You notice it’s from the huge metallic trash bin at the corner into which a grocery employee is striving to push more and more garbage.
You’re at this roadside grocery having a drink. It’s as peaceful and serene as Dar can be. And then, crash! Bang! Bang! You look out to check out the source of nerve-wrenching noise. You notice it’s from the huge metallic trash bin at the corner into which a grocery employee is striving to push more and more garbage.
There’re protests all round, with at least three patrons saying the fellow is affecting their heart condition. “Wengine tuna presha eti, ala!” says a drinker at the table next to yours, a concern that’s echoed by two others. The fellow gives us a look and continues with his work as if nothing of significance has been noted by the patrons, the very people whose spending ensures he earns his living.
You call the manager to complain. He gives the young man a verbal bashing after which he leaves to attend to other matters.
Thereafter, the grocery hand, looking at you with obvious disdain, says: “What a fussy old man! Just a bit of noise and he complains to the manager, you’d think the little noise from the bin would have killed him….some people!”
It’s clear he’s very angry with you and the other “grumbling” drinkers.
And then on this other day, you’re at a certain grocery accompanied by Uncle Kich (short for Kichawele), a regular drinking buddy of yours. We’re in a jovial mood, for the month-end week is still fresh, and like all wage earners, we’re both in a spending mood.
We’re feeling somehow important and want to be appreciated. Mwanamme pesa.
Kich hails a barmaid, whose name, we soon learn, is Rachel. She walks towards us in a “tired way”. This being a Sunday, it’s fair to conclude she finished work late, because this joint operates as a nightclub on weekends, but is it our problem?
We give our orders and, lazily, Rachel walks towards the counter to get the drinks. It’s the same thing as she walks back to us, our drinks in a tray. At long, long last, she arrives with our drinks, which she proceeds to open like she has all the time in the world to do the very difficult task.
Kich is visibly disturbed and after she’s through with opening our bottles, he asks: “Hey, sister, how come you’re so gloomy today, no cordiality, no smile, no what… what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem,” she says curtly. “So, why the gloomy face?” asks Kich.
Her answer is classic: “Hivi ndivyo nilivyo!” And with that, she walks away, lazily, to another table where she has been called to provide service.
These thoughts run through your mind: Uhuru has opened doors to all East Africans to go to Kenya, even without a passport, and seek jobs there! Are our youth ready to take up the offer?
And, suppose JPM reciprocates in kind and says: hey, East Africans, come one, come all, and take up any job you like in Bongo. Are we ready?