Topping up The Condom Jar

One of the privileges I experienced working as a janitor was the free access I had to the ladies wash-room. I could walk in at any time in my official capacity as the cleaner. Our office had several wash-rooms set aside specifically for our lady colleagues – one in each wing. The ladies toilets were identical to the gent’s toilets apart from the presence of the discreet sanitary disposal units. There was one of the toilets though, which had an extra unique feature. It had a large clear glass jar in one corner on the floor. It looked like the kind of jar that is normally used to store cookies. This jar however, did not contain cookies. It had something more important than cookies. It was full of condoms – At least it was when I started working there as a janitor.

The condom jar became a bench mark for cleanliness in the office. My supervisor would pick it up and scrutinize it while looking for any signs of dust or stains. She would seemingly ignore the contents, much to my disappointment. I was so curious about that jar. It portended so many unanswered questions like; who came up with the ingenious idea? Or who brought the jar and stocked it up? And who among my colleagues were the beneficiaries of the contents? These were the questions that passed through my mind every morning as I held it against the light and carefully wiped it clean. During my first few weeks of work at that office, I concluded that nobody picked condoms from the jar. I continued with my daily ritual of cleaning and observing the jar and its contents. After some time I noticed something very strange. The level of condoms in the jar was going down slowly but very surely.

From the day I discovered that the condoms were actually being used up, I couldn't help but view the ladies in our office differently. Every time I saw one walk into the wash-room, I would wonder whether she was going to answer a call of nature or of the hormones. It’s painful that I will never know. At least I now know why many ladies carried their handbags to the wash-room and left with a smile.

Our office had an interesting culture. When people reported to the office in the morning, they would head straight to the kitchen to get their tea and bread (we used to “convert” one packet of milk into bread but it would still appear as milk in the books of accounts). Since almost everyone would be in the kitchen at the same time, some informal discussions would take place and it was often said that the most important decisions were made there. The office chatterboxes would have a field day in the kitchen and their discussion group was eventually christened ‘The Kitchen Cabinet’.   

It was during one kitchen cabinet session that I jokingly talked about the condom jar in the ladies wash room and the ‘dangerously’ low level it had reached. Many members of the kitchen cabinet were in senior management and I hoped that one of them would use his ‘influence’ to get us replenishment – hopefully for free. When I talked about the jar, I thought it would be news to the men. I was surprised to hear almost every man in the kitchen cabinet describe that jar in impeccable detail. I didn't expect them to have seen it. I was the only man allowed in the ladies wash-room so I wondered how and when they had not only seen it, but also scrutinized it closely.

Needless to say, that kitchen cabinet session ended in typical chauvinistic laughter, and no solution was arrived at to address the dwindling supply of an apparently essential commodity. I never got to satisfy my curiosity as to who among our modest colleagues were the consumers of the commodity – maybe it was the ‘unusually’ informed male members of the kitchen cabinet, or both men and women. Anyhow, all the condoms got used up and eventually even the jar disappeared. I guess one of the ladies thought it would make a nice cookie jar for her children.

Unceremoniously Locking Myself Out

On the second day at my new work place, I planned to be more organized. I passed by the kiosk on my way to the office and collected the milk. I had timed the milk boiling duration the previous day and realized that eight packets of milk took exactly fifteen minutes to boil. I set the big sufuria (pot) full of milk on the stove and put it on. The fifteen minutes were just enough to clean the ladies and gents toilets, and vacuum the reception which had a wall to wall carpet. After putting the milk in the flasks, I now had adequate time to clean three offices whose occupants usually arrived early. After about an hour of frantic work, I was ready to face the day.

When everyone had settled down for the day, I was looking forward to the main work in my job description – Driving. My then supervisor had a lot of work for me. I was to deliver some letters to all embassies and foreign missions in Nairobi. Those were a lot of letters. I however didn't have a problem in locating the places owing to my long experience as a cab driver. I arranged the letters according to route and wrote them down in that order in the delivery book in which each one of them had to be signed for. I set off with my “newly” assigned car which was an old Isuzu trooper.

With the zeal of a recently released prisoner, I got down to work and in three hours, I had delivered more than half of all the letters. I was on a roll when I went to deliver the letter for the Swedish embassy. The embassy was, and I believe still is, located in Lion place on Waiyaki way. I remember parking in the squeezed parking lot and the security guards telling me to be out in a hurry or find my car clamped. I assured them I wouldn't be long, banged the car door shut, and rushed to the lift just as the door was closing. As promised, it didn't take me long to deliver the letter and have the secretary sign my book.

Back downstairs, the impatient guards were waiting for me. They were suggesting that I give them “something small” for letting me park at the “executive” lot. Much as I would have wanted to be generous, I was not in a position to do so. The only money I had in my pocket was bus fare for going home in the evening. I politely brushed them off as I reached into my pocket for the car keys. I got that sunken feeling when I realized I didn't have them. As I tried to recall where I could have dropped the keys, I saw them. They were “safely” inserted in the ignition. That was the one place where they could never get lost. What to do now was the question. I was stuck.

When one is in any dilemma in Nairobi, people are always willing to help – at a small fee. In a few minutes, every security guard within a hundred meter radius was there to “help”. I knew I could not afford the help and yet I needed assistance. Problems do not come singly and that day was no exception. My boss called. I was needed in the office urgently and so I was supposed to drop what I was doing and head back. I tried to convince her that that was not going to be possible but when she insisted, I had to tell her the truth. She was not amused. She asked me to report on any progress with my problem.

With the office sorted out, I could now focus on the job at hand. I looked for the kindest looking guard in the big mob that had surrounded me and my car. When I saw one, I pulled him aside and asked him if he could help me with a wire hanger. He went to his small cubicle and unhooked the hanger on which he had hung his coat. I took the hanger, unclasped the coiled end, and used it to unlock the car. I was grateful to the guard and also to my time working in a garage where one of the skills I learnt was to unlock car doors with a wire.

Janitorial Orientation

The time had come to say goodbye to the colleagues and clients I had known for the four eventful years as a cab driver. I remember the last clients I ferried quite well. They were a group of workers from the British Airways cargo section who were my regular clients and I used to carry them every day to the airport and back to their homes. When I told them that that was my last assignment, they could not believe their ears. I told them that I already had a letter of appointment from my new work place and I had also handed in my resignation. I had been excited since I passed the interview but looking at my beloved clients faces now, I was not so sure. Anyhow, as soon as I dropped the last one off, I went back to base one and parked my car for the last time.

My colleagues were envious and sad at the same time. I was not so sure any more if I really wanted to leave but I put on a brave face and told myself that this was the day I had prayed for for a long time.

The following day, I wore the best trouser and shirt I could find, and finished off the look with a tie. I arrived at my new work place at 7 am. When I walked through the gate, the guard asked me harshly, “Iko wapi?” (Where is it?). I had no idea what he was asking about. He asked me where the milk was. I suddenly remembered that my new job title was Driver\Janitor. In addition to driving, I was also supposed to make tea and clean the office. It was the first time I got to know the meaning of the title, janitor. It always sounded like a highly technical job. It was alright, but not in the way I had imagined. I sullenly walked back to the nearby kiosk and picked the milk. I went back to the office and proceeded to make tea. While it boiled, I had to go and clean the offices and toilets while making sure there was enough tissue paper. On getting back to the kitchen, the milk had boiled over. Right then I realized that I had to find a practical formula or else my new job would be in jeopardy.

When the tea boiled and I poured it into the flasks ready for the staff, I observed that there were no clean cups. Instead, there was a big heap of dirty dishes at the sink. I frantically got to washing them because it suddenly dawned on me that people would not be able to take tea as soon as they came into the office. It was while I was doing the dishes that my colleague and fellow driver walked in. By virtue of me being the last one to be hired, had been transformed into the ‘senior’ driver. He didn't have to clean any more and he seemed to be enjoying that fact. He was amused by my tie and couldn't understand why I thought I needed it. He kindly advised me to remove it or risk it getting soaked in dirty dish water. Needless to say, that was the second last time I wore a tie while working at that organization. The last time was much later when I sat for an interview, but that is the story for another day.

That first day was quite tough for me but thankfully, the staff was friendly and helpful. After a few hours, there was a semblance of order in my kitchen and toilets. I was now ready for my first driving assignment. My then supervisor asked me to drop one of the lady members of staff in town. I was a bit nervous since this was my first time ever to work in an office environment. The lady was nice and talkative and we got on quite well. When we reached her meeting venue and she was about to alight, I had to consciously hold myself back from asking her to pay for the trip. It was the first time in years that I had ferried a passenger for “free”.

When I drove back to the office, I was depressed to find the heap of cups at the sink just as high as I had found it in the morning. The flasks were also empty. These office types can drink a lot of tea in a very short time. Oh well, I had asked for it. My janitorial orientation was just starting and I was getting the impression that the only beautiful thing about being a janitor was the name.

Partaking of a Prophesy

We were like vultures and could smell a potential client from miles away. When a person who had been spotted from afar off came nearer and was confirmed to be a passenger, it became a matter of fearful competition to see which driver would be the lucky one. We would jostle among ourselves and each of us had our own technique to attract passengers to our car. The technique I found most effective was by a guy by the name Robert. He used to let us rush to and crowd around the client but he would stand next to his car. As the client came closer, he would open the rear door and say in a cool voice, “Welcome”. Many of my colleagues used to claim that he used witchcraft to woo clients. I thought differently because I could tell that all he had above us was good PR.

One of the most longstanding passenger wooing techniques is the raised forefinger accompanied by the shout, “Taxi!” One group of clients that we used to like were drivers for the big NGOs. They used to drive to base in their huge four wheel drive vehicles fitted with winches and hi-lift jacks. The loudest shouter of “Taxi!” would be asked to follow the NGO driver to his office where he would park the big car and be dropped home in the taxi.

These NGO drivers were so cool and each of us held secret ambitions of one day landing a job as an NGO driver. My own ambition however, was not held so secretly. I would take every opportunity when several of us were at base, to taut my colleagues. I used to tell them that I was with them for only a short while and soon I would join a big NGO. I told them they would raise the ‘Taxi!’ Finger at me and plead with me to let them follow me as I parked my big car. They were not amused and neither did they take me seriously. They dismissed me as a day dreamer. This however did not discourage me, I continued prophesying.

I had a really nice client who I often drove around since she always asked that I be the one to pick her up. She worked for one of the International NGOs but I did not know then what position she held there. We used to have interesting discussions whenever I drove her and every trip seemed too short. One day, one of her workmates who also happened to be my friend informed me that there was an open vacancy for a driver at their organisation. He advised me to apply and try my luck. I sent my application and waited although I didn’t think much about it.

One week later, I received a call. I was being invited for an interview. I was quite nervous as I prepared for the interview since I didn’t know what to expect. The day of the interview arrived soon enough and I set off. I had been told to come in at 10 am but I thought that was just a test (All interviews are held early in the morning – or so I thought). I got to the area at 8 am and waited at a nearby bus stop shelter. At 9 am I walked in only to realize that there were 10 interviewees slotted for grilling and each of us had his own time. I had to wait again and this only helped to turn me into a bag of nerves. After what seemed like ages of nail biting anxiety, it was finally my turn and I was called in.

When I walked in, the first face I saw was of my friend. My favourite passenger was seated there in the company of two other ladies. From the look of things, she appeared to be in charge – which she was. I was to learn later that she was the Human Resource Manager. I managed to relax and the interview went well. The rest as they say is history. I passed the interview despite being failed once in the practical test. The ladies who had interviewed me demanded a second opinion and I was retested by a different person. I had gotten the job and was now no longer a taxi driver. I wondered how my ‘former’ colleagues would react once they realized that my prophesy had come true, and they would have to fight for a chance to drive me home. Only time would tell.

Search for the Elusive MAU MAU Truth

My new car, “Omega”, came at a time when being a cabbie had become completely natural to me. I didn't get lost anymore and I no longer got intimated by my passengers. Every day was exciting for me.  I looked forward to meeting new people and learning about what they do. I could get diverse information ranging from banking to astrology, for free from my clients. I also got to visit many places in Nairobi and also away in the country side. I was finally comfortable and happy with my job – new car, new places, new people, what more could I ask for? What I didn't realize then, was that I had such a limited time there.

There is an organization known as the Kenya Human Rights Commission and as the name implies, it deals with rights issues. KHRC as its known in short has a transport contract with our company. This meant that we handled a lot of their staff and visitors on many occasions. It was on one such assignment for the KHRC that I got the chance to drive the current Chief Justice Willy Mutunga. At that time he was working with the KHRC and they had a group of visitors from different. I recall them discussing the famous Kenyan detention without trial and one of the visitors asked Mutunga how long he was detained. He casually replied, “Eighteen months”. They were so shocked that somebody could be imprisoned for so long but the CJ added, “That is a short time by Kenyan standards”. Nobody had the heart for that discussion again and they started talking about easier subjects.

Around the same time, the KHRC has just completed preliminary findings that showed that the British government had violated the rights of the MAU MAU guerillas. All they needed now was some hard evidence to support their case. They got three young professionals. These were recent graduates and  were bubbling with energy. Two were ladies who had just been admitted to the bar as advocates, and the other one was a young man who was had just graduated from the school of journalism. The trio was charged with collecting  as much information as possible from as many MAU MAU war veterans as they could find. To do this they had to go to the one place in Kenya with the highest concentration of the former freedom fighters. This as it turns out, happened to be in what is in present day Nyeri county. Our company chose Omega for the assignment and it was going to be on my shift.

I was excited on the morning we left since a trip out of the congested city was always welcome. Apparently somebody had done a pre-visit and discovered dense clusters of the senior citizens in the areas of Othaya and Mukurweini. Consequently, all our forays were going to be in these two areas. We were early and by 8 am, we arrived at the first major town of Nyeri, a place known as Karatina. We took our breakfast there as we bought time, ostensibly to give the old guys time to wake up and congregate at a predetermined venue. After breakfast we drove off and an hour later we arrived at Othaya. There was already a big crowd of very old men and women gathered outside an old hall which was yet to be opened. I couldn't wait to hear their story.

Once everybody was settled inside, the video camera, voice recorder, and note books were put at the ready. It was going to be a long day since the old people talk extremely slowly. The story was long but interesting. I came to realize that some of the people were more willing to talk than others. The ones who were hesitant to talk were those who the others said had been senior-most within the MAU MAU rankings. They were the generals and they had the most to tell but they were not talking. We urgently needed to find out what was wrong. We came to learn that there is an oath of secrecy that was administered to all those who fought in the war. This oath was in levels with the highest being the sixth. Apparently, the higher the level, the deeper the secrecy. All was not gloom though because at Othaya, we got to meet the former president Kibaki's sister who had also been a MAU MAU fighter.

The next day we went to Mukurweini and the story was the same. The people who were at the heart of the action were not talking. They were acting as if they were senile and they would say things that did not make sense. We still got our story though from those who had taken less than three oaths, but getting it from the horse's mouth proved to be a tall order.

I was happy to hear the old men getting compensated some weeks ago but we shall probably never get to know the whole story of what really transpired in those dark days. Only God knows.

New Car, New Baby

I had never driven a brand new car before. I was as excited as a small boy. The company had just acquired 10 brand new Nissan Sunny N16s and I was in line for a promotion. I got a shiny new metallic green one code named “Omega”. It came complete with polythene wrappings on the seats. My partner and I decided that since the wrappings were the only proof that the car was new, we were not going to remove them – at least not just yet. After three days however, we had to remove them owing to the sweaty backs due to the hot Nairobi weather. Our clients were also not too keen to sit on polythene just to please two naive drivers.

I was handed the new car the same month that my wife was due to deliver our second child. It was a double blessing – A new car and a new baby. The rest of my colleagues who also got the new cars were very excited. We had just proved again that ours was the premier taxi company in Nairobi and by extension, the whole of the country. The cars were different from what we were used to however and despite being Japanese, they had a European convention. Their wiper control was on the right hand side of the steering column while their lights switch was on the left. This led to embarrassing moments when a driver would put on the wipers when he meant to flash the headlights in a show-off.

New car aside, I was anxious to get my new baby. I was going through the toughest time of fatherhood. It was that time in the pregnancy where everybody is at the mercy of the unborn child. Every day as I left home for work, I would wonder whether today would be the day. I did not have long to wait. The day came one week after I had been given the new car. I was at work when I got the call from home that labor pains had set in. I was informed that my wife had been taken to a nearby hospital. I was tense but optimistic that everything would turn out well. That was not to be as I received a terse call later in the evening which completely changed the mood.

Apparently, my wife had developed a condition known as cord prolapse. I was told go to the hospital immediately and transfer her to a different hospital since the one she was in did not have the required facilities. She needed an immediate caesarian section operation. I requested the manager to allow me to take the car to go and transfer my wife and he agreed. I drove off and found her writhing in pain on a bench. She was with a friend from home who assisted me to get her into the one week old car. We drove the short distance to the better equipped hospital and the doctor was called from his house nearby.

By the time the doctor arrived, I was a bag of nerves and didn't know what to expect. When the doctor was about to examine my wife, he gave me a look that made me realize why African men are not allowed in delivery rooms. He ordered me out and for once, I didn't mind another man looking under my wife's skirt. I left the room and the next person I saw was bringing me papers of indemnity to sign. In my state at the time, I could have signed anything. My wife was wheeled to the operating room and I was left to sweat the cold night away as I waited. After what seemed like eternity, but was probably about three hours, I was called to see my wife and my new daughter. My beautiful daughter Hellen was sleeping peacefully and my wife was still groggily coming back from anesthesia.

That was the most important assignment I ever carried out in that car and it was now ready to earn me some commission to buy pampers for my baby. It did not disappoint for the few months that were remaining of my life as a taxi driver. For my wife, the whole incident was an extremely close call and I almost lost her. When I look at Hellen today however, I tend to think it was worth it. She has filled our lives with so much cheer.

The Involuntary Detoxification

Many workers in Nairobi like to treat themselves to an expensive meal from time to time and we were not any different. Across the road from Babylon base, there was a restaurant which was operated by a cheerful middle-aged lady. She would always be positioned at the door welcoming the diners and shouting orders to the army of waiters. The restaurant was in a building which had been previously used as some British settler's residence. It was a lovely wooden house which was now painted brilliant white both inside and out. The restaurant did not have a name. We used to refer to it as the Mama Customer's Place. This was inspired by her popular greeting as anybody entered the restaurant – “Karibu Customer!” (meaning, Welcome Customer!)

Mama Customer's place was not particularly high class by common standards. To us however, it had five star status in comparison to the dingy joints we frequented during normal days. This was the time before illegal structures were demolished by the Nairobi City Council. The place we usually went to was an iron sheet shack constructed over a road side trench. One could look through the cracks in the wooden floor to see the huge field rats jostling for the morsels which fell through. It was one place where we encouraged each other to manage our expectations. What took us there were the pocket friendly prices. We always looked forward to the time we would go for our monthly treat (It normally happened after payday).

Due to the nature of our work, it was virtually impossible to have a meal together as when one car came back to base, another one would leave. It would be several months before we got a quorum to have a meal together. This mainly happened at night when no restaurant would be open. On this particular day however, we were in luck. Only one guy was away and so we locked our cars and crossed the road to Mama Customer's place. We were six and after the usual pleasantries, we occupied one table. We all ordered chicken since we considered it to be the single most elegant dish for humble taxi drivers who had just been paid.

As I was eating, I realized that Mama Customer's chicken did not taste as fresh as it usually did. I only ate a small piece and could not continue. I took vegetables instead. My colleagues really dug in and were done in no time at all. I was left behind as always happened to me since am a slow eater. We all went back to work and it was quite busy up till late in the evening. When we reassembled at night, each of us had embarrassing stories of impromptu diarrhea and having to leave clients in the car to attend to the loose bowels. The guy who had missed the lunch date was really enjoying the stories and probably silently thanking God for missing out on the drama. I was not so lucky as I was affected even after the few bites.

It was rather unfortunate for us that the incontinence did not end with the day. On the contrary, it progressed right through the night. One inconvenience we had was the fact that the toilets in the shopping mall were located on the first floor. In addition to this, the escalators were usually switched off at night. Using the stairs was not going to be a viable option. We pleaded with the security men to switch on the escalators for us and they were kind enough to oblige. At any one time for the rest of the night, there were two of us on the escalators – one going up, and the other going down. These were not enjoyable escalator rides and there were no acknowledging hand waves. There were only downcast faces of wonder of how soon the next ride would be.

By the time we signed off in the morning, all of us with the exception of the lucky guy, had visibly lost weight. Needless to say, we never went back to Mama Customer's place. We heard that a lot of people got sick that day from eating stale chicken. She even got a few nasty law suits, but not from us. From there it was downhill for her business. A few months later, in an unfortunate turn of events, the restaurant burnt down from a supposed electrical fault. Even after detoxifying us involuntarily, I was really sad for her.