On my tattered 2014 calendar, I circled out one Monday, April. Ever since, that mark has remained. Silent Joe and I, had struck an agreement which connected us with a relationship of boss and bossee. And on this Monday, I’d report to work, at his business premise, downtown—along River Road. As Joe said, I’d work under his associate, Ken Onyango.  If a more remarkable day existed in my life than this Monday I say, I don’t remember.

I believe no other city in Kenya awakes earlier than Nairobi. At 5:30 a.m., I boarded a bus to town. At this time, reader, citizens had already collected at the bus stops, most of them a-heading to CBD. Beside an old man in a blue tie and grey suit, I sat. In this bus, powerful music played; nevertheless, some passengers inserted earpieces into their ears. You could sniff perfumes and deodorants. But the vehicle, on the whole, stayed stuffy, since most windows remained closed. Of course cold wind laughed outside as the bus sped by; and you noticed mist droplets arranged on the windows on the outside. Other than the music and bus’ ­tsk-tsk-tsk and the v-room and the braking and the honking, most passengers hugged silence, while others napped. Whoever talked, talked to someone on phone. How I wished I could talk to this old man next to me, but he drooped upon his phone, a-whatsapping or something.

Once in town, I called Ken and he directed me to the location. Did I lose track? No. I arrived at half past six. Ken, Eric, and Peter had already settled.  This business, JLK Regional Suppliers, I noticed, stocked and supplied an array of products—stationery, children toys, kitchen-ware and so forth. Stock occupied most of the room, a-lining the walls and the ceiling, and left a slim entrance and sitting space. Towards the back of this elongated space, a door opened into what I supposed housed more stock. This particular door stayed locked. Pleasantries we exchanged, with all the boys here. Thereafter, Ken he oriented me on the basics of this business and assigned me, on this first day, the duty of a-writing receipts for customers, and a-going for small errands along River Road. So it happened. A boy found a job. A boy must always try, to make a living.

#To be continued…

A week goes and languages grow; my stories so.

[The typer of these words is a breaker of English. Creator of words. Attempter of waggish things. Marveler of nature. Enjoyer of life.  Lover of strangers. Taster of cultures. Author of Tom James. Editor. Snap-shooter. Storyteller. Future husband. Teacher. Learner. Soon a traveler]

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