The Outsider(S) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Caroline Adhiambo Jakob
about affairs: keep them short and stay away from young women. The end of his affair with Nadia had in my opinion been inevitable. But Nadia didn’t seem to think so.
“I think we can arrange something.”
“Arrange?” I asked.
“OK, done!” he said while raising his hands.
“Really?” I asked excitedly.
“The position is, however, in the emerging markets,” he started slowly.
“In Africa.”
I felt something cold in my stomach but didn’t let it show. The first step was done. I was going to be a senior vice president.
Along with brilliant certificates and knowing the right people, I had learned that the single most important thing was knowing what to do with the right people. I had initially gone the normal route. I had done my work diligently and watched as I was passed over and over again. Not once did I get a promotion. And then I had a revelation.
It happened one morning completely out of nowhere. I was locking my door when a mailman approached me breathlessly.
“Madam, please help me,” he said. I looked at him suspiciously.
“Do you know the guy who lives downstairs?” he asked. Before I could answer, he thrust a parcel in my hands.
“Please sign for him,” he pleaded while panting. My first instinct was to refuse.
“I have three thousand parcels today. If I don’t deliver all of them, I am finished,” he continued, his voice breaking. He started coughing, and for a minute or two I stood there watching him. The guy was sick. Not just sick but very sick. I never forgot that incident. Life, I realized was divided into two distinct parts. One part was inhabited by hyenas and the other part by sharks. Whichever part you found yourself in, you had to fight. And the rules weren’t always fair.
Philister Taa
Kibera
I sat in my cubicle, the pocket radio tightly held to my ear. The batteries were almost dead. The voice coming from the radio was hoarse. It was the voice of Mambola, a popular Kenyan radio presenter and my most favorite of the bunch. “ Ho bahati mbaya ,” 13 he said for the fourth time in a row. Harambee Stars, the Kenyan national football team, had once again missed an opportunity.
I could vividly see how the match was progressing. Mambola was nervous and I could feel the nervousness creeping over me. The Cranes, the Ugandan national football team, had just scored again, their third goal. “ Leo hatuna bahati kabisa !” 14 Mambola said in resignation, and I could feel him clapping his hand in frustration and sitting back. I clenched my teeth. I had been hoping that Harambee Stars would do better than that. I turned the radio off and hid it behind the mattress that lay in the corner of the room. It was a torn mattress, and I had bought it with my first paycheck from Mrs. Patel. Sleeping on a two-inch mattress was much better than on a mat even though one could hardly see the difference. A two-inch mattress was just as thin, but for me it meant a world of difference.
Krkkrrkkrr . The sound came from what I had named the south of my cubicle. I checked through the holes on the iron sheets and saw that it was my neighbor Kanga’s pig. It was a long, skinny pig. Kanga had bought it as a piglet and hoped to fatten it before selling it at a higher price. But fat was not what you could call it. According to Kanga, it was the greediest and most ungrateful pig he had ever come across. He ate endlessly but was never satisfied, nor did he grow fat. The result was “ hasara tupu !” 15 as Kanga sullenly put it to anyone who cared to listen.
I moved to the north side of the cubicle. There were three chickens, and I wondered if Waris had added another or if the black cockerel belonged to Tush, the neighbor from the other end. I had never actually seen Waris’s face. She was always covered up, which would not be strange were she not the most talkative person among my neighbors. Tush was skinny, and word on the grapevine had it that he was a “victim.” 16
The tin cubicles that
“I think we can arrange something.”
“Arrange?” I asked.
“OK, done!” he said while raising his hands.
“Really?” I asked excitedly.
“The position is, however, in the emerging markets,” he started slowly.
“In Africa.”
I felt something cold in my stomach but didn’t let it show. The first step was done. I was going to be a senior vice president.
Along with brilliant certificates and knowing the right people, I had learned that the single most important thing was knowing what to do with the right people. I had initially gone the normal route. I had done my work diligently and watched as I was passed over and over again. Not once did I get a promotion. And then I had a revelation.
It happened one morning completely out of nowhere. I was locking my door when a mailman approached me breathlessly.
“Madam, please help me,” he said. I looked at him suspiciously.
“Do you know the guy who lives downstairs?” he asked. Before I could answer, he thrust a parcel in my hands.
“Please sign for him,” he pleaded while panting. My first instinct was to refuse.
“I have three thousand parcels today. If I don’t deliver all of them, I am finished,” he continued, his voice breaking. He started coughing, and for a minute or two I stood there watching him. The guy was sick. Not just sick but very sick. I never forgot that incident. Life, I realized was divided into two distinct parts. One part was inhabited by hyenas and the other part by sharks. Whichever part you found yourself in, you had to fight. And the rules weren’t always fair.
Philister Taa
Kibera
I sat in my cubicle, the pocket radio tightly held to my ear. The batteries were almost dead. The voice coming from the radio was hoarse. It was the voice of Mambola, a popular Kenyan radio presenter and my most favorite of the bunch. “ Ho bahati mbaya ,” 13 he said for the fourth time in a row. Harambee Stars, the Kenyan national football team, had once again missed an opportunity.
I could vividly see how the match was progressing. Mambola was nervous and I could feel the nervousness creeping over me. The Cranes, the Ugandan national football team, had just scored again, their third goal. “ Leo hatuna bahati kabisa !” 14 Mambola said in resignation, and I could feel him clapping his hand in frustration and sitting back. I clenched my teeth. I had been hoping that Harambee Stars would do better than that. I turned the radio off and hid it behind the mattress that lay in the corner of the room. It was a torn mattress, and I had bought it with my first paycheck from Mrs. Patel. Sleeping on a two-inch mattress was much better than on a mat even though one could hardly see the difference. A two-inch mattress was just as thin, but for me it meant a world of difference.
Krkkrrkkrr . The sound came from what I had named the south of my cubicle. I checked through the holes on the iron sheets and saw that it was my neighbor Kanga’s pig. It was a long, skinny pig. Kanga had bought it as a piglet and hoped to fatten it before selling it at a higher price. But fat was not what you could call it. According to Kanga, it was the greediest and most ungrateful pig he had ever come across. He ate endlessly but was never satisfied, nor did he grow fat. The result was “ hasara tupu !” 15 as Kanga sullenly put it to anyone who cared to listen.
I moved to the north side of the cubicle. There were three chickens, and I wondered if Waris had added another or if the black cockerel belonged to Tush, the neighbor from the other end. I had never actually seen Waris’s face. She was always covered up, which would not be strange were she not the most talkative person among my neighbors. Tush was skinny, and word on the grapevine had it that he was a “victim.” 16
The tin cubicles that
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