The extended version_
They no longer want any contact. It must be the money. Mr. w has those shifty eyes of guilt and scheme. I’ve always had a problem with authority. No, authority has always had a problem with me. He is a tall fellow mr. R and generally, I don’t look up to people. When I look up to the sky, it’s not in search for God.
Talking animals; I like my avatar – the underdog. First, mr. R managed to hijack some money assigned to my name by enlisting the services of a former classmate. I picked up the trail of lies and double speak and all roads led to him and I let it pass nothing more could I do. Next when the second batch, rightfully mine arrived he conspired to deny me part of the pickings but I never showed that I was onto him. About the same time mr. W came around asking if I had been paid but I explained that the lady who owed me my part was on an educational tour in South Korea. His great plan was to try and get his friend to intimidate me. No way was I letting off so easy. I played the fool
In the end I was chasing mr. W down the main office block to give him his due. An interesting turn of events this. I thank God all in all. It is a mystery how money, or should I say power, brings out a person’s character. Mr. Keynote. We weren’t that close but I thought being a classmate and in campus speak a ‘comrade’ would count for something. He remained silent when I was let out to pasture. Yes, I know he owes me no favours; I mean, not even a heads up?
Over the period of ‘negotiations’ I carried a heaviness and weariness inside. The emotional turmoil made me finally understand Christopher Wallace’s notorious B.I.G “more money, more problems”. It did not (& it has not) however deterred me in any way or form from my ‘journey to billions’. I understand the power of money and its transformative energy.
I have worked hard for what I have and I may have met with the lady luck along the way but I never noticed her. Now, I am a step away from adding the prefix ‘millionaire’ to my name. Call me a ‘thousandaire’; immune to the Forbes people not acknowledging my existence. That’s something; a success to build on.
Finally devoid of aggression he asks me to decide how much to give him. I had already calculated his expenses and it slightly unsettled him as he stabbed his notebook and thumbed his calculator trying to confuse me into submission when we had met earlier. That’s when he had tried to get mr. R to mediate. This was an unfolding drama. “naambiwa unataka kumeza yote”, R switched on his charms.
Tsk. The nerve on this guy. The short memory on him. I remained silent to this charge of greed as I recalled how he had already swallowed mine and had tried getting to the kes 150,000 ‘responsibility’ money now the bone of contention. “Did you see the transfer list?” he asks. I know the implication of that question but am happy he finally shows his hand. It is a veiled threat. I wring my hands and drop my head I bring out the helpless and hapless boy. “I don’t know these things you should advise me”.
Patronizingly, “you should have come to me as soon as you saw it and I would have told you how to go about it”. He leans forward, am listening, watching him ‘flex his pecs’ so to speak, “How would you feel if you were ‘blacklisted’ for three years…? Huh?”…” Just imagine… three years!” there is emphasis and glee in his delivery. Blacklisted – he actually used that word. I shrug my shoulders and shake my head in defeat like what-can-i-do, it is unfortunate
I laid it out on him how I had used up all the money in my ignorance but if I had to pay out mr. W, then he would have to wait for my salary. He comes out benevolent that he wouldn’t wish me to touch my pay slip. As the ‘court appointed’ mediator he won’t dictate and further he wants us to settle these things and it should not be brought to him to settle.
As we walk out of his office, “What would you do if you were transferred to Wajir?” all this time he never drops his genial posturing. “Well, I’ll just have to convert to islam!” He laughs and he continues advising me. Nothing is lost on me
Later, mr. W driving out for an exam pulls over. He asks me what mr. R said. I thought of the ‘blacklist’ and ‘transfer’ blackmail. You should have seen his face, “he said he wouldn’t dictate!” “He said we should talk and settle it!” He is confused and maybe angry, “but I spoke to him… mr. R said… “. He has a glazed look in his eyes and his mind wanders away. I remembered how he had triumphantly proclaimed to me, “Yes, Hallo (my name)… there is a new development… mr. R said you should give me.. 50,000… talk to him”. ‘New development’ rung in my head ‘there is a new development’ I muttered
Anger is good, no? What of weakness? A wise man once said anger is foolish and a reserve for the intellectually challenged.
I, am not, a snitch; this is a cautionary tale; I, am not, a bitch; You will respect me.
There is a thin line between love and hate. Hate is a waste. I pray for my enemies. When I do, I ask for wisdom and patience
.
The money was only secondary, not to denude it of its importance. It only gave the events gravity. Let it be noted that I am corrupt. I haven’t run away from that fact, even as I painted my ‘persecutors’ in various shades of green eyes. Only God is good. I am only a man. Man is born to trouble. I am a man nonetheless making his way in this world. This world is not my home…. I hope to get to heaven.
the writers club 