The Graduate’s Safari

By Anthony Muchoki , originally published 2005.

As Gilbert Kamari left for Kariba Town where he was a shoeshine boy, his mind was very far away.

From his village to the town it was three hours walk, a journey he had to make to and fro daily. It was raining heavily. He walked on and on, despite the cold droplets that were hitting him all over.

 Every step he made, he was reliving the dream of his boyhood up to Randiera State University, where 15 years ago he had graduated with a first class honours degree in Commerce. Immersed in the dream, he reached his place of work. He moved on like a robot, and his mind was not on where he was, or what he was doing.

Another day to eat-up his miserable failures, he sighed, as he unfolded his makeshift stools, one for himself and the other for his customers. It was still raining as he put in place his tools of trade under the shade of a muu tree that was in the middle of the town.

A long time ago, before the people started dishonouring Iko the African God, the faithful used to worship him under this tree. No one knew how old it was. And no one would dare cut it down.

One day, the town mayor had sent some four men to prune it, and they were hit by lightning. They died on the spot. The mayor was struck by leprosy a few months later, lost his position, and was now on the growing list of the town’s beggars, whom the new mayor was trying to get rid of.

Gilbert sat down to wait for customers. It was only when a man came for his shoes to be worked on while shielding himself from the rain with an umbrella, when he remembered it was raining.

The man laid his handkerchief on the stool, and then sat down. As Gilbert started removing the mud from the man’s shoes, the downpour gradually subsided, and after a few minutes, it stopped. 

By the time he had finished with the pair of shoes, and this took him less than 10 minutes, there was a crowd waiting for his services. Today was his day. The mud was godsend. On such a day, he never took home less than 300 Randiera shillings. On bad days, sometimes he just managed only 10 shillings, as customers were only ready to pay 30 cents for his services. After serving more than 50 clients, he saw a bulky man park his car nearby. He got out and instead of joining the queue; he demanded to be served before the rest who had been waiting for a long time.

“I’m not serving you. Here, it’s first come, first served,” Gilbert told the man politely.

“I’m the richest man in this town, paying more taxes than anyone else, I should get preferential treatment from everyone. Kariba Town is my kingdom. I’m the new mayor’s godfather,” he barked.

Gilbert eyed him. The man was one-eyed. Their eyes locked and the bulky man broke into hideous ugly smirk that made him look worse than a warthog. Crying in tears of amusement, he called out:

“Gilbert, the brightest boy at Atuman High School ha! Ha! Ha!”

As in a dream, Gilbert realized the man in front of him was his former nightmare when they were high school students in the same class. Habiriko, was his name. An imbecile, a moron who was always the worst performer in the class but worse, he used to bully him. In their Form Four final exams, Gilbert got straight As. Habiriko had Es, and the school denied him even a leaving certificate. And here was the moron, who never made it to the university, boasting of his wealth.

Gilbert felt all the anger and bitterness of his life pile up like a tornado in his throat choking him. Life was so unfair.

“Get out of my office or I will hit you,” he told the fat, arrogant man.

“You can hit me, if it will make you happy. The truth is despite all your “books” brain I was always better and smarter than you. I could offer you better employment than this.”

“Never, I would never lower my dignity to be employed by a person who bullied and humiliated me for almost four years. Never.” 

Gilbert was so disgusted. Habikiro was not amused. For the first time in his life he felt something close to pity.

“Gilbert has not changed, vain and proud as ever. The chap thinks he is brighter than everyone else, I will teach him a lesson,” Habikiro said in his heart.

“Mr. Scholar, do my shoes the needful and I swear I will give you a job that will change your life,” Habiriko said.

A whirlwind of thoughts passed through Gilbert’s mind. If he had a gun, he felt he would have shot his tormenter.

He remembered one day how Habiriko and his two friends had cornered him in the school shamba.

 They forcefully undressed him and made him dance in front of them after thrashing him thoroughly. He tried to plead for mercy but they would hear none of it. Habiriko using the butt of cigarette burned his private parts as his bully friend was holding Gilbert down. He had never felt such pain and humiliation.

He would never forget that day. The bullies then set his clothes on fire. They forced him to wear banana fibres and laughed the more as he shed tears continuously in pain and embarrassment. When they released him to go back to the dormitory, a few metres away he looked back. He took a piece of a river stone and threw it at Habiriko. Before the man could duck, it struck his right eye.  He ran away, back to the dormitory.

The other students, when they saw the way he was dressed, thought he had gone mad. Afterwards, no matter how much he tried to convince them that he was sane, everyone at the school, including the teachers, thought he was a nut. The school was warned, that if anyone saw Gilbert behaving in an odd way, they should report him.

Habiriko disappeared from the school for one week. His bully friend, made death threat to Gilbert. When other students heard the threats, and believing that Gilbert was a nut, they informed the headmaster, who suspended the bully. Before leaving, the man set Gilbert’s case, which contained all his belongings, on fire.

When Habiriko came back after a week, his right eye was bandaged. One day, he cornered Gilbert, when he was in the library alone.

“You fool, you made me lose my right eye. Because I hear you have gone mad I forgive you for your crime. But if you ever tell anyone you hit me and sent me to my mono-eye plight, I will roast you alive,” he told him.

Gilbert came back from reliving the past. Habiriko was still in front of him – the symbol of evil, representing all his limitations, humiliation and the worst that one could find in humanity. The customers waiting for their shoes to be cleaned and shined were now murmuring in discontent. Life was a paradox. How could a stupid oaf like Habiriko become rich, and he Gilbert, who had been so bright live in so much misery?

“No, I would never let this bully employ me. Never.  And I refuse to be a shoeshine boy. I refuse.” Gilbert was talking to himself. Without taking any of his working tools, or bidding anyone goodbye, he walked away with quick strides. Every one was transfixed as they watched him disappear down the next street.

Just as the crowd started disappearing, a small branch of the muu tree fell off. It did not hit any other person apart from Habiriko, injuring him. He almost lost his remaining eye.

Later on, some people said Iko cut the branch.

Within days, Gilbert had become a legend, how Iko, showed his hand to protect him and then took his enemy away. When Habiriko died in his hospital bed as a result of the injuries sustained under the tree, the townsfolk thought Gilbert himself was the hand of Iko.

“Iko brought Gilbert to us. He is destined to be a great man – the community high priest. We bless him,” said the town’s oldest man.

Gilbert walked on and on for four days. At night he would just lie on the roadside and sleep.   He had in his pocket only the last week’s takings. The rest he had given to his mother, who was struggling with diabetes. He convinced himself he had done the right thing to leave Kariba Town. He would only go back to his mother after finding financial redemption. He would never again allow anyone to shame and humiliate him. Never. He swore.

Only one month ago, he remembered, he had torn to pieces all his certificates detailing his splendid academic achievements. He had smiled bitterly as he burnt the precious papers. He also put on fire five big files with copies of job applications he had sent during the last 15 years. What was a first class degree if it could not help him get a job?  He felt a burning desire for freedom- to have as much money as possible so as to earn respect.

On the fifth day, Gilbert reached Yondali, Randiera’s second city. He had never been there before, and he would never tell anyone that he was a graduate. He would try through thick and thin to make his mark. It was very late at night.

He saw some boys asleep outside a shop on Kwame Nkrumah Street. He was so tired. On his way it was like he was possessed, and he had never felt tired. But now he felt extremely vulnerable.

“I should have gone to bid mama bye-bye,” he thought as doubts assailed him. What was he going to do in the strange city? He felt he was going to collapse from hunger. Any time.

Completely exhausted, haggard, he sat down in front of a shop. Suddenly, from nowhere, a group of street children descended on him. Within no time they had ravaged his pockets, and taken away the insufficient cash in his possession. They also beat him profusely. He tried to resist but they overpowered him. Somehow, he felt no bitterness. He would wait for tomorrow. His freedom would come.

The following day, very early in the morning, a seven-year-old boy approached him. He chatted with the kid and they became friends. Gilbert wanted to learn first about survival in the street, and from there he would think about making money. Information is power, he remembered Professor Lereta, and how she used to lecture on this theme so passionately.

He would gather, as much information as he could about this city, and nobody would ever take him by surprise again. Never. Within thirty minutes the boy had told him so much about life in the streets and he knew now what to expect. Then the boy’s father came for him.

“Congrats for having such a bright child,” Gilbert said to him giving him his hand in greeting. The man, who had never been appreciated in his life, and who lived with his family on the streets, welcomed Gilbert to join his group.

Jonas was his name. He was a newspaper vendor. He now spent the whole day with Gilbert selling papers. Gilbert knew more than ten African languages, as well as English and French, which he had taught himself as a pastime, while at the university. He could speak to most of the newspaper buyers in their own languages.

A French tourist was so impressed by his fluency in his language in a city where it was hardly spoken, that he gave him a  Sh1,000 tip. Jonas hardly made such an amount in a month. The commission from selling each paper was only 20 cents. That day he had gone back to his supplier for more copies five times.

Gilbert was a miracle. Jonas’ miracle.

Gilbert split the 1,000/- in half. He gave Jonas his portion. They clasped hands and made a pact: We will beat the odds together. We will liberate ourselves financially.   Gilbert, you will be the leader. And I will protect you with my life. It was Jonas who was speaking.

Already, Gilbert had a plan how they were going to take over the newspaper vending business in the city. He would strategically organize the street families and lecture them on good business practices.

He told Jonas his plan.

They would form a loose coalition of street families and anyone desperate for employment. Gilbert and Jonas were to be at its helm. The coalition would take over all the petty businesses in the city. Gilbert and Jonas would get 1 per cent of the profit any member of the coalition made.

That way, Gilbert knew within one year, he would be able to go back home with new self-esteem. Here, his degree did not matter anymore. What mattered were Jonas and the other members of the street families. He would walk on and on. These people believed in him. Yes, he was going to make it. His journey to a new life had just begun.