. But five million! Who is going to give you that much at such short notice? You could take a loan. “When do you need the money?” “
By Friday, son. Joel and Genevieve will be reporting on Monday, and they’ll not be allowed to register unless they have paid full tuition.”
Today is Monday.
You have only four days to get the money together, a loan approval would take more than a week. “Eeh! I wish you had told me earlier.” “Our SACCO was supposed to lend me some money, but I just got the news that they can’t afford to lend so much money to one person when money is so scarce.” 8
The your father is referring to, is for the matooke plantation owners in Masaka. The credit crunch again.
The heavily made-up news anchor on last night’s news talked in detail on how banks and other financial institutions were lax to lend; deposits are few, so lending rates are high. You stare at the light filtering in through the chink in the curtains. It’s mocking you. You do not see even a sliver of hope to make this problem go away. “So Mzee, let me see what to do,
I will give you a call in one hour.” “Weebale Mutaabani!” “Mzee, do not thank me yet, thank me when I get the money.” Even as you say it, you know there is no hope of you getting that money in four days. You run your fingers over the black metallic rosary beads hanging from your neck. You never take it off. You never know when the Virgin Mary might intercede.
“Hail Mary, full of grace...” you mumble under your breath. You extricate yourself from Chantal’s grasp and start to throw off the covers. “Can’t you stay a little longer?” She purrs. “It is six thirty, I don’t want to be late for work.” The words are thrown over your shoulders because you are already fastening your towel round your waist, heading for the bathroom.
Musiiru gwe! Wayigira wa okuvuga?” “What about you! Where did you learn how to drive?” You retort.
The taxi driver looks at you like he would a stray dog and gears. The jolt of annoyance that has been bubbling in you simmers as you take in his dishevelled appearance His head looks like a millet field after a ghastly downpour, the guy obviously thinks the existence of combs is a nuisance. His beard looks rough enough to shame
Chantal’s pumice stone.
His shirt collar edges are frayed upwards, and there are little black holes sprinkled down its front – ash burns. About two hundred metres away, the traffic policeman’s uniform gleams white in your view. You think of pressing on in the right lane and allowing the taxi guy to fidget in the nonexistent third one till the traffic guy pulls him over. But you change your mind as you realise the errant driver will not give up. He has the nose of his mini bus pointing diagonally at the body of your Japanese Premeau; the blasted guy will scratch you if you insist.
A long winded argument will ensure on who is right or who is wrong, and the traffic guy will come up and pull both of you over to ‘negotiate’ the terms of your offence and to decide who is liable for whose car’s repairs.
The digital clock on your dashboard is flashing 7:15 AM in neon green. You step on the brake pedal long enough to let the taxi guy into your lane.
The Prado behind you honks with impatience; everyone has somewhere to go this morning. *** “Ki Vincent! You look like you didn’t sleep at all! How is Chantal?” Gerald lowers his spectacles and stares at you in mock observation.
You only shake your head and smile. “She is fine! But she isn’t the reason I didn’t sleep. Problems never end...” You stare at the blue-white logo of the company. The motto in bright blue seems to step off the cream walls of your small office: GET SOMEWHERE: INSURE WITH US. “What problems now? A single guy like you should not have problems! Leave them to us who are married and have families to think about.” Although you are about the same age, Gerald is already married and has a five year old daugh
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