I love tea. I went home the other day and I can tell you for free that all I did was eat groundnuts and tea. Even when the sun was hot, I took tea. When the dust rose, I took tea. When I thought lunch was taking long, I took tea. But I hate coffee dates. You are stuck sipping that little tea or coffee, served in a miniature bottle-top of a cup. And by the 5th minute, my cup is empty and the man across is fidgeting, trying to keep the convo going and I just feel hungry and tired already. Starved. And my appetite on another level that makes me lose concentration. I just want a mountain of food in front of me, without cutlery if possible and preferably in a corner, facing the wall. But I love tea anyhow in the confines of a good home.
I was sitting with a good friend of mine, an old lady called Kukhu Sarah. Sometimes you just need a break from your insane clique. My girls are dramatic. One moment, one calls you in the middle of the night. She has a steamy story, but gives you sub titles. Others drag your ass to church and hold the bible tight and when the preacher says, brethren, sometimes the devil is dressed like your boyfriend…she turns and winks and you can read her lips as she reminds you of one of the dark soul you met in your life.
My good old lady friend was telling me about her youth. That she has piercings on her tummy and that it was a sign of beauty. Even her face is pierced. She told me that when Kenyatta died, they were afraid Idi Amin would take over Kenya for G. Have you met this generation (of course you have- they are our parents and aunties/uncles) who can’t fail to tell you how they paid sh. 5 as air ticket to heaven and used the remaining to buy land, a Volkswagen, bought shopping to last a month and paid school fees? I don’t buy that. My mind refused to accept. They also say for G” meaning for good.
I was sipping tea. It was around 4 o’clock when my ringtone that most people get infuriated with blared. I can simply change it, but no, I love angry people. It is entertaining to see someone get mad over a property that isn’t theirs.
I was on my feet, walking away from Kukhu Sara. My toes spread out and stepping on the grass mercilessly. Maybe I was stepping on mother grass or baby grass. Or I was stepping on an entire district.
“I am Wario, from the Human Resource department at Prisms Company and…”
I was already up in the air, ecstatic, trying to sound composed, but this joy was untamable. One palm was fisted as I gestured victory. In like 3 seconds, I had already silently asked God to make it good news, reminded him of Jeremiah 29:11 and blackmailed him about me being his favorite daughter. Kukhu Sarah was up too, hands akimbo and shocked at my insanity.
…selected” she finished
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“We are pleased to inform you that your interview was successful and you’ve been selected to join the company.”
“Thank you Waride. Thank you. I am so happy.” I was pouring out my heart, like a desperate job seeker.
“Oh, it is Wario.” She corrected.
Wario, Wanade, Waride, Wabaya, whatever her name was, was the least of my concerns now. I know Prisms Company.
“When can you report to work?”
Good question. I could report after 6 months. I could take 3 months’ paid leave to Oloitoktok or Kapedo.
“Well, how about the second week on January?” I was surprised by my politeness.
“Umm that should be….err…” She was probably checking a calendar in front of her, or she was mentally counting based on her menstrual cycle. Wasichana wana mambo.
“That is on 9th.” She finished counting. “No problem Gladwell. We will be expecting you.”
She was dominating the conversation for the last 2 minutes. She was asking and answering herself. Her voice was neutral. I couldn’t detect any hatred or liking. She seems like an alcoholic who can be wild and raunchy.
9th January. Prisms Company. I greeted the receptionist and she responded jovially, probably recalling me. I don’t think she’s a bad person like other receptionists. Do you remember that annoying boy who couldn’t stop talking when we went for the interview? I have bad news, folks. He sits next to me. I don’t think I deserve this parrot as a seat mate. He won’t just stop talking. He talks incessantly about Dubai, about Guateng, about his family, his life, IT, American football… At lunch time, he still talks and makes comments about everything. Somebody gorge out his voice box.
See you next time as I tell you more about my new workplace.