His teeth came loose where the big man had punched him, him with the kind of force that knocks down doors; his stomach screamed where the stick had struck him, his clothes were tattered and torn.

He sat down and reached into his coat pocket. Mercifully there were some cigarettes left. With a trembling hand, he brought one to his bruised lips, lit it and took a deep drag. He knew he needed some time to make a plan, and a cigarette, while stealing his life away, always bought a man time.

He had thought this kind of thing only happened in movies and recounting the steps that had brought him here seemed like watching a mafia movie set anywhere but the streets of Nairobi.

Illegal gambling dens. Initial gambling wins. Bigger gambling bets. Scary gambling men. Unserviceable gambling debt. Violent debt collection. It seemed simple enough to track in sentences confined to three words but they could not explain the adrenaline rush of the first win.

The camaraderie he had felt with the other gamblers. The crushing disappointment of the loss and the feeling that next time, surely next time he would win. The lure of the gambling siren, a woman who promises you everything and just as quickly turns her back on you.

He reached into his other pocket and found his phone. There was nobody he could turn to and explain the loss he had suffered. He was scared and even the calming effect of the nicotine flowing through his bloodstream did nothing to quieten his heart; still, but he forced himself to finish it because he needed time. He needed to figure out whom to call because unlike a work deadline, the cost of missing this was too high for him to bear.

The answer came to him and he found a quiet place in the shade to wait for just the right time to make this call. A final wild gamble that might, just might go through and enable him to put everything behind him. He called as soon as his phone told him it was 7:25am.

Toooot.

As soon as he heard the first ring, he began to thank the gods above. He hadn’t done this before though so he wasn’t sure if that ring was all that was needed. He couldn’t quite believe that his luck had turned but he had just enough faith to grip the phone even tighter.

Tooooot. And then…

“Hallo?” Deep breath. Deeper breath.

“Y..y…esss.. Maina, I’m calling to count the money.”

“And you just got through. This being a Furahiday we will count denominations of 1,000 shillings are you ready to play ‘Count the Cash with Classic in the Morning’”?

The adrenaline of the gamble flooded his veins again, he stretched his arms and flexed his biceps. Feeling like the new man he knew he was, he stood up.
“Yes Maina, I’m ready to win.”

“This has been a good week so far; hope you don’t break the streak. Ok, are you ready?”

Trtrtrtrtrtrttrtrttrtrtrttrtrttrtrtrttrttrtrtrttrtrttrtrtrttrtrtrttrtrtrttrtrtr

The money flipped on and on. He didn’t bother trying to count it. He had always thought that was a fool’s errand; nobody could make him believe that the money being counted could actually be heard by anybody anywhere. No, to him this game was largely aspirational.

You just had to have a rough idea how much money you wanted, hope that the notes went on for long enough to provide you with a reasonable safety net and then plunge right in.

“25.”

“25? You have a very good ear.”

He suppressed a smile, forgetting that he was playing against somebody who couldn’t see him and the necessity of putting up a poker face had disappeared.

“Ok, let me give you a hint; it’s either 25, 26, or 27.”

He could feel the knocking on his chest. The steady dud-dud, dud-dud, dud-dud that made him feel more alive. He could taste it in his mouth and he loved it. Loved it too much to realise that the path he had taken to get out of gambling debt was to gamble once more.

That of all the calls he could have made in order to beat his midday deadline, the one he made depended least on the personal relationships he had watched wither away as his life became wilder and wilder, and most on the sweet success of the gamble, the roll of the die.

“What do you think? 25, 26 or 27?”

A voice in his head said, “Just say 27, people get another chance after this first one. Go for it.”

In a measured tone, he said, “27.” Driving up the maximum pay-off was never a bad thing. He needed the money and maybe, just maybe he could even afford to go to the hospital.

“Ei, King’ang’i what do you think, tumpatie”?

“Patie kijana pesa akajienjoy.” (Give the young man the money and let him go have fun)

“Ok, I’ll give you a hint, it’s either 26 or 27 forget 25.”

“26 or 27? I guess my ear wasn’t as good as I originally thought it was.”

“It got you this far didn’t it?”

“King’ang’i, nisaidie…” (Help me)

“Kijana we chukua tu 27 ujienjoy kabisa.” (Just take the 27 and go have fun)

“I like King’ang’i’s advice.”

“Are you willing to take it? There are three choices ahead of you…”

How many times in how many matatus had he heard this final three-way. All across Kenya there were people living and dying with him right now, the familiar hush as Maina got to this point in the narrative, the collective intake of breath….

“Either you win Ksh27,000...”

He knew he needed this money, he could not bear to think of the next option available to him. His heart beat wildly. He could hear the throbbing in his head. It drowned out the various aches and pains that tried his sore body….

“Or Ksh26,000...”

People on their way to work now perked up. Drivers increased the volume on their radios. Most of the masses began dreaming about the money being offered what it would mean for them: School fees for their lastborn, a great weekend out, a new phone, settled medical bills.

A windfall that though not life changing could put it on a good course. And so they hoped with the young man whose disembodied voice was all they could connect to. They hoped he would win because who wanted a corporation to stay with the money?

“Or nothing…”

“26 I heard 26 notes.”

“Are you sure?”

Was he? Of course not. He had no idea what was being offered to him. All he could see was a way out. All he could taste was metal in his mouth and that heart beat DUB. DUB. DUB. DUB. DUB. DUB.
He shook his head and said, voice steely as a kitchen knife, “Yes.”

“if you had chosen 27 you would have…”

This moment stretched on. For the listeners on their way to work in the morning it comes to a second or so. He felt like he had to live every one of those seconds. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.

“Won Ksh27,000 shillings. Thank you for…” He didn’t hear the rest because the phone had dropped from his hand.