There is no better feeling than waking up to a phone full of charge, dancing at 100% – full charge.
But folks, have you ever tucked your phone to charge overnight, anticipating to wake up to a 100% charge only to realise that you didn’t switch on the socket?
This story is no different, just, quite twisted.
I had just finished highschool and had all the time at my disposal. You know that ka-period before joining University or College? Yes that one. Us we had a whole year at home. I felt legal enough to look for a job and adult enough to move out of my parent’s house.
There is only one way to move out of your mama’s house – getting an income source. Anyone telling you otherwise is a criminal. So, I spent most of my daytime looking for jobs online – Facebook job seekers groups, Fuzu, Brightsar Monday, my jobs in Kenya and… you name it.
All was in vain untill this one day.
I had bumped onto a post on Facebook earlier in the day. The post was an advert of a job, seeking bloggers and writers. I slid into the guy’s DM and threw my blog links ( those days I was blogging on wordpress – https://ianelroyrollercoaster.wordpress.com).
He read the text immediately. I could see him typing, then stopping, typing, then stopping. The more that happened, the more anxiety ate me up.
Finally came a reply, “ua namba?”
No, that was not unprofessional. Shortening words made you look cool those days. You must be thinking I’m super old by now. You’re right.
I sent him my number and escalated the chat to WhatsApp. He gave all the details and job description, amidst appraisals of my writing prowess. He later requested that I show up for an interview the following day in Westlands, Unga House, 8:00Am.
That night, I assembled all my credentials, rummaged for that fine suit of mine, brushed dust off my shoes, set a 4AM alarm and plugged my phone to charge. Then slept.
I woke up the following morning, at 9AM. I never heard the alarm, neither did I hear the birds chirp like I always did the other days.
I stretched to grab my phone from the charge. DEAD. No charge! Power went out overnight.
Everything seemed miraculous, if not ridiculous.
The guy who was offering the job must have tried to call me, I wondered what he must have thought when he found my phone was off.
I never bothered to hop into the shower nor take breakfast, I just dressed and chucked. I was an hour late already for the interview. And I knew very well I was going to spend another hour in traffic – Mombasa road can make you hate going to CBD on weekdays, for real.
By 10:30Am I was in Westlands, asking around where Unga House is. I was directed to ask one of the boda boda riders. “Hao ndo wanajua hii mtaa” those were the words from the vendor I had asked.
I asked one of the riders and was told it’s only ksh 200 from there (Sarit Centre). I was late, I didn’t want to waste any extra minute bargaining. I hopped on the boda and off we rode.
This guy had the guts to go round parklands, down Mp Shah Hospital then back to Westlands and diverted into an alley that led to a building which I later realised was Unga House. A distance that I could have spent 2-minutes walking from Sarit Centre.
“Tumefika.” He croaked, inside his helmet. He didn’t remove the helmet. He spoke inside it like some killer in an action movie. I paid the ksh 200 then walked in the building.
I was met by a smartly dressed lady. Her heels made some knocks on the floor as she strode towards me.
“Hello, you are here for the interview?” She asked.
“Yes, sorry I’m late…I set my alarm… but electricity…then.” I stuttered.
“Don’t worry, we shall have that sorted.” She assured, then walked me through a door that led into a room full of other well dressed individuals.
“Please have a seat.” She said, pointing at an empty seat.
She then walked out, closing the door behind her softly.
What was described to me as ‘interview for a job’ turned into something that looked like a seminar. Infact, scrap that. It turned out to be a training on how to get money through inviting other people to the scheme and selling some products. What?!?
Men and women in suit and tie walked on the pulpit one after the other, engaged in braggadocio moment then gave rich motivating promises. They boasted of how they drift high-end cars, own big mansions and live lavish all owed to the ‘business.’ They gave tips and tricks on how we can also live like them and be like them. It was simple – invite people to join the scheme. That way, we would get a certain percentage from every person we invited. They quoted handsome earning of ksh 100,000 – ksh 200,000 per week. Folks, wasn’t that a good deal?
I was so much interested untill they mentioned the registration fee of ksh 4,000. How on earth do they expect a job seeker to pay ksh 4,000. They missed me with that BS.
I just closed my notebook, picked up my briefcase and pretended to be on a call as I swaggered out the room feeling disappointed, wasted and hoodwinked. Nairobi, why?