Juma sat at his desk, back upright,
head bent, arms folded over stacks of papers. He was trying to look
busy since all his colleagues seemed to be busy too. His desk was a
mess; numerous efforts to keep it tidy had failed. Now he no longer
had the spirit to try. He longed for dusk to come. The end of the day
and the end to his torment.
He was tall, six foot-five and heavy
set. The once joyful and vibrant face was now perpetually draped in
fatigue. Disappointment does that to a man. He had been a dreamer
once, jocular, jovial, and willing to paste a smile on every ones
face. He had been warm, the life of the party. All that was left was
a jaded silhouette gliding through the motions.
“JJ, boss wants to see you,” Kevin
shouted over his shoulder as he went to his desk. Kevin was a fish,
fresh out of water. He had the youth Juma wished he could get back.
The pure optimism and raw excitement to face the world. The pleasant
ignorance of youth that was forgivable. He knew little about life,
about how it could turn on you.
“What's her mood like?” Juma
inquired as he rose to go to the directors office.
“Dark skies an d thunderstorms.”
“That bad, I wonder what I could have
done to make her so mad,” he responded, his statement dripping with
sarcasm.
He shuffled to the director's office
that was at the top of a flight of stairs. He did not bother to tick
in his shirt or straighten his tie. His shoes were not polished and
his shirt badly crumpled. The stench of alcohol hung heavily about
him. He was a devastating sight.
A photograph of Juma, the director and
the president hung on the wall at the landing on the staircase. A
young Juma, spry and lively, beaming brightly at the camera. He had
received a life time achievement award for having engineered several
projects that helped schools and hospitals in semi-arid areas gain
water and electricity and landed a contract that made the company
more money than they ever believed was possible. That was one of his
high moments. He paused, looked at it, sneered,grunted and shuffled
on.
The director sat behind her desk. Her
face, though deeply lined still had an essence of beauty about it.
Her features were set sternly when she looked up. However, the sight
of juma was pitiful and she could not help feel a little sorry for
him. She knew what had caused the change in him. What had sent him in
to despair. What had crushed his hope in humanity and drained his
optimism in the world. It was her mistake, a mistake she deeply
regretted.
“You have a mother's love, but you
are over bearing on him; over protective.” a friend had once
observed.
“ I only want what's best for him,”
she had replied. She believed it at the time and new no better.
“ A mother's love can be all he
needs, but if you are not careful, you will crush the poor fellow,”
the friend had warned. This was just after she had come up with the
idea to sabotage juma so that he would stay under her wing. The
consequences however were more than she had bargained for. They were
here with her now and she had to deal with them. She longed for dusk
to come, to save her from her torment.
Juma stood just inside the office. He
looked at her and felt searing loathing burn his insides. She tried
to stare back but could not hold his gaze. Her eyes went back to the
letter of complaint in her hand. The latest in a number of citations
against juma. She hoped to have him working for her. But a
demoralized, depressed and violent individual could hardly be termed
as an asset. The board members were not pleased in the slightest. She
took a breath and mastered her courage and tried to be stern again.
“ You were in a brawl again?” she
said trying to keep her voice even.
“ I am always in a brawl, its my
nature.”
“ You know its bad for us, for our
donors. The contract states....”
“Forget what the contract states. I
know it, I just don't care anymore,” he shouted back, his chest
puffing with vehemence, fists tightly balled, eyes reddening with
each breath. “They can't police me off the clock and neither can
you. What I do on my own time is my own business, and you can't come
after me for that. NKT! As if I haven't given enough of me to this
retched company.”
A mixture of guilt and exasperation
washed on to her face, and for a moment she look like she would give
it all up and let him go. She clasped her hands together as she
stared at him, all the while questioning her every emotion and
instinct. She had been ruthless in her past. Pushed aside and trod
over anyone she felt shew could get ahead of. Its the the nature of
any entrepreneur of her age: to be cutthroat and selfish. However,
with J.J. She had been dogged by her guilt but too pained to let him
go. Now their every conversation seemed like walking on shards of
glass.
“J.J., I only want what's best for
you. I am watching out for you....”
“Really, like you were when you got
me arrested, or turned me into the black ship of the industry. The
one no one would touch, so that I would keep picking the scraps from
you feet.”
Indignantly, she retorted slamming both
palms on the face of her desk “You know better than that, you know
all I did was to keep you out of prison after you marvelous
misfortune was made public. You did that to yourself and I tried to
save you...”
“Save that sacrosanct speech for
someone who cares,” J.J. Cut her short, this time not shouting, but
speaking softly and calmly.
She seemed a little pulsated by the
change in his tone and softened a little bit herself. He was silent,
and she felt it would be better if the silence hang for a moment or
two longer. She studied the signs of depression that were manifest on
him. The smell of alcohol and his disheveled look made her feel sorry
for him.
“You know J.J., the board is tired
of the complaints and they now want bite and not bark. They want to
let you go.”
“It wouldn't be so bad, would it?”
J.J. scowled as he turned to the door. They always ended up at this
crossroads. His will too hardened to accept defeat, too bruised to
focus clearly on what was at stake and too bitter to look past it.
Her ego to delicate to accept defeat too. Her guilt too heavy to
endure these confrontations. Their truce resolved when they went
their separate ways.
“J.J. I know you do not believe me,
but I care for you. I want you around and I am just trying to look
out for you.”
“ You know Boss, even if I wanted
too, I know too much. Only the dead keep secrets,” with that he was
out of the door.
He went to his desk and sat staring at
the mass of papers that lay there. He had the weeks quarter yet to be
finished. He wanted to work but he had the strongest urge to have
another beer. The entire office had their heads bowed, working or
pretending to work on something. He looked them over, let his eyes
fall to the papers again. The stash of beer he kept on the roof was
so very tempting. It was kept for this purpose: quench his thirst
when it grew and now it was pulsing.
He had spent fifteen minutes staring
into dead space, contemplating his urge for the bottle and desire to
get something accomplished soon. The will for the later was was
waning quite fast. The increasing need to tend to the former
unbearable. The inaudible whisper was now a resonating scream,
deafening to his senses, screeching in his inner ear. He gave in and
rose from his desk and headed for his stash.
“J.J. Niaje kutoa lock saa hii.” the caretaker spoke over his shoulder. “Its early.”
“Not so early, besides I need to get to the end of this day quickly,”
