Young men in my village leave the rural side of life after completing high school with hopes of finding jobs in town. I know you may have cringed reading the above line for we all know its hard to get a job there nowadays. But we are all naive by then, and as such I was too. Stories were abound circulating in our village, of people who left, like me with only a back-pack of processions and made it big in the nineties. But things have changed a lot. Here is a story of how things turned out, when I set to find work in town.

By the time I had completed my studies in 2004, I had met some of my village lads who had made some progress judging by how they appeared in December festivities. They came home clad in jeans and T-shirts, with phones, the Kabambe type as they are known today, but in those days a Nokia 1100 was sold at an estimated 50 dollars which therefore was not cheap then. Besides these lads were always in a hurry to return back to town, always speaking of dates when they were supposed to report to work. How important they must have been at their work places to be wanted back so soon! I envied them, and wished I would be one of them.

Patterson was my village mate who had deserted us for quite some time, for a year probably, so when I met him at a back to school disco vumbi during the time I had done my finals I was really interested to find out how I can move away from the boring life of the village. I wanted to know the basics of how. So I approached him.

" You got to get an ID young man
Then you can can contact me if you are really interested of moving to town." he advised.

"Ok but where do I even start, you see we tried to get the registation of persons people to visit our school, but they requested for petrol man to facilitate them to our school."

"How much did they want"

"200 each! Imagine"

"And you paid?"

"No, we knew they were out to extort money from us. Aint they supposed to finance themselves? We refused."

Pat laughed.

"Tim, things are not as easy as they should be these days" he advised. You know what? You may end up paying more at their offices!"

He left the subject having been joined by Maggy a girl who was in form three. Maggy was a beautiful girl from our village. Yellow Yellow, plump with dimples. I had been salivating about getting to her. Not that she was unavailable that holiday, but I had missed by my targets big time that December. Seeing that there would be a conflict of interest I left to join friends who were roaming aimlessly outside the fenced area wherein the speakers blared, who like me paying 50 bob to get inside there was too expensive. Only those still in highschool did. Again I was not stupid to stand there like a kindergarten kid, watching Pat and Maggy making up to one another so I had had to move. I knew my manhood and self esteem would be humiliated besides Pat was not the one to offend, I had decided that he was my only host if I decided to live for town. My best hope, to learn to survive and find a job in town I thought.

I went to Pat's homestead the following day at around 11 AM, on the way I met Maggy. The girl was coming from the local trading centre she told me, so I greeted her and probed about last night.

"Ooh you left so early?" she muttered as a matter of fact.

"Did you look for me?" Searching her eyes for some truth, she looked away.

"Yea, I wanted some materials."

You can come today evening for them, I have Biology Chemistry, and Physics texts.

"Ok, if I get time."

I must have smiled at the hint

"But why don't you bring them coz am leaving tomorrow afternoon, ill be busy with preparation"

"Ill see"

Materials was the word for past examination papers and text books that we usually gave out to friends and relatives after we are done with our highs school studies. Am not sure if the slang is in use nowadays. Maggy's body language sent some signals all the times we stood there. She was breaking the twigs of nearby shrubs with her eyes down cast followed by picking the apex buds of the shrubs that lined the path on both sides. This culminated to drawing of circles on the ground using her big toe as she stood there. Of course she knew I wouldn't pat with my materials for free. Dry spell man. I was from school, a boys school. And she knew that I suffered from the damned condition. I tried to get to say something but I found no formula in my head, instead resorted to question her about her knowledge in chemistry which she responded with short answers. Dammit. She knew what I wanted to say. Was she giving me a chance, knowing how hard my village age mates drooled over her beauty? Her beauty had been a tale among my village mates. Grapevine had it that, she dismissed the boys in our village as immature, that she preferred real men. But here I was, with her and me dumb. These things seemed hard for me those days, you know what you want, the girl knows too and leads you on but you don't get to say it, hence you fall into the friend zone. The near I got was asking how she spent the night with Pat after I left.

"We talked a lot, then at around four she escorted me home," she said, still avoiding eye contact.

"Mnh," I responded

"Yeah."

"Ok"

She knew I knew. Pat was known to have been a swift guy with them school girls. My chest was burning with jealousy at that point. Its funny how boys feel so much, but can not say a word. They are often screaming inside, yet they cannot be heard.

We parted ways, went to Pat's homestead and got shocked that the lad had left early in the morning back to Mombasa. I took his cellphone number from his older brother Rey who was also about to leave for the afternoon bus. I later learnt from Rey that Maggy had been with him at his home that night in his young brothers hut. She left at dawn with him for the early morning bus. This hurt too. These town boys had their way with the girls in our village. With the money they had ready to buy their way into our village girls' hearts at the chagrin of us, the girls' age mates. Dumb and broke we were. I wouldn't give her the materials if she turned up for them. Ooh but why? Not that she bothered to come for them anyway. She did not.

Two months down the line, I had procured a 'waiting' card for my ID after parting with Kshs 250 at the registration offices. This is the paper you get waiting for your Identity Card. I called Pat from a simu ya jamii pay phone, and arranged for my debut visit to town as a job seeker, armed with my form four result slip and a leaving certificate. I scored a C+ plus in high school.

I took the afternoon bus, and breezed to the Island city of Mombasa. Welcome to Mombasa a signboard by the Cocacola Company announced my arrival at Saba Saba. I was to stay at the Mwembe Tayari Bus terminus which is the main PSV terminus for all buses and matatus from the hinterland.

I waited for Pat there knowing I would have to be patient. Pat was at work he had told me and would pass by to pick me in the evening after work. He had asked me to stand close to a Palmland Chemist as it would be easy to identify me. I did that. I never left the site all afternoon least he came early. Only squatting and standing relieved my legs. Ghai! I wouldnt have come that early had our vehicles plying our ushago route had buses 24/7. The afternoon bus was the only one remaining for the day and would be back at six PM at my local bus terminus ferrying passengers from Mombasa.

At 3 PM, I was already dying from thirst beside hunger for I had not taken lunch at home. I bought a packet of groundnuts and a bottle of water from a hawker. Exhaust smoke and noise from vehicles and loud mouthed touts became my major snack and distraction all the while. Not to forget the several hawkers who tried to engage me selling clothes, necklases et cetra. I remember I was left with 1k and change so I detested their inecessant salesmanship talk. They sounded convincing though.

Pat arrived, carrying a small black paper bag clad in faded blue jeans and a black Tshirt. He had a friend who I later knew as Mwashigadi. He put this paper bag in my back pack and we took the mathree heading to Mishomoroni. For those who dont know, Mishomoroni is approximately half a kilometre past the Nyali bridge.

The matatu went on taking more passengers, I kept my eyes on the street having sat close to the window, all the time trying to be keen as as dog so that I marked the way incase I had to travel alone back to the CBD. I soon became tired of it as the buildings looked similar before the bridge, old story buildings with no striking difference, save for their business names. Thoughts of what job Pat was engaged took over, suprised by the casual way he dressed because I had imagined him to be working in an office of some kind. I was really naive