First week at the Job: what i learnt

This week has been such a revelation to me and my humble and awesome life. I had been longing to be called an employed Kenyan. It all came true this week as I formally started job. Though am yet to get to the office, the hell, I am in the payroll. I am not willing to pass the chance of telling you what I learnt.

I should listen to the alarm more carefully

Weeks of being unemployed made me develop this bad habit of sleeping soundly. This type of sleeping involved waking up earliest at 9. It also involved not hearing any kind of noise despite the fact that it is emanating from an object that is few centimeters away from my ears. In some instances I wanted to wake up at 7 to do something, so I set my alarm to wake me up. I still woke up at 9 as usual. I became concerned that I could funk my first day in job. Living alone did not help things. I had to outsource some help. I told a pal to call my ass till it woke up. It worked. My dad is such a superhuman. His herculean awesomeness (which I inherited BTW) of sensing a problem 400 kms away came to play. He made sure that he called me every day at 6.30 pretending to ask me stuff like: whether my house has water, it’s raining, they’re going for some funeral, whether I made tea etc. we all know he wanted to ensure  that I was awake.

Recruitment is never fair for all universities

The first thing I noted when I met with my peers is that I was never given an opportunity to share a kesses joke with someone who understood it. I mean I was the only one from Moi uni. This is what I learnt: employers take into serious consideration of the location of your university from Nairobi city. That is the only explanation for the ridiculously large number of UON guys among those selected. Despite what you hear, it is not a level playing ground for graduates from all universities. Through career fairs and other meeting, these guys knew each other before even coming for the interview. Am kinda upset about it. I feel I should write a post of its own about this issue, but I will end up brushing guys studying in universities far from Nairobi area the wrong way.

Am still whack with names

I just confirmed the fact that my ability to master other people’s names is similar to the ability of beckham to hit the ball in a straight line. No wonder I was not good in chemistry. I have battled with pretending to know some names the whole week because I do not really know them. I am thinking if somebody came right at me and slapped me, his/her name will be instantly saved in my RAM. I might as well use that method when push comes to slap. I wonder if the result would be the same if I slapped/spanked that person

Public holidays are a big blessing from God

You know when you are in college or at home, you have the ability of making any of the five working days a holiday for yourself at any moment. It is at your own discretion. When you are working, as I came to find out, you can kiss 673,902 feet for that ability yet you will not be given. So when a state holiday comes in the middle of the week, it is such a blessing. It is worth kneeling down and shouting, ‘thank you God!’. That what I felt like for this week’s Mashujaa day.

Buffet lunches and Cocktail are not alien anymore

So the boy from the village got the opportunity to take lunch among the political and financial big shots of Kenya. This is the fast life everybody asks for. I know it will end somewhere next week but it was worth it. If I was good at names I would have told you the names of foods I have sampled so far. Then there was a cocktail. I hope you will not laugh if I said I did not really get what it meant till I attended one.

The longing-for-a-job hype is not worth it

It dawned on me that that straight-from-campus hype of wanting to go straight into the work place is not really worth it. It dies in the instance you realize you are expected to be at your office every morning for the rest of your unforeseeable life. There is no lazy days anymore. There is no forgetting to wake up anymore. There is no jeans and some Tshirt on a Tuesday anymore. It is a life of restriction. There is even no time of eyeing chicks along the streets of Nairobi. Then there is this hype that one will definitely long for: the straight-from-job-now-in-my-own-business hype. I wish it happened tomorrow.

My CEO is such a guy

Our CEO is one funny guy. He doesn’t have letter R in his thickly accented vocabulary. The good part is that he knows it and informs you about it all the time. That is so helpful. For instance, he made me notice that when he said ‘blood’, he meant ‘brand’. So noble of him.

Boom box playlist:

Just begun – Talib Kweli, Mos Def, J Cole, Jay Electronika

Tell em I said that – T.I

Of shopping, supermarkets and bargaining.

I went to do some shopping in Ukwala supermarket, the one on Tom Mboya Street just opposite KCB. The first thing I felt was resentment. There is this document folder I had purchased the previous day at Tuskys for sh 400, it is retailing at Ukwala for sh 199. So depressing. Why is it that soon after you have purchased an item you find a place selling the same item at a generously lower price? Well it has happened to me many times this week; given that it turned out to be the week I did lots of buying.

Speaking of buying. There is also bargaining. I abhor bargaining like the current cold I am having. I hate sellers especially of the second hand items. They will just start off with a preposterously high price and hope you are unwearied enough to plead for a lower price. I am not. Once am told the price I usually walk. Then the guy will hound you telling you the ‘bei ya kuongea/uko na ngapi’ line. I hate the whole arrangement. If my pockets were profound, I would be a regular in areas where there is no haggling and begging as if your life depended on it. I enjoy simplicity. That’s why I like supermarkets. That document holder made me hate Tuskys. I would forgive Makumat (the folks in Kisii used to call it that name, when it opened a branch in kisii town back in ‘05) if they charged me that way. I expect Tuskys to be the front runner at charging almost free prices to the common man.

Going back to my Ukwala story. That particular supermarket has some amusing procedural arrangement. It has three floors. If you purchase an item on the second floor, say a hammer, you will get a guy right at the stairs who will manually write you a receipt for the hammer and instruct you to head down to the lower floor. At the 1^st floor, you will get a cashier where you will pay for the item. You will proceed to carry the nyundo to the ground floor for it to be packaged. Whoever came up with that master plan is a genius. He/she is free to die because he/she has achieved something just like Wmaathai. Maybe other supermarkets use the same system and am being paranoid. This system is good if you are buying a hammer alone. Woe unto you if you are buying shoes, iron box, basin, ndoo, rack, sufurias and a carpet at the same time (all of these reside on the 2^nd floor).

Anyway, as long as you do us a favor of charging reasonable prices, we (read, I) will be disposed to go an extra mile (sic) to do business with you. That has reminded me of some joint I saw in town selling fries at 30 bob. Well that what am talking about! Wait for it. The queue was very looong. I bet one has to spend over 30 minutes on the queue before getting served. Truly the wait is worth the extra shilling saved. I blame all this on the dora, or dollar depending on the exquisiteness of your lower primary English madam. The CBK and UKenyatta should find a better person to blame. I volunteer they blame one of these people: Mike Sonko, the buru buru robber, al shabab, raila odinga, wayne rooney, beyonce’s unborn child, stanchart marathon, ekaterina trendshassdgv (sp). If they are not satisfied they can also blame NATB™.

Having said I hate bargaining, it has come into my attention that Kenyans generally love bargaining. They bargain even on items with a fixed price. If ever I turned out to be a seller of a fixed price item and you came bargaining, hell I might even render you toothless. I found this story among the comments in one of the media madness articles. Enjoy:

Operator: Thank you for calling Kenya Airways. How may I help you?
Kenyan: Hallo. Germany ni pesa ngapi?

Operator: That will be Ksh 55,000 one-way.
Kenyan: Lakini si hiyo ni bei ya kuongea?

Operator: Am afraid the price is fixed.
Kenyan: Na nikishukia France nitembee hapo pengine?

Operator: Sir, the price for the flight is fixed.
Kenyan: Hata nikasimama?

Operator: That is not allowed on the flight sir.
Kenyan: Haya basi, nitakaa kwa shimo yenye iko katikati ya viti. Hiyo ni pesa ngapi?

Operator: Sir, I said the price for the flight is fixed.
Kenyan: Ai? Wacha nipigie Juma.

Operator: Who is Juma sir.
Kenyan: He is my relative. You see my grandfather had three wives. So
Juma is the son to the brother of my sister's cousin from the second
wife of the brother of my grandfather. Anafanya kazi huko kwenu. Am sure
ataongea na wewe mnibebe sare.

Operator: Am afraid that will not be possible sir.
Kenyan: Haiya. Na wewe ni mgumu? Na mzigo je?

Operator: We allow 25 kgs carry-on luggage per passenger sir.
Kenyan: I have about kilo mia moja.

Operator: We will charge you Ksh 500 per extra kilo.
Kenyan: Si nitajishikia? Ni gunia moja tu. Nitashikia hapo nyuma ya pilot.

Operator: Am afraid only hand luggage is allowed sir.
Kenyan: Jesus! Nyinyi watu mnatunyanyasa. Ninaomba serikali iangalie hii mambo. Ok. Wacha nitalipa hiyo pesa.

Operator: Thank you.
Kenyan: Oh! Just one more thing. Naenda na Jane, mtoto wa sister yangu. Huyo si naweza kumshika tu?

Operator: How old is she sir?
Kenyan: Ni mtoto. She is only sixteen.

Operator: Am afraid that will be an additional ticket sir.
Kenyan: What do you mean another ticket? Mtoto. Lakini si ni half price kwa sababu ni mtoto eh?

Operator: No sir. She will pay the same rate as an adult sir.
Kenyan: Ai? Ksh 110,000. Hiyo ni mingi sana. Kwani ni plot nanunua? Ai? Hapana. Wacha twende na Meli.

Boom box playlist:

Call Tyrone – Erykah Badu

Nailolongo II

The last time I wrote about Nailolongo here, I was full of exaltation of how the magnificent a place it is together with its residents and matatus. This time I am full of sorrow and pain for what Nailolongo and its matatus have done to me. The gods and other related beings have conspired to swallow the following documents of mine: national ID, ATM card, KASNEB ID, campus ID, plus some other ID I can’t remember what it is. My guts tell me they dropped in one of the three rides I took to Nailolongo that day. Nailolongo why have you conspired to finish me this soon?

The day my documents got lost coincided to the day I covered so many kilometers around town and out of town. Why? Oh why? This has brought about a further covering of more kilometers looking for it. Maen I have walked. It is when you look for an ID when you will discern the large number of IDs screaming for their owners. None of my five IDs has becomes homesick and yelled for me.

I realized I do not have an ID at the MPESA. Thanks to tosh, I do not go to withdraw when I have depleted my pocket a/c. So when I hurriedly sunk my fingers into my pockets to reach for it, I could not believe it. The next activity was to go round trying to identify rogue MPESA agents who could accept I withdraw cash without identification. I found one, some young lady, though I cannot determine whether it was because of desperation to transact or my stunning looks that wheedled her to accept ID-less guy like me, yet there was a big poster that said ‘No ID, No transaction’.

I have spent a considerable amount of time at railways bus station tryna ask around for a missing ID. I found like 10 of them. One of my 5 IDs was not among them. So I found this guy who washes nailolongo vehicles as they wait in the queue. This was the conversation:

Natb: *trying to appear very humble* habari yako?

Wash man: *ignoring me terribly, goes on scrubbing the vehicle violently*

Natb: Venye ulikuwa unaosha hizi magari umeona ID mahali?

Wash man: *stares at me for a second, goes on to scrub as he talks, thick lunje accent* Una gari gani?

Natb: sina gari *dude wtf*

Wash man: sasa unaniuliza mambo ya gari na hauna gari? *splashes water to the vehicle missing me by inches*

Natb: niliuliza juu ya ID *I am now thinking this guy’s brains are not properly constituted*

Wash man: umeniuliza bei ya gari na hauna, bwana. Sasa unaulizia nini? *steals a glance*

Natb: *stares back, thoughts of finally unearthing that short gun of mine crowding my mind*

Wash man: unaniongelesha kama una gari, mimi ninaongelesha wenye magari peke yake *proceeds to move to the other side of the vehicle*.

Natb:*smiles and moves to tom mboya to have a sh 40 fries lunch*

Well, that was that. After the sh 40 fries lunch, I visited central police to get an abstract. The fat fuck issuing them asked me the place where I lost the ID. You known Mr fat fuck, if I knew I could go there and get it. Sincerely, there is a chance they got lost in Mombasa because I had travelled that night to Nairobi. So I told him I lost it between town and upper hill. The fat fuck stopped writing and told me to go to kilimani police station, the short gun thoughts came back. You know I had promised myself to bury the short gun till the day my daughter hit age 7. At this rate I may get it sooner. I could not go to kilimani. I waited the next day and went to the same office, this time with a fuck face and stated I had lost it outside central police station. Mr fuck face brought it this time.

I do not get why these IDs decided to disappear when I needed them most. I am meant to start job next week. Who starts job with a waiting card? Anyway I will have to make up a mugging story and how I escaped death. This wunt be the first time I have lied to them anyway. I might have mentioned that I was a choir leader at home, chief philanthropist, project manager, IDP helper, jack bauer, bat man, steve jobs and wangare maathai all rolled in one during the interview.

I beseech the gods of finding to bring em to me. I am willing to pay. I do not want to subject myself to the rigorous procedures in the government offices.

Boom box playlist:

Uprising – Muse.