Thread by @CSakwah

STORY THREAD

I was in the village resigned to the fate that the society and the world had bestowed upon me; a failed life. Life in the village as a dropout was near hell, until one day, I received a text message bearing the greatest news one would get in my situation.

Someone was offering me a job in the city. I, a university drop-out, was being offered a job that I would earn more than 100K per month. It was unbelievable.
Initially, I was filled with skepticism but the man who was offering me the job convinced me otherwise.

He had a company in Nairobi and needed someone to market the products of his company while sitting in the comfort of his sitting room. ‘You fit the profile of the person that I am looking for,’ the heaven-send stranger texted me.

When you are desperate and destitute in life, you don’t need much persuasion to believe an offer that promises you a way out of your miseries.
His Whatsapp profile picture said a lot. He was dressed in an expensive designer suit. He was standing next to a new BMW car.

The car was parked next to a bungalow, with other cars in the background. The background of the picture depicted a posh neighborhood. He owns these-I thought. And he is very young as well.
I told him that I was in Busia.

He didn’t have a problem waiting for me to travel from the village to the city for the job interview. I showered him with a million God bless yous. His response was classy; ‘God blesses us so that we can bless others as well!’

He had a convincing and persuasive tone; both on text and phonecall. I could barely imagine earning 100k per month, sometimes more, and especially while working from home. I didn’t have a home yet, but what wouldn’t 100k per month get you? I thought.

I didn’t have the money to take me to Nairobi. There were very few people I could borrow money from, and they too, wouldn’t be willing to lend a shamba boy as much as 2000. I had a pig, however, one and half years old male pig.

On a good day, the pig was worth at least 10k in an urban market. However, when the owner of my market pork hotel inspected it, he said that he could only buy it for 2000. ‘It is not well fed,’ he said with a contemptuous tone.

2000 was the exact amount I needed to travel to Nairobi from the city. I picked the 2000 without negotiating with him, why would I? I did not have time to argue with village peasants over peanuts. I was going to earn more than 100K in the city.

I promised to buy his pork business for peanuts and make him one of my workers once I had enough money in the city. Two days later, I texted my guy. His name was Malcolm, a powerful name, I thought. Malcolm was the kind of visionary name that parents gave their kids with a vision

. I told Malcolm that I was traveling to Nairobi the following day. Busia to Nairobi is a 10-Hour journey.
I traveled at night. The fare from home to Nairobi was 1500, leaving me with Ksh.500 in front behind.

The statement ‘You will earn 3000-5000 per day by sitting in the comfort of your sitting room’ gave me some sense of cockiness.
I was in Nairobi by 5 AM. I sat at the jobless bench next to Hilton Hotel while waiting for the interview time.

While waiting, around 9 AM, a city beggar walked across the bench with a cup begging. A boy was pushing his wheelchair. I gave him a 100 note. What was 100 bob to someone who was going to make 100k per month?

I even promised myself that I would come back to pick him from the streets after I had made enough coins. In my savior’s voice, ‘God blesses us so that we can bless others as well!’
For the better part of the morning, I spent time rehearsing the interview answers.

I am a highly competent person, I work under minimum supervision, I am very motivated and other interview short stories.
At around 10 PM, after shaking off the ravaging Nairobi morning coldness, my man texted me to inform me that the interview was underway at the Mr. Price Hs.

On the second floor of the building, I walked into a room full of people, just in time for a rapturous clap of hands.
At first, I thought they were clapping for me, the next Kenyan millionaire. I mean, I just needed to work for 10 months to make a million, I had convinced myself

. ‘Clap again!’ I came to learn that they were clapping for a speaker who was to start giving a speech. The claps were a welcoming gesture. He was dressed in a suit, as well as the others.

Their suits looked the same, but not as fine and polished as the one I had seen on Malcolm’s Whatsapp profile picture.
An interview inside what looked like a campus common-unit lecture hall? People had papers and pens.

A few men and women dressed like church ushers walked from row to row talking to different people. Why are we so many? I thought I was to be alone? My heart sunk but I still had a glimmer of hope.
The man who had invited me for the interview was incognito.

I could not pick him out from among the people with suits. However, when the new speaker spoke, he sounded exactly like the guy had sounded on the phone. His introduction to the expectant, to the jobless, to the fellow have nots, to the fellow walala hois,

to the frustrated Nairobian confirmed that indeed he was the one. ‘I am Malcolm.’ Malcolm sounded like the Malcolm I had talked to over the phone. However, he did not look like the guy standing next to the BMW on his Whatsapp profile picture.

The suit that this Malcolm was dressed in looked like he had picked it from the Ruins of Gedi. It was the kind of suit that the Portuguese traders wore on their maiden visit to the Port of Malindi in the 1800s.

It was old, wrinkled and its fabrics looked like the underbelly of a mushroom. ‘Today, I am going to give you a secret of how to make money. No one else will share this, but I will. The super-rich have kept this as a secret, but I won’t.

This is a secret that has been used by the likes of Jack Ma, Elon Musk, and Jeff Bezos to amass so much wealth. I am a living testimony of from rags to richest. I am only 20 years old, yet I drive 4 cars, a BMW, a Mercedes, two ranges.

I am on the verge of importing my fifth car and building my mother a six-bedroom bungalow in my village. Yesterday, my lecturer at the University of Nairobi borrowed 400000 from me,’ he said. ‘I gave him the money and dropped out of school.

I don’t need school anymore.’ he added, in King Kaka’s voice.
Kumbe wajinga ndio sisi. He went on rumbling about how he led a life of pure opulence. He showed us how we could make money by investing only Ksh.23000. Why were they asking me to invest during a job interview?

I wondered. At the end of his speech, Malcolm texted me to ask the side of the room where I sat. People were moving around asking questions, some were leaving. Some were coming in.
‘I want you to invest the 23k under my name. I will help you become a millionaire like I am.’

Malcolm said without wincing or feeling ashamed. He showed me screenshots of his M-Pesa account. The screenshots showed his balance to be in the excess of 200k.
‘What about the job interview, Malcolm. If you give me that job,

I will invest under your name as soon as I start making the money.’ I said, innocently.
‘Let me talk to someone, I will be back!’ At the mention of the job interview, Malcolm disappeared in the melee of the disappointed crowd. I searched for him with no success.

Or maybe he was assassinated, Malcolm. I would have assassinated him for the second time had I set my eyes on him again.
There was no place I would have raised the 23k. I walked out of the building with a long face.

I sat next to the statue of Tom Mboya and almost asked him ‘Or Am I the one that killed you, Tom Mboya, am I? Why am I suffering this way?’ Ja Loka says that this world is hard, but Nairobi is harder.