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Contemplations and Reclamations - Kenya 2019
Workers are not humans but bodies....
These flesh-filled bodies of laborers have sinewy extensions connected to their humanity; our flames may be dull but still alive with a soldering glow, small but lit nonetheless...
Our bodies are invisible and unnecessary unless they building profits and attributions for the supervisor. We work then we die, and new bodies will surely take our place.
But what are we but conniving cheeky bodies out to steal a day to ourselves instead of labouring....
It is against policy to be human...
Our bodies are worthy only if we are busy doing their work...
Our bodies live to work, not to live.....
We are bodies taught to stick to our lanes before we inevitably crash and burn.
......Next! |
We lost mum 19 years ago, 7 July 2000, a day I vividly remember, it was a Friday.....It was my first day of a horrible job I continued to endure for 6 years. I reported to work the next day for fear of loosing new work. I sat next to Christine T and she asked me why I was low, told her my mum died day before and was just having difficulty concentrating in the induction training . She almost fell off her seat in shock and asked, “Mama wako wa kuzaliwa?” Your real mum? Her eyes registered shock but accepted understanding crept in at the same time on her face because while we did not known each other much, she understood by the way we were treated in this new company like sheep to a slaughter that it did not matter. It was also no surprise why I sat there mourning silently and training to be a customer service agent. Workers are not humans but bodies....
Later that day I discovered she whispered to Allan O (RIP) and Edgar K to keep an eye on me a bit and be nice because nimefiwa. The two escorted me to the commercial matatu stop to get to Eastleigh where I lived as they went down to pick Buruburu matatus. They made a habit of this during induction and I truly appreciate it even though we never talked about things like this much. We became good colleagues and were posted in the same section after training collecting debts from customers after that - our performance was based on paid debts to thicken the wallets of our supervisors, ours remained threadbare and the one attempt to unionise got a lot of backlash in the company. How dare we think to lay claim to our rights as labourers the supervisors said as they clamped down on dissent and control; many of us shivered in fear for our jobs and laboured quietly on. We were the ungrateful bastards...we should consider ourselves fortunate to be here....These flesh-filled bodies of labourers have sinewy extensions connected to their humanity; our flames may be dull but still alive with a soldering glow, small but lit nonetheless...
My big brother Jim was waiting for me outside the office block on the day mum died 19 years ago (nobody would have known me or which office I was in so he waited until staff left the exit to spot me from the crowd); he lay vigil from 4pm so I don't rush to Kenyatta hospital to be by mum's bed after work and instead meet an empty bed or a surly nurse to break the sad news. We lost her that morning at 10am and none of us were by her side. All we got was the news and her wedding ring, 'personal effects' and her body chilling in the morgue. Until the burial, I kept feeling that the hospital staff were punking us....and she would miraculously rise from the dead and find out what they really wanted was her bed to give another patient. Our bodies are invisible an unnecessary unless they building profits and attributions for the supervisor. We work then we die, and new bodies will surely take our place.
This Friday 7 July was also the day Jim got a new tangerine orange showroom car. After picking me from work and breaking the news I was numbed in shock to appreciate the new car smells. I was 3 weeks short of turning 21 with a 3 year old child to raise on my own, I was terrified of the thought of going on without mummy. Anyway...back to the car, no one in my immediate family had ever owned a showroom car new from the manufacturer or whatever. Mum would have been proud of Jim and loved the color and compact shape of it. I finally gathered courage on Tuesday 11 July to ask for a day off to bury mum. Burial was set for Thursday, 13 July 2000. I asked a training supervisor called Esther she was in charge of induction of the new recruits... by her flank along the corridors was another supervisor called Peter I don't really know what he did but he spoke with an American twang and did important things like talking to the white people i.e. the top management and translated to us their top-down orders. I interrupted her very important 'supervisory conversation' and seemed irritated, but listened to my muted whispers about wanting permission to bury my mother. She eye-rolled looking at Peter and said “Eh you have started these tabias early in the job... Kenyans just bury relatives to get a day off...so is it your mother-mother; you know these days you hear of people burying their fathers three times a year!...Anyway, if its genuine come with the newspaper announcement and take the day off and report on Friday. Make sure you come with the newspaper clipping that shows its your mother-mother and give it to me with a letter of request to be excused from Thursday training." But what are we but conniving cheeky bodies out to steal a day to ourselves instead of labouring....
I spent the next day busy so I can attend mum's funeral and try to keep my new job; buying a copy of the paper that announced mum's death was top on the agenda. My father, siblings Ciru and Jimmy and my cousins, aunts and uncles had been doing all the planning and arrangements so the announcement was set to feature in the Nation paper that day. I bought two copies on loan from the newspaper guy near my hostel...privately and after I got permission from my boss, and the world, the clipping was my little thing kept to remember this moment and to process my deep grief. The clipping kept aside because there was no time...places to be, things to do - for others more powerful than me. One day I will earn annual leave and maybe just maybe I can hold on until then because after all.. It is against policy to be human...
The paper vendor felt bad I lost my mum and saw the picture and said I had mum's cheekbones, he had no problem waiting for his payment till end-month. At lunch time I went to a cyber (we were not allowed to use company printer things at the said office) to draft a permission letter and print out and sign it. Attached was the newspaper clipping. I could not afford an envelope without messing my monthly matatu budget, but Baba's nagging voice was in my head about doing things properly and so bought an envelope anyway. I took the letter to Esther who didn’t remember me (because we were oh so many minions who all looked alike) ... “I said, it's me, you asked me to bring the death announcement of my mother and a letter to ask for permission to attend her funeral. I asked for one day off.” Ah yes. She ripped open the envelope and threw it on the table, I cringed internally... that ripped envelope was the price of a one-way matatu ride from Eastleigh to town...I kept my gaze to hold my emotions as she peered to see if my name was indeed listed as a daughter on the clipping... then the letter threw on the desk somewhat dismissively, and after a second pause, she came to a decision. “You may go for the burial and report on Friday promptly. Get your colleagues to give you notes of the day before and catch up because we are set to roll out the call centre soon. You need to be all caught up." Did it matter how the arrangements for mum were made? Other bodies, other bodies busy and stressed like me were making arrangements but lets be generous and give this one a day off and feel good about ourselves.....Our bodies are worthy only if we are busy doing their work..
Mum was buried on Thursday 13, July 2000. Some of you reading know this because in all the furore Binya (RIP) my brother wrote about extensively. I had not seen him for years, I was glad he crossed mountains, across countries and without proper documents and somehow made it in time to lay mum to rest. We met at the burial site. The were many many tears and many things to say that day. But we remained silent and exchanged hugs, looks and tears by mum's graveside then parted ways after. Time was not mine but for my employers and I needed to be at work early the next day so did not mourn and reconnect with my family later that day and went back to Eastleigh immediately after. Our bodies live to work, not to live.....
I was back at work the next day by 7.45am we started at 8am prompt not 8.01, they checked and three people were fired for being late before we finished that induction training. My induction trainer was another supervisor Jean-R. He had heard about my loosing my mum through the murmurs, whispers and glances that float along the corridors of the company. He was gentler than the rest of the corporate sharks in management. He did not give me flack for not being as participatory that day. We launched the hotline in August. On schedule and more importantly we were inducted and trained and socialised to know and internalise our place in the pecking order of the company. We are bodies taught to stick to our lanes before we inevitably crash and burn.
Next!
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