Yesterday I made a total ass of myself, but this really should be the last paragraph, so let me start from the beginning.
I do not really like shopping at Tuskys. As a result, I have been accused of several misdemeanors including 'feeling' (note not 'being') too posh, but last week, my witty brother-in-law put it into perspective; Tuskys is full of normal people! At Tuskys, you are unlikely to bump into somebody with green hair or a teenager buying an energy drink on his skates. Admittedly, I am attracted to eccentrics, and no wonder Tuskys does nothing for my excitement gene!
It so happens that the most convenient supermarket on my way home is none other than Tuskys. I could do Nakumatt only 200 metres further, but sometimes I am lazy like that. So yesterday I walked into Tuskys, full of normal people, did my shopping with the normal people, and while at the till waiting for the jamaa at the end of the till to pack my stuff (really, why do they imagine I cannot pack my own stuff? Or is it job creation?) I remembered I needed to go to the open market to buy potatoes et al!
Wearing my sweetest smile, I asked the 'packer' if he could be so kind and put in an extra plastic bag for me. My smile did not obviously melt him as with a stony stare, he informed me that "hatupeani makaratasi ovyo ovyo". My face instantly went hot, and if you are light skinned, you know what a blush does to your skin colour.
I said, "Can I buy it?" Duh! But I didn't know what else to tell him.
"Hatuuzi". Came an answer in form of a growl!
That was when I did something I consider below me (I told you about being accused of feeling too posh). I grabbed a plastic bag and stuffed in my my handbag. I seriously do not know what came over me prior to this action, but I plead temporary insanity. My actions were totally beyond me. But really, with all the shopping I unwillingly do there, and all the 'macoins' I have left there because I refuse to take their Tropicals (how come other supermarkets can get coins? Nkt!), surely one miserable plastic bag will not drive Tuskys under!
Then the stand-off! Of course he dared not enter my handbag to retrieve the miserable piece of plastic, but I could see him weighing options of what I would do if he tried. Good decision not to, I tell ya! Thing was, he was holding on to the shopping I just paid for! All these for one miserable plastic bag! I could bring them all the miserable plastic bags in my house, I don't know what to do with them I cannot recycle them enough! Nkt!
Anyhooo, I held my ground. He held his! Boss came, confirmed that they did not dish out makaratasi ovyo ovyo! Twat! Mumbles (rightfully so) from the customers on queue! Bigger boss comes, confirms the same thing. Idiot! One miserable plastic bag! At this point, I knew I didn't want the plastic bag that much to cause a scene, but it is a matter of principle sometimes.
Sso I didn't give in. As calmly as I could (trying to save whatever dignity, it is a plastic bag remember), I told them I would not be returning the bag, and if they wanted to keep my shopping, sawa! My daughter would just have to go without her Weetabix tomorrow - I was tempted to use my 'I am a journalist' card but I changed my mind!
Tighter rope they were on. Customers were asking 'kwani karatasi ni nini', 'tunachelewa bwana' or 'ile pesa ya sweeti si mnunue karatasi'. The security guard was close by (one of these days I will be on first name basis with security guards) but I suspect he was also wondering what the fuss is all about. They grudgingly gave me my bag, I quiped (in my head of course), said thank you (not meant, of course), walked out with my head held high but still red in the face, and most importantly, a resolve; I am never shopping in Tuskys, any Tuskys! It is full of normal people
I still felt like a total ass!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
JACK OF ALL TRADES
I am a jack of all trades (still cannot tell what trade I am a master at; sigh…). In my life, I have cleaned houses for richer humans, I have stacked shelves in a supermarket, I have looked (more than looked, I tell you) after old people in old people’s homes, I have looked after people’s children (loved some, hated some), I have been a receptionist, a personal assistant, a marketing manager (talk about climbing the corporate ladder!) and now, I am a writer. Beat that!
In between all that, I have worked as a tour guide (truth be told, I know jerk about the flora and fauna of Kenya but I tell you, hats off for all tour van drivers – they are f&f dictionaries). I particularly loved the tour gig, mainly because I got to do something I totally enjoy – tour our beautiful countries for free.
This job afforded me the opportunity to meet different characters who were unfortunately not always nice, or sensitive. I sucked up a lot, I held my quick mouth a lot when things were said and left me thinking ; ‘they just didn’t…’
I vividly remember one particular trip we made to Mt Kenya. On our way to the mountain, we passed and stopped by some deprived villages. In my naivety, I imagined they wanted to stop by the villages so they could give the poor some loose foreign currency or clothes but no!.. no!.. no!…to them, it was a chance to see the Africa they seen on CNN and a photo opportunity of a lifetime!
I am famously a sucker for children – every time I see a child who is not living the way they should (not in poverty, that is), it breaks my heart. I want to take them away, wash them, clothe and feed them and finish with a big bear hug.
In front of us stood about 10 children aged between 2 and 10 years. Runny noses, dirty bodies, torn clothes but most were naked. They obviously had not had a proper meal in a long time and in my head, I thought this was their chance to have some money to get a good meal. They were crying for salvation, so to speak.
They knew no better life, perhaps why they were in such high spirits. Excitedly they were screaming ‘mzungu mzungu’ (although I have several times been called mzungu in my life, I doubted they were referring to me, hehe)…so anyway, screaming ‘mzungu mzungu, tupige picha’ (White man please take a picture of us).
I smiled while I stood in the background, but truth be told, I was using my smile to mask the utter despair the situation left me in. I had a big urge to cry, but instead I brought out my ‘tough’ and fixed a glassy smile instead – this after all, was my job and I was not allowed to let emotions take over.
For the children, this was the highlight of their day. They saw mzungus and the mzungus had gadget like things that were digital cameras. So they posed as my clients happily clicked away, taking turns to pose with the children as they declared ‘how cute they were….’ WHAT? BITE MY ……
The kids in front of us were anything but cute! Don’t get me wrong, I do not think anyone is born ugly, money, or lack of it, dictates how ugly or beautiful one turns out; how else do you explain the ugly. Poor (literally) duckling in your childhood days who suddenly became absolutely drop dead gorgeous when they got a job? Do the math!
So yeah, ugly kids and obviously visually challenged tourists. I wished I was their Facebook friends, then I would have placed a bet for the first time in my life, that those pictures would be uploaded on their Facebook page as soon as were back to civilization.
That way, they would be able to tell and prove to their friends that they know how bad things are in Africa – they have been there and they got the pictures to show, ey? Of course, they will conveniently forget how ‘rather polished’ I am, how the middle class in Kenya lives much better than the western middle class (I have been there, I know) – that would not make a good story at the pub, would it?
But what to do?!
Jeez, does the end of this article sound like an anticlimax or is it just me?
In between all that, I have worked as a tour guide (truth be told, I know jerk about the flora and fauna of Kenya but I tell you, hats off for all tour van drivers – they are f&f dictionaries). I particularly loved the tour gig, mainly because I got to do something I totally enjoy – tour our beautiful countries for free.
This job afforded me the opportunity to meet different characters who were unfortunately not always nice, or sensitive. I sucked up a lot, I held my quick mouth a lot when things were said and left me thinking ; ‘they just didn’t…’
I vividly remember one particular trip we made to Mt Kenya. On our way to the mountain, we passed and stopped by some deprived villages. In my naivety, I imagined they wanted to stop by the villages so they could give the poor some loose foreign currency or clothes but no!.. no!.. no!…to them, it was a chance to see the Africa they seen on CNN and a photo opportunity of a lifetime!
I am famously a sucker for children – every time I see a child who is not living the way they should (not in poverty, that is), it breaks my heart. I want to take them away, wash them, clothe and feed them and finish with a big bear hug.
In front of us stood about 10 children aged between 2 and 10 years. Runny noses, dirty bodies, torn clothes but most were naked. They obviously had not had a proper meal in a long time and in my head, I thought this was their chance to have some money to get a good meal. They were crying for salvation, so to speak.
They knew no better life, perhaps why they were in such high spirits. Excitedly they were screaming ‘mzungu mzungu’ (although I have several times been called mzungu in my life, I doubted they were referring to me, hehe)…so anyway, screaming ‘mzungu mzungu, tupige picha’ (White man please take a picture of us).
I smiled while I stood in the background, but truth be told, I was using my smile to mask the utter despair the situation left me in. I had a big urge to cry, but instead I brought out my ‘tough’ and fixed a glassy smile instead – this after all, was my job and I was not allowed to let emotions take over.
For the children, this was the highlight of their day. They saw mzungus and the mzungus had gadget like things that were digital cameras. So they posed as my clients happily clicked away, taking turns to pose with the children as they declared ‘how cute they were….’ WHAT? BITE MY ……
The kids in front of us were anything but cute! Don’t get me wrong, I do not think anyone is born ugly, money, or lack of it, dictates how ugly or beautiful one turns out; how else do you explain the ugly. Poor (literally) duckling in your childhood days who suddenly became absolutely drop dead gorgeous when they got a job? Do the math!
So yeah, ugly kids and obviously visually challenged tourists. I wished I was their Facebook friends, then I would have placed a bet for the first time in my life, that those pictures would be uploaded on their Facebook page as soon as were back to civilization.
That way, they would be able to tell and prove to their friends that they know how bad things are in Africa – they have been there and they got the pictures to show, ey? Of course, they will conveniently forget how ‘rather polished’ I am, how the middle class in Kenya lives much better than the western middle class (I have been there, I know) – that would not make a good story at the pub, would it?
But what to do?!
Jeez, does the end of this article sound like an anticlimax or is it just me?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)