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Story Short: Another way to make a living

Friday November 24 2017
juma

Juma lay on his sofa staring at the blank white walls. Scenes from the interview that he had just come from were replaying in his head. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGAH | NMG

By MONICAH MASIKONTE

Juma lay on his sofa staring at the blank white walls. Scenes from the interview that he had just come from were replaying in his head.

He saw the man with the serious face who kept nodding at the answers Juma was giving. His name was Mr Kizito. The woman sitting next to him gave Juma mean looks, and the deep red lipstick that she was wearing only made it worse. The rest of the panel members didn’t stand out and Juma could hardly remember them.

The vibrating phone in his pocket brought him back to reality. His heart was pounding hard in his chest as he glanced at the caller’s number: Hot Deliveriz Company. He was sure it was about the interview and he felt positive about this one. “I’m sorry but you did not make it. We will however contact you in future if other positions are available.”

Juma placed the phone on the stool that he had used as his table for the past six months since moving out of his parent’s home. He sat up as the words slowly started sinking in. You did not make it… He covered his eyes with his palms. You did not make it… Juma got up and sat on the cold concrete floor, his back leaning on the side of the sofa. He decided to go and visit his parents.

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The engine roared as soon as he got onto the bus. It was going to be quite a journey and he braced himself for it. As soon as the bus started moving, he pulled a novel out of his bag. He was halfway through the book and he hoped he would be done by the time he arrived.

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He fastened his seat belt and positioned himself comfortably. In no time, he was immersed in another world where joblessness and failed interviews did not exist.

Four hours later, he alighted from the dusty bus and headed home. The route had few people on it. He passed near the shopping centre where villagers stopped him to greet him.

“How is the city treating you, my son?” asked the hardware store owner.

“Not so bad,” Juma answered with a forced smile. He was relieved that the man did not chat further with him because he would have had to lie. Nothing but misery in that big city, he thought to himself as he walked on.

His parents were delighted to see him. Three months had passed since his last visit even though he regularly made phone calls to them, especially on the weekends.

They had dinner together and chatted till late that night. Before going to sleep, Juma’s father asked him to help on the farm the following day.

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The smell of wet soil filled the morning air as the farm workers arrived at the farm gate one by one. It was maize planting season and they all came ready for a long day.

Some claimed to have already had a heavy breakfast, while others had brought some porridge to keep them going. Juma hoped that he wouldn’t be overcome by hunger as the day went by. By half past eight, all the workers had arrived and they proceeded to the farm.

There were other people working on their farms in the other homesteads. The neighbours did not have large tracts of land and therefore planting was a family affair. Juma’s father however needed additional farm workers as his piece of land was too big to manage on his own.

Three men dug the holes while two put the seed in. Two women then shovelled manure into the holes while Juma and his father followed behind covering them up.

They carried out their assigned tasks while chatting about various happenings in the village. They talked about how farming had helped people in the village to pay for their children’s education.

“Did you know that Mandevu built his home using the proceeds from his potatoes?” one of the ladies said to no one in particular. This statement sparked off a conversation that went on to talk of a neighbour who had recently bought a truck with the money he got from selling beans. At lunchtime, Juma’s mother brought them some food.

The planting went on until half past five in the evening. They were all tired and enjoyed the tea served to them by Juma’s mother. After receiving their pay, they went to their homes. Juma and his father headed home too.

“What is the value of the maize we planted today?” Juma asked as they walked home. His father seemed to have been waiting for this question all his life because he answered quickly.

“If all goes well, I will make about three hundred thousand shillings after harvesting.”

Juma was quiet for a while, thinking about his next question.

“Would you let me plant something on the land behind the kitchen? You barely use it,” he finally said.

Juma’s father looked at him, but did not say anything. He seemed pleased by the request.

“I could use it for a while before I have enough money to buy my own land,” Juma continued. His father smiled and nodded. He gave his son a pat on the back and they walked in silence to the house.

After taking a shower, Juma sat down with his parents for the evening meal. He told them how he had been looking for a job in vain. Juma’s mother however was unsure about her son’s decision to move from the city and take up farming.

That night as Juma lay in bed, he felt hopeful about his future. He could hardly wait for the following day to go back to the city and collect his belongings.

He had to start working on his farm before the rains began.

Editor's note: Are you an unpublished aspiring writer? You may send your 1500-word fiction short story to [email protected]

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