There’s no shame in the hustle game
A man’s got to know what to do to get by tough tackles.
A number of young readers have written to me. They’ve requested me to share advice on how I overcame thug temptations in the ‘hood, and earned clean money. That’s the gist of this once-monthly segment I’ve titled: “Hustle in the ‘hood”.
Mid-90s. I’m working as a casual labourer in Prudential Estate, opposite Buruburu Police Station. My job involves sweeping the streets of this pristine middle-class neighbourhood and planting and taking care of flowers along the perimeter fence.
I report to Mr. Fritz, an Austrian expat who lives in Prudential. Mr. Fritz, an attention-to-detail freak, runs the carpentry section of SOS Technical School, in Buruburu.
Man, Prudential has fly chicks. A cat from my Jericho ‘hood has a girlfriend in Prudential. When he comes to see this oh-so-fine specimen of a human – looking fresh like he’s been peeled off the glossy cover of Ebony magazine - he pretends he doesn’t know his raggedy-looking homie. Me? I don’t care about his bourgie attitude, but about the bucks.
Woodwork course
Later, Mr. Fritz, seeing my industriousness, promotes me to a job at SOS. He even offers to pay part of my fees to do a woodwork course. But I have a different creative dream to pursue. Last time I checked, Bourgie was still living in the old ‘hood. Pride can stall a man.
Late-90s. My pal, Emmanuel aka Prince and I have a part-time gig at KAG Church, Bahati. It involves washing church toilets, thrice each Sunday; 6.30am before the first service, around 10am after the second service and at 2pm.
If there is a wedding the previous Saturday, the toilets are enough to cure the entire Nairobi’s hangover. To make our work bearable, we nickname the number twos, peanut butter. Number ones we call, strungi. In the ladies’ toilets, we nickname blood-soaked tissues as jam. A man’s got to know what to do to get through tough tackles.
Some ladies from our estate attend this church. They give us cold shoulders. This doesn’t bother us one bit. The Bishop, who has since passed on, is extremely pleased with our work. He tells us the church services are heavenly, as the stench from the urinals were wreaking havoc on worshippers.
Sometimes blessings come in a roundabout way. From, for instance, the lips of an honest-to-God man of God who’s merely being courteous. Prince is now Governor Hassan Joho’s bodyguard. And King? Well, read the byline. And then some.
Young cats, what I’m trying to say is there is no shame in the hustle game. As long as you are earning honest money, the legal tender won’t be written, “number two”, or whatever.
I get it. We’re in an Instagram age. Folks want to post airbrushed lives, whereas their existences are shabby. Keep it real, soldier. If they love you, it’s their gain. If they don’t, it’s their loss and your learning curve.
Do not look down on any work, but up at your destination. Keep your head up. You are in a transitional space. It’s a place for you to pivot. It’s a classroom for you to learn vital lessons, which will come in handy at some point in your life. If you skip this class, you may be forced to repeat it later on; and it may be costlier or catastrophic.
Your peers may be way ahead of you. They may be driving past you in sleek rides, as you work your fingers to the bone in a shameful trench. We all have different trajectories, “cook times” and destinies. Do you, homie.
The work you are doing may not match your education. It may not be commensurate with your smartness. It may seem light years away from your dreams. But – best believe - in the fullness of time, all dots will connect, and you will be a better man for it. Trust the process … and the Processor.
