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Someone who saw you months ago thinks
you are into getting in shape. Another tells you, 'na umeisha'. It's a
combination of many things. But the truth is, it has more to do with
stress than actually being passionate about what makes you happy.
At some point, I got really sick all
of a sudden because of having walked a normal distance I used to cover. When I went to the hospital, I started feeling unwell. A cold had resulted in a fever
and I had to be tested for everything to find out if I had something in my
blood 'kamdudu kanaweza kuwa kamesneak'. They found nothing. That day, I had to be booked for bed rest as I
waited to see the doctor. I was OK realistically, that is according to
the doctor. Yet I was not feeling well. My weight had greatly reduced. So in the intent of ensuring I get to spend inside there, I
was given medicine. Medicine that I wake up everyday, look and feel like
they remind me of that day when I was sick but not sick.
Henceforth, my morale went low.
My ambition died, my reason for living was pricked, and I decided it was
time. Now am no longer an employee. I feel more free and can sometime eat. My
younger brother is even weighing more than I do. My sister who I live with
thinks that I never take ugali and mboga because I don't work for it. I felt
like, 'Shit, this lady thinks it's only the most precious food currently
in the country that I don't eat.' Sad that she only thought that I only dont
love ugali and mboga. Truth is, my life is not sweet. I hate that I gave
up hope, I hate that I became thin, I hate that I am where I am. Even chapatti has become unpalatable.
What's worse is that I pass the
workplace without feeling a tinge of guilt that they pay me for having not
worked. I had contemplated exiting, but they told me to hold on. Now, I
am in a dilemma. Wait, can't they just sack me now! This is the kind
of feeling I have. I sat with my line manager who was feeling like I was doing
nothing and felt like telling her, 'Madam, have you ever found someone who sees
money and says I don't want money?' If she knows of one, then am not in that category.
I was to hand her my resignation
letter but I have not. I feel empty, and indifferent. She had requested for it.
I hate to think of the stress she has to go through because of me. Damn! If I
was Ozzy Man, I would have easily used the name destination fucked, dickhead and pussy in the
same line without any ado. Simply put, I just have to be ethical in the face of
being debased. Sic.
Am happy that I managed to take a
certain lady for lunch, a campus girl. I forgot to ask what her name was,
forgot to ask for her number and forgot to tell her that she is truly a go
getter. We met in the library. You meet with a guy, talk to him for few minutes, become
friends and you don't get pricked asking to be taken for lunch. If she were a
salesperson, which she is given that she sells perfumes, her client
list would be bulging. And that is evident by her WhatsApp messages.
So we went to a modest restaurant in
uptown Nairobi. Where a decent meal costs about 500. Initially, we had
planned to go for fries, but given that it was Friday and that is the day
I normally expect some cash, I decided to take her to a midrange eatery. Luckily
for me, I also had cash backup in the event money did not show up through
Mpesa.
I ordered for fries and sausage. What
I never do because I rarely go for lunch. Ever since I relieved myself from
walking helter skelter without a reason in the quest for a clientale, I
have been having peace. A reason why I decided to go for lunch with a lady I
barely knew. Was she pretty? I bet she can work on that. Say, she was averagely
beautiful.
Then she started telling me about her
stay in New York. It's crazy in the land of milk and honey. What's for sure is
that you need to sync to new situations faster. When a man washes dishes,
all night and still has a day job to make ends meet, that is itself a real
hustle. And the pay? Having a quote on your head in terms of what you are worth
is important. Her host was an uncle who did menial jobs to make ends meet. They
lived in a three bedroom house. They lived in a house where each bedroom was
occupied by a different family with a shared sitting room. But it's easier making
money in the US than in Kenya. Right?
More recently, her uncle had decided
to be a teacher, a profession that is synonymous with poor pay. I
remember a certain priest from the US telling us the same about teachers in the US since teachers were
on strike at about the same time he was in Kenya. A stingy guy who bought Meakins
and thought it was better than Gilbeys. I refused to take his digits. Because I
hate stingy people.
My guess is that this chic was
probably deported, lies. Life was a real hustle for a high school graduate who
just found herself in US. Juggling school and still working partime. Though
when you are on student visa, it becomes illegal to work and the institution
you are in can propagate your derpature and deportation back to the country.
You need to be extra careful if you have to work because snitches are also in
bulk. Even the person who hires you does it knowing it's risky, but given
you are in need of mullahs, the pay is peanuts and though the working
conditions may not be deplorable, the end result is that you end up feeling
inadequate. Conclusion, to make it in US, you have to have thick skin.
Hasta La Vista, Baby.
[Picture Source: Pixabay]
