The Hustler’s week of dead ends

Following the sudden appearance of my cousin Safari (in bedsheets) from under my bed, Desiree silently dressed and swiftly fled, especially after I just shrugged when she asked “What was that, Mike?”

Safari did not show up again that weekend, but someone else did.

My ex-wife (now baby mama) Laura at my door on Sunday at noon, with my six-year-old lad Neo in tow, wearing a Spiderman T-shirt and spotting a cute new haircut.

As he hugged me and clasped his hands round my neck in pure delight, I nearly cried. “Mommy told me we were going to a surprise,” he said. “You are the best surprise I have ever got in my life, Daddy.”

“And you Neo are also the best surprise your mommy ever gave me, sonny,” I said.

One morning six years ago, after a one night stand nine months before, Laura had simply called me and said: “I’m at Mater, becoming the mother to your son.” I had dashed to the hospital just in time for Neo’s birth, and almost by accident (since I suddenly started dropping by her place with formula, staying overnight to change my baby boy’s diapers), we started a post-natal dating.

Luckily, Neo is my spitting image; zero need of DNA-testing ki-Bahati.

A year later, Laura’s religious parents over Xmas said “Stop living in sin,” so we got married. We had nothing in common, except a deep love for our child, and that can only carry you so far – three years in our case – before our decision to split.

Neo, then five years old, was devastated, and never stopped asking when we can live together again “as a happy family.”

Very bright kid, that one – everyone commented on it within minutes of meeting the tyke.

“Daddy, I would have asked you for pizza, but mommy said siku hizi hauna pesa,” he now said. “So we can eat ugali, su-ku-ma and guy-there-ray for lunch. I don’t mind.”

I was torn between embarrassment and being moved by Neo’s young empathy.

Throwing a glare at Laura, I said: “Let’s go to Happy City right now, Neo.”

“May I come?” Laura asked.

“Of course,” Neo said, not knowing it was I being asked. “You are Mommy, and we are one small happ’e famele …”

As Neo played on swings, trampolines, castles and other rip-off sites for a one thousand bob total (VR separate at Sh500 a pop), his mother returned Simaloi’s tablet.

“What’s the catch, Mama Neo?”

“You pay the remaining 30K of his second term fees tomorrow, Baba Neo,” she said. “Otherwise, he won’t be let back on Tuesday. And you know how, though he is just six, he is ever number one in his Grade Two class. So now it is on you, man.”

I was so stressed about this that on Monday morning, I actually went to Gang Dong Mall to seek a small loan from the tycoon Zhao Li, only to be told he had left on Sunday for a three-week business trip to China. All his devices were also ‘unavailable’ (mteja).

I then visited a branch of my bank about a school loan, but the youngish looking branch manager asked me to use my bank app. “It’s limit is 17K,” I said, “But I wished to borrow 50.”

He smiled pleasantly. “I cannot go against the algorithm sir. I could lose my job.”

For sure on Tuesday, Laura called to say Neo had been sent home from school for lack of the fee balance, and instead of being happy for the break, he was crushed!

“Daddy,” he wailed on phone. “I want to learn. Please get my fees, pleeeaasseee?”

Tuesday I was at Ensign to present the claim for Safari’s policy (Sh1, 589, 398).

The pleasant insurance chap, Joe Njoroge, politely informed me it took SEVEN years for a ‘presumption of death’ to be made, and since Safari’s body hadn’t been recovered, or death certificate made out, I would just have to wait it all out.

“So you will hold onto my 1.6 million shilling claim for seven years?” I asked.

“The good thing is we compound it, so it will be closer to Sh3 million, sir,” he said.

“But that will be in 2031 AD,” I almost yelled, then just stormed out of the firm.

Time for Plan D – Desiree Simaloi. She ran her own agency, hawesss kosa 30K.

But all Simaloi said on the phone was: “Wachana na mimi. Ata hiyo tablet sitaki. Inaweza kuwa na uchawi zenu. Uwwiii, ati ghost inatokelezea chini ya kitanda?”

A dead bed bad end!

Then, that evening, the last nail on the coffin. Caretaker Nicholas coming to my door at 7pm to say: “Your rent is a week overdue. You have 72 hours to clear, plus the delay penalty. So 25 plus five – thirty K. Or else owner has said I padlock.”
There was only one silver lining in the cloud …

Investigating officer Kangethe at the DCI on Wednesday, upon hearing our complaints alongside Omwenga, with a Lai, Maundu and Anindo also raising concerns about the ‘Alba & Larri’ procurement firm, said the plan for their prosecution was moving along. If I recovered even a third of that Sh425 K asap, I’d be home safe …

tonyadamske@gmailcom