On that July morning, the weather was
sullen, and so were the office colleagues. Few people engaged, for most seemed
sizably gripped in the pile of work on their desks. The atmosphere was thus still,
except for an occasional ring of phone at the supervisor’s work-station, which
would break the menacing quietness.
Today, my third day here, I had
reported to work with confidence full
tank. After having had a relatively peaceable
one the day earlier, I had bet every bean on this to be a success.
I was wrong.
“There are some characters who still
don’t know why they are here.” Betty’s voice rented the air.
She was our beat supervisor.
Ruthless, authoritative but pretty. I wondered how so beautiful a body could house
so bitter, so stony, so cold a heart.
Who that spiteful and double-barreled
remark targeted, I wasn’t sure, yet somehow, I knew I was subject to it.
I did not wait long to know. I did
not have to.
“James!” yelled she, her eyes darting
around the room, searching.
‘What have I done?’ I wondered
silently.
Everyone’s chair creaked, and all
faces were planted on my empty sitting position. I had left for a momentary
gossip with a colleague at her desk.
Lorna was a fellow intern, though she
had been here for a month. She had known
everyone around by now, and somehow got along pretty well with the staff. She
was comely, and with a good heart to match.
She was my instant crush.
Inside, I was petrified, yet I was
not ready for a dish of scorn and contempt for dessert that Betty would sure
serve me for leaving my station so early, for a female’s desk, which was
abhorrent a misdemea nour under her roof.
I kept still in my corner of misery
and horror. I knew it was bold a move, and careless too.
Seeing no one that would probably
drain her strong feelings, she sat with an air of disgruntled vehemence, and
twitching her bottom against the chair in that manner of hers that marked ire.
Still unsatisfied, and banging her
table: “Where is this harum scarum?”
Sir! I had not before heard that
phrase, or known what it meant. But whatever on earth it was, I had a strong
hunch that it was not among the pleasant kind.
Defying Lorna’s attempt to stop me, I
rose and advertised my presence.
Everyone swallowed hard.
The supervisor’s gaze soon caught me. From the way she eyed me, I expected
her to spew me with endless insults. I was mystified plumb, and just sighed
waiting for my dramatic dressing-down. Interestingly, everyone watched with
stupendous anxiety. It is such drama that ignited the office to life.
“Come get me some doughnuts,” she finally
said, where I exhaled with massive relief.
As though this were an anticlimax to
an eagerly awaited concert, chairs and faces resumed their positions, with an
apparent air of deflation.
I rose, slightly ashamed but feigning
composure, the latter that was on agonizing trial, and walked to where she was.
Giving me a look for which motive I
failed to divine, except for a stoical face, she handed me the cash, saying
nothing, but signaling two.
I stepped out.
#####
Ironically, I didn’t have the
scantiest idea on where to start. Nairobi’s Upperhill area is an office,
courts, insurance and other high-profile business section. It is not the place where
you easily get to spot a food vendor. Hawkers do not
touch the locality with a barge pole, for Nairobi County officials are ever on
the scruff of their necks.
I had only one option: walking to
town…
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