviously, those slow days of the month, ‘katikati ya mwezi’ b, are
quite real for a salesman and any form of cheap chow serves just right,
especially if you have not made enough commissions.
By the way, I love the adventure that is being a salesperson.
While I do not love the job, the thrill is somehow ecstatic. A couple of times
my manager has been asking why I am not able to sell and the response is that I
am creating a pipeline. Oh yes! But when chicken shall come the roost, my deeds
will have to be laid bear. But in the meantime, let me celebrate the intimacy
of working as a salesperson.
I love the affable traits of the salespeople in the surrounding
area that is Gikomba. They usually have time to listen to us salespeople. They
are not as inimical as some people in government offices who think we are
peddlers who are out to dilly dally with their time which some spend on Facebook
and others gossip you wonder what you did to deserve this treatment. Spending
five to ten minutes with a salesperson is not bad though I understand that they
can be quite nagging.
Next to where our branch is, there is this drift that also has a bend
leading to another road. Normally, when those cart pushers take on this drift
ready to skid to the other road which is slightly elevated, they have to shout
from afar, ‘Size, size.’ And mark you they are normally in a speed that in the
event they get a person on their way, that human will either be crushed or
escape death by a whisker. To survive on this streets, as opposed to the more
urbane uptown Nairobi, you really need to be swift and nimble, otherwise,
chances are you will be on the receiving end.
But being that guy who loves swag means that I have to look for
alternative routes to my place of work. There is this route where you pass next
to Haile Selassie and it leads directly to the place where I work though it is
quite far. At least, it has no multitudinous individuals who are hustling for
the same route in their endeavours to make it to eke.
Initially, I had been forewarned that having a nice watch and
phone is a source of insecurity by colleagues who thought that Gich is not a
conducive environment. Fortunately, this place has a very high supply of cops
who are almost in every corner. Even our branch is manned by two and this
really got me nervous the first time since I was fearing for my security. But
as time goes by, I have come to appreciate the hustle of all this people in
Gikomba. They make more mullahs than we guys who work in the bank as
salespeople given that they handle cash on a daily basis.
There is only one problem that does not auger well with some
clients who consider Gich a crime prone location full of vagabonds and hobos.
Convincing such clients is normally tasking for stories I have heard but that
does not break my heart. We meet all sort of people in our day to day work. So
it does not matter what that person thinks, at some point, we own up our fear
by facing it.
Hasta La Vista Baby.
[Picture source: Google Images]
