“Damn! Should have got those antiglare eyewear,” you wrestle in your head. The laptop stares into your eyes with glaring diffidence, contorting your cornea with every blink serving as a painful reminder of approaching blindness.
You are in the final page of a presentation due in the morning. You stifle a yawn. Yaaawwwwwwwn.
“Damn! It’s 3AM already?!”
The clock ticks on, oblivious of your checklist.
This is unfair, and somewhere in the footnotes of labour laws probably illegal. She sent you this assignment at 10PM as you got in bed. She made sure to anecdote it: “Client needs this in the morning.” She then slapped you with the ‘Kind Regards,’ corporate speak for ‘Fuck You.’
How did we get here?
First it was an email notification that popped up, which you would have ignored had she not followed it up with a WhatsApp text. You were online, checking out everyone’s meme status — before she hit you with the WhatsApp Memo.
Again you would have ignored but she seems to always be in a consistently foul mood specifically to you. It’s like she wears numbing cream on her soul. She, is your supervisor. And now for a few days you are thinking of writing THAT email. Quitting.
Probably put her out of her misery and yours too. Except it took a few strings to get you this job. Pulled by your area MP. Hon. Sak- ha-ha. The final string he pulled was the G-string he requested you come wearing. Red, preferably. He was specific.
Now the village sings his praises louder for getting their daughter a job. Even nicknamed him the “Cockerel”.
“Damn!” The irony is not lost on you. Your mother confided that your father took a goat to him. Appreciation for having gotten his eldest daughter a job. Only they don’t know that goat meat is not the only thing that he ‘ate’. Damn.
You wrap up the presentation with a quote by Warren Buffet. “Price is what you pay, value is what you get.” Done.
You smile. Because tomorrow, nay, today is payday. Those peanuts are long overdue. So is your fathers arthritis medicine and your mama’s chama contribution; which you pay for. Boi is also joining school on Monday so money for that. Oh, and Aunt Nekesa’s blood pressure medicine, Uncle Wilberforce’s rotting foot ointment, Pastor Amani’s Mabati-to-Bricks Church Harambee, Cousin Nyasunguta pre-wedding…
A quick calculation tells you the ends may not meet this month. Unless you give the government value for its price. Hon. Saka..erm..
Why not eat from the public purse? After all, your boyfriend’s idea of pillow talk is calling you ‘mali ya umma’, just before you denied him cash, just before you broke up, just before you tested positive..for pregnancy…and HIV.
Story By: Muimi