My Better Half – A Tribute

All I have ever written in this blog is true and is based on actual events. I have put herein, recollections of my adventures and experiences. I have always tried to look at those events from my own perspective since I do not want to give other people’s stories without their consent. All my stories however, inevitably involve other people. In all the instances that I have had to talk about them, I have been anonymous and never mentioned their names. It is however possible for those who know them to deduce their identity. Any harm caused by this recognition is negligible but in cases where a negative effect was felt, I ask the concerned persons to forgive me.

Now that I have given a disclaimer, the person I want to dedicate this blog post to is one whose permission I do not need to seek. I will take it upon myself to disclose what she means to me. She has been in the back ground of all my stories and has often heard about them first hand as they were happening. She has been there as I grew up, learnt and gained experience in difference things. She has often believed in me when I found it hard to believe in myself. She has influenced every sector of my life – for the better.

I married at 24, at a time when I was not very sure of myself. I had nothing then; no job, no money, no experience, and no connections. We lived in a single room and used to cook on a kerosene stove. The only thing I had was a little knowledge in fixing things, and making cakes. I could also make doughnuts and that is what formed our first business. We would sleep at 11 p.m. after kneading the dough, and wake up at 4 a.m. to roll out and fry the doughnuts. By 8 a.m., my wife, then heavy with child, would be out and about with a bucket full of  doughnuts getting people to buy around the shopping centre in our village.

She was a keen student and within no time, she could make a better cake than me and sell more doughnuts too. She even got some doughnut customers at a construction site who would pay at month end. It was her prowess in business which made me realise that she should be in full time business instead of seeking employment. I also came to learn that she was extremely good with people and could make a friend in the unlikeliest of circumstances. I remember one time she was at a supermarket buying some items for baking. The cashier asked her if she was going to make a cake. She replied she was and went further to tell him that she actually did it as a business. They got to talking and by the time she had finished paying for her items, she had gotten an order for a cake – From the cashier!

It is not common to see women who are close with their mothers in law. My sweetheart on the other hand, is anything but common. She and my mum get along quite well. It was not easy for either of them at the beginning, but they both stuck it out until they overcame the usual negative energy that haunts many such relationships. It made me proud to see them go off to India together when my mum was receiving cancer treatment. They talk about their trip together like school girls – Completely at ease with each other.

I have come to realise that the best form of parenting is through example. I am therefore happy to note that my wife has been able to pass her best traits to our two daughters Michelle and Hellen. When I get home from work and the three of them compete to hug me, it makes my heart melt with joy and love for them. I find myself looking forward to those hugs all day. They somehow make all my efforts in life worthwhile.

I have achieved many goals. I have had many failures. I have been through tough times and also enjoyed good ones. Through it all, my wife has always been behind me – encouraging me, supporting me, dreaming with me, celebrating with me, and mourning with me. I am a man today because of her. I can be called a father because she agreed to be a mother. I am grateful to God for blessing me with such a wonderful wife. The space here is not enough to fully describe her but hey, a man can try! I could not have asked for a better wife than Rahab Wanjiru Githombothi. With her, I hope to soar even higher.

The CEO who wanted to be a Chauffeur

I worked for an international organization with a presence in over sixty countries. For ease of management by the international headquarters, the beneficiary countries (known as Program Countries) were grouped into four regions. These were Asia, South America, West Africa, and of course East and South Africa in which Kenya fell. Each country was in the charge of a country director who in turn reported to the respective regional director. The four regional directors reported to the chief executive officer. The donor countries did not fall into any of the regions. Instead, each was an autonomous unit referred to as a National organisation, and headed by its respective director. The National organizations were responsible for raising funds to assist the Program Countries, and the directors reported to the CEO.

Being one of the lead drivers at the Kenya Country Office, I was usually tasked with ferrying any of the directors and the CEO whenever they were in the country. The CEO was never alone. He would always have the Country Director, and often also be accompanied by the Regional Director. This, I think, was because that is what the pecking order was like (Each one had to protect their turf).

The three senior positions of CEO, Regional Director, and Country Director, were not permanent. They would be filled every four years for some, and six years for others (I guess this depended on how much one’s face was likable). Consequently, there were always new faces to these powerful positions and we had to re-acquaint ourselves every so often.

At one time, the big guys at Headquarters decided that the organization needed to reinvent itself in order to fit in better with the modern world. One way of doing this, they decided, would be to hire someone who was from outside NGO world to head the organization. This was in fact the first time the title CEO was used. The previous title used to be International Executive Director (IED in short).

The first CEO of our organization was American (and a personal friend of George W. Bush, no less!). He had been an ambassador in several countries before he joined us. He was a real technocrat with a character remarkably similar to that of Bush. The first thing he had to do was visit as many countries as possible in all the regions. It was during these visits that he would get to meet staff and community members. He of course would come to Kenya. Every new senior staff always visited Kenya, although I suspect our picturesque scenery and wildlife had more to do with it than our effective development programs.

So anyhow, the new CEO came to Kenya accompanied by the Regional Director, whom he had picked up from the regional office in South Africa. Our Country Director was the humble chaperone of this “High Power Delegation”. This is how I ended up having the CEO, Regional Director, and Country Director in my car at the same time.

We had a tight itinerary since we had only two days to visit as many communities as possible in the vast areas of Meru, Embu, and Ukambani. Owing to intense planning and careful execution, we were able to visit all the areas that had been selected. On the night we had to be out, we stayed at the serene Izaac Walton Inn in Embu. The CEO slept in the presidential suite while the rest of us ‘mortals’ had to ‘make do’ with the executive rooms.

I would not have known that our CEO was extremely bored by the visit had he not made it so obvious. He dozed off at every opportunity, including during the traditional jigs that the community members had prepared in his honour. It was worse during the drives in between, when our Country Director was trying to update him on the programs. At one time he answered her (yes it was a lady) with a snore. I really felt sorry for her especially considering how hard she was trying to be nice.

On our way back to Nairobi on the second day of the visit, there was no place good enough for the boss to eat. We therefore carried packed lunch from Izaak Walton. This comprised sandwiches, chicken, apples, and juice. We parked on the roadside against the backdrop of lovely hills in the area between Kithyoko and Matuu, and had our lunch, cocktail style (I did not allow eating in my car). The CEO was once more radiant, but this was because he had come up with an idea on how he could actually enjoy the trip. He wanted to drive!

I had never been in such a situation before, and neither had the Regional and Country directors. It was against organization policy for anyone other than a driver to drive the vehicles. I explained to him as gently as I could that I couldn't let him. Nobody could help me since this guy was the overall boss and they could be accused of insubordination. I however stood my ground. When the CEO finally relented and got into the passenger seat, I heard the Country Director sigh audibly with relief. She had apparently been holding it in. We drove off towards Nairobi but not before stopping the CEO at our Matuu office, ostensibly for him to download his email, but in reality it was to check his stocks at New York stock exchange. The man sulked the rest of the way, much like a little boy who had been denied a toy.

Wine is Alcohol

One of the skills I acquired upon joining a big organization was shopping. I became quite adept at knowing what to pick in the supermarket well within a given budget.  I developed good taste in selecting the best of those products for which I had no prior knowledge in my rural upbringing. Among these products of the affluent was wine.

Every end of year before we took the Christmas break, the company threw us a party. The main food which always included a barbecue of some kind was brought in by an external caterer. I was responsible for the rest of the accompaniments and drinks which I bought in the supermarket.  I would get the fruit juices, sodas, beer, and of course the wine. I always bought sweet wine in a five liter cask and put in the fridge to chill at least a day before the party. This was my forte and nobody had ever complained of my choice.

During one December however, I was rather tied up with work for several days before the party and was not available to buy the wine. One of my colleagues – Whose function was actually purchasing – was asked to buy the wine and the rest of the refreshments. He figured it was not a big deal. He reasoned that the best wine must also be the most expensive. That was the biggest mistake he ever made. Unfortunately for us, the mistake would be discovered when it was too late.

The day of the party arrived and we were all excited. There were many errands to run in the morning before the party kicked off in earnest at around 1 p.m. but I made sure all was done. We started with the barbeque which was interesting that year since it was Mongolian. It involved a lot of juggling chunks of flaming steaks on a large wok by a short whiskered chubby chef.  It was quite a feast and went down well with chapatti and lots of different salads.

For obvious reasons, nobody touched any alcohol before the speeches which thankfully came soon after the lunch. The speeches were usually nice since the setting was usually informal, but they never lacked the occasional boring member of senior management. Nevertheless, we got through the session with lots of genuine laughter and applause.

Speeches were followed by a short session of getting gifts. These were all the artifacts and other paraphernalia that the director and other senior staff had received from community members during their field visits. Other gifts had been brought in by staff or visitors coming in from visits abroad. This particular session was fun because it involved drawing out raffle numbers so as to discover what gift one had won.

The last thing before the alcohol was receiving the Christmas shopping vouchers. The usual joke that accompanied this was a request for all married men to ensure that the entire cache was duly delivered to the legal wife and none to the concubine. After this, the drinking could now start. It was at this stage that the senior most staff – and particularly expatriates – politely excused themselves.

I am a teetotaler owing to both principle and religion. However, I always allowed myself the indulgence of two glasses of wine taken over several hours. The reason I did this was because it was always extremely good wine taken into a full stomach. Beyond the slight tipsiness, I never got drunk in all those parties we had at the office – until the fateful year when I didn't get to buy the wine myself.

The group left at the table was smaller than usual that year since most of the staff had coincidentally left for personal commitments. This was fine by me because the most interesting guy was still around. We settled to our drinks and stories. Apart from me and one other colleague, everyone else was taking beer. The two of us had the wine all to ourselves. We needn’t have worried about running out of wine – the wine on the other hand, had plans of its own to run us out of our wits.

I realized that the wine was not all that good when it seemed to disagree with my stomach. Beyond the extreme tipsiness that I had never experienced before (I guess this is what is referred to as drunkenness), I was highly nauseated. At short intervals I had to excuse myself and rush to the washroom when throwing up felt inevitable. Frustratingly, nothing came up even as my visits to the toilet increased. Finally, I decided to wait for the throwing up – in the toilet. I locked myself in, closed the toilet bowl cover, and sat on it. I then leaned back on the cistern and relaxed.

In addition to tipsiness, someone had omitted to remind me that wine also causes extreme drowsiness. Consequently, in my new-found comfort, I drifted off to slumber land. It was very heavy sleep such that I couldn’t hear my colleagues when they came looking for me one and a half hours later. I could hear them calling but I thought it was all in my head. They called me on my cell phone but the ringtone I had then sounded like a song on the radio in my house. When they had almost given up, I woke up – sober, at least for the most part. We had to call it a day and go home. I was fortunate to have my very own “recovery room” in the toilet. My other “wine comrade in arms” was not so lucky. By the time I was discovered in the toilet, he was hopelessly drunk. It took the cab driver who took him home two hours to find his house, and another twenty minutes to drag him out of the car.

Before that day, wine had always seemed rather harmless to me. I had considered it to be more like fruit juice for grownups. On that day, I came to learn, the hard way, that wine is alcohol – and a very potent one at that!   

NGO – Getting All Tangled Up In the Acronyms

When I started working at the NGO, it was the first time I was exposed to an actual office environment. As a cab driver, the only paper work I had was a work sheet. This as the name implies, was a single sheet of paper on which we recorded all the jobs we undertook, the time it took, the kilometres covered, and how much was paid. At the end of the shift, all we had to do was hand in the work sheet, signed vouchers, and any cash collected during the shift.

The NGO on the other hand, had mountains of different documents. These myriad documents were handled by equally many and diverse staff. Whereas I had been used to a simple organizational structure at the taxi company, it took a while to even start understanding the NGO. There were so many people most of whom had rather complex titles. They were so complex that most had been reduced to acronyms for ease of memory and also pronunciation.

As I have mentioned before, I was driver cum janitor. Consequently, I had to clean all the offices. On some days, I would get a bit overwhelmed and thus be unable to clean some of the offices properly. There was a particular time when I didn't get to clean one of the offices and my supervisor was trying to point out which one it was. She blurted out,”You didn't clean the OSMs office!” I could not immediately tell which office she was talking about and so I asked her which one she meant. “The one next to the SGSMs office!” she answered. That really complicated matters for me and I ended up more confused than before.

 
I was to later learn that OSM stood for Operations Support Manager, while SGSM was short for Sponsorship and Grants Support Manager. I also came to know that my immediate supervisor’s acronym ESC stood for Executive Support Coordinator.  The country director was simply referred to as the CD and years later when I became freer with the director, I claimed the same acronym for myself. I used to tell people that our organization had only two CDs. These were the country director, and the country driver. Fortunately for me, our then director was not an insecure type and she took the joke lightly.

The complexity of names in that organization was not restricted to job titles. It also affected the names of documents and computer software. GL stood for General Ledger while PO was short for Program Outline.

Some common documents shared acronyms and one had to specify the particular one they meant. A particularly ambiguous abbreviation was PPM. It denoted regularly used documents in two different departments. PPM stood for Programs and Projects Modules in the program department. It also stood for Personnel Policy Manual in the Human Resource department. Fortunately for us however, the programs version of PPM was referred to as PPM Ndugu, probably in honour of the Tanzanian comrade who designed it. This greatly helped us in differentiating the two.

When I joined the organization, there was constant talk of a CSP that was about to expire. I didn't know what a CSP was and so I was rather apprehensive about its anticipated expiration. I had to find out what it was so as not to be caught off-guard. I was relieved to learn that CSP simply meant Country Strategic Plan, and it ran for five years before a new one was made. The anxiety created by that particular CSP stemmed from the fact that the regional office that was supposed to approve it had been constantly rejecting it while demanding that major changes be made to it. Eventually however – And relievingly so – we got our brand new CSP.

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.