Broke, but ‘nephew’ wants some more

You’re at the counter—as usual. The music from the two big speakers mounted at both corners of the counter aren’t loud today, so you can easily hear when the akaunta says: “Karibu mzee.” And when you chat with this young fellow on the stool next to yours, Sam, you don’t have to shout.

You’ve known Sam for some time now. He’s a university graduate who ekes out a living doing this and that. He has even tried teaching.

“I love teaching, and was actually considered the best Commerce teacher in my last school, but I lost the job because of free education,” he informs you.

“Free education? How?” you ask.

“When the government introduced free education and opened all these ward secondary schools, enrolment went down in private schools and many teachers had to leave, starting with the likes of me who don’t hold professional qualifications,” says Mwalimu Sam.

When you ask him how he’s managing, he says he offers out-of-school tuition for numerous students, and that way he earns enough for his drinks and a few other things. “There aren’t many competent teachers in the area of commercial subjects…that’s an advantage to me,” he says while nursing his beer that he’s taking straight from the bottle.

In the course of our conversation, you learn the fellow is lucky to have a working wife, without whom, he admits, things would have been real rough for him, for their marriage has been blessed with two children.

You aren’t much of a beer giver, but you’re rather touched by his story and conclude he deserves one from you—yes, just one beer.

“Give this guy one,” you tell Manka the akaunta.

As Manka places a beer before him, Sam gives profuse thanks as he hastens to polish off the bottle he has been toying with. As he picks the fresh bottle, he gestures towards another young fellow on the stool to his left and says: “By the way, Uncle, this guy here, Peter, is my good friend…I suppose you wouldn’t mind offering him one also.”

Before you react to the unexpected request, Peter says he’s okay, adding that he has had enough. You consider Peter’s response nothing but simply a mark of good manners, for from the look of his eyes and the way he has been nursing his three-quarters-empty bottle, it was clear he was still thirsty. You therefore insist that he takes one from you.

“Okay Uncle, but surely I’ve had enough,” he says as he “reluctantly” proceeds to tell Manka to do the necessary.

This means you’ll take a mere two Serengeti Lites instead of the three or four you had planned for yourself. You, however, tell yourself it’s okay.

As you hand over Sh6,000 to Manka, which is all there’s in your plastic wallet, Sam looks at you beseechingly and says: “Uncle, can I have another bottle from you?”