Don't Call Us, We’ll Call You

Handling Disappointment Like a Man: Navigating Life's Letdowns with Grace and Grit

Sep 30, 2024

*But here is the twist, imagine if I told you that this time, “Oyaaaa!” wasn’t echoing from the streets, but rather in the confines of my WhatsApp inbox*. Photo Credits

Essential insights at a glance:
Let’s assume they all had the name Patel because that’s the only Indian name I know. Oh, and now what? Adani?
As you walk out, your stunning look gives an impression of a top corporate executive, but in reality, the Indians will say you gave a vibe of Vioja Mahakamani. Feilia.

The Streets are Calling

“Oyaaaa!” A cry that slices through the hustle and bustle of Nairobi’s downtown. A rallying call amidst the chaos of Muthurwa market, usually emanating from the lips of sweat-soaked men labouring under the weight of their trolleys or mkokotenis, laden with the weight of livelihoods, urging pedestrians to pave way. To any other person it’s a shout, but to them, it’s a symphony of struggle and resilience.

But here is the twist, imagine if I told you that this time, “Oyaaaa!” wasn’t echoing from the streets, but rather in the confines of my WhatsApp inbox. This is where the story gets interesting.

Who’s the sender, you might ask? Well, let’s just say it’s not your typical ‘bro’ or ‘dude’ calling you to ask ‘Uko wapi?’ (A question that has one and only one right answer: “We uko wapi?”) Nope, it’s a lady, craving, demanding, my full undivided attention. I think it’s safe to say what a man can do, a woman can do just as well, if not better.

Let me point out something that isn’t important to anyone except me: Personally, I am among those people who will see a message and reply instantly. If it takes you less than 5 minutes to do; do it right away. I am not among those who will grey/ghost you sijui for a whole month as if you had sent them the 5^th: “Dear Hiring manager, I hope this message finds you well” email.

Every time I see a text from this particular lady friend of mine, I have to delay and pretend that I am busy. In fact, if she text when I am online, I have to toka online. Why? Fear these people with GB and FM WhatsApp. I heard it can tell them: This guy is online and imagine he just ignored your text. Aki men. Nkt! Okay, maybe I have exaggerated a little, but at the pace that technology is going, that’s really possible.

But this is the reason why I have to delay. I used to reply instantly and she developed this joke of saying, “kwani umenimiss na hutaki ku confess” or “mbona uko over excited to see my text”. (followed by a moon emoji). I usually replied with “You wish”. Now with my Masengeli-sized ego, I have to chill a little. Just a little. Maybe three, seven, ten, or 30 minutes.

Now with my Masengeli-sized ego, I have to chill a little. Just a little.

Reading Between the Lines: Is She Interested?

Sometimes, though, I try to read between the lines and I feel like she is shooting her shot but she doesn’t want to confess. I mean, why would someone go and like not one, but FIVE of your photos on IG in one night? It’s not like IG has an incognito mode or that annoying feature by LinkedIn that shows you a blurry photo of a person who visited your profile (and it adds an element of curiosity: viewers you might be interested in)-she knows I’ll get notifications saying ati so and so “anasinzia aki ni waza”.

If that is not enough, she goes and likes that photo from 2019 on Facebook-Where I was joining campus with 100 others. TF! Am I overthinking this, or is she just low-key obsessed?

Anyway, after playing it cool for 4,7,10 minutes hivi, I hit her back.

“Niambie we mzee” tossing in a moon emoji for a little dramatic effect.

“What are you doing on Monday?” She asked, then added “Niko na form...” followed by three laughing emojis.

Kupewa? Nah, labda tu interview

Are you thinking what I am thinking? Today, she’s finally got the guts to come clean and confess the way amenikufia. I’m already hearing Sauti Sol’s “Jumping off the friend zone baby...” playing in my head.

Does she want to organize a friendly match? My overthinking brain was vibrating on a whole different frequency: what would I do if given a chance? Probably give it to her like nobody’s business, avenging my ancestors in the process as well. It’s amazing how a few questions and statements can lift someone’s mood from ground state to an excited state. I mean, who doesn’t love forms? Maybe secretaries, which explains their perpetual mood swings.

First things first, I put everything on hold. I wanted to focus on this lady. Bridgerton can wait. Then I switched to a hype man mode, like a curtain raiser, warming up the crowd before the main act. I sent her those celebratory emojis. Like, ten of them. Followed by fire emojis, to keep the conversation hot and steamy.

Instead of the cultural weka mikono juu, I hit her with “Sina form manzee...” To make her feel like she’s got the power over my Monday schedule, which was a straight-up-lie. I couldn’t say NO before I knew what she had in store for me. Who knows? I could be rejecting a one-way ticket to explore her exotic thighlands.

Excitement slowly kicked in and with my heart melting with curiosity, I added “Hebu take me with rada...” We, Latin speakers say Nipeleke na rieng’

“Hebu guess?” she teased. Now she was fully in the mood, engaging me in a little foreplay here and there before the real thing: Vitamin D.

Let me talk to the men for a moment: when a woman tells you to guess, don’t hit the nail on the head. Utachoma. So, I didn’t risk guessing what was on my mind. Instead, I threw out a litany of wild guesses. Give and take, until she finally said: “Oh Plizzz. Imagine just stop. kwani, you don’t know how to guess?”

I sent her a bunch of laughing emojis and said, “Sawa basi” steadily following with “We hebu ni show form nigani?”

typing...

Anticipation burning deep.

All I could imagine was her ripping her heart open-kufungua roho- confessing how she has been eying me and was too shy to open up, et cetera. I decided to calm my anticipation by watching a couple of statuses before she dropped the juice.

When I swiped back to chats, I saw that green bubble displaying 4 unread messages plus a green 6-letter word followed by three dots: typing... Happiness. I don’t know about you, but I am anti-Paragraphs in the green app. I love small, small messages. The fifth message popped in and I decided to open it. Let me spare you the curiosity and tell you, I got a premium level of disappointment.

“I have an interview opportunity that’s good for you.”

“Good for your exposure I mean”

“My friend sent me this” (Followed by a poster, that had a job advertised. WE ARE HIRING. It was a walk-in interview.)

“Akaniambia nishow up but I won’t be available”

“So, I was hoping utakua interested”

I left momentarily to nurse my wounds before resurfacing with 3 laughing emojis. Now, I get what Aaron Levenstein meant with his quote about statistics and bikinis: “What they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital.” Her texts were suggestive, and I was utterly blinded. Lo and behold, little did I know that the vital thing that she was concealing was an interview opportunity. Man, I was this close. This close to transition from replying to her stories to being part of her story.

*Man, I was this close. This close to transition from replying to her stories to being part of her story.* Photo credit

Now, I get what Aaron Levenstein meant with his quote about statistics and bikinis: “What they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital.”

Disappointment floods in, but hey, she was just being helpful. In fact, it was a great through pass, just not the kind you and I anticipated. So, if you were reading this hoping that the conversation would transition from laughing emojis to water droplets, eggplants, and peaches, I am not even sorry for wasting your time you filthy bustard. Seriously though, who even calls an interview ‘form’? Isn’t that a freaking slaughterhouse?

Since campo, just like many other graduates, I have been waiting for deals ziivane. You know, doing a little kazi za mkono here and there to ensure that I am not starving while you are consuming my content for free. Piny pek owada, simply translated to the streets are cold, for those who don’t speak my mother tongue.

Unlike back in the day when we were asked about what we wanted to be and we could shake the class with big sounding professions that we couldn't even spell, especially those that ended with ist mara Cardiologist, Otorhinolaryngologist, Astrophysicist, now we are ready to take any hustle that our ancestors will give -as long as it pays the bills. My people say mboka ni mboka (I don’t know if they mean vegetables or work, but hey, Mboga ni mboga pia)

I have never been to an interview before. The only thing closest to this gruesome ordeal was when I showed up in a panel of close to 7 Doctors and professors to defend my final year project in Uni. So, even though my initial excitement was completely misguided, I decided to prepare and show up for the interview. Who knows? It might be an opportunity.

Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You …

Monday, 10 a.m.

A well-pressed Shirt, a black trouser, and a brown shoe. I was decked out for success. Oh, and let’s not forget the tie, strangling my neck the way hii serikali yetu is doing to us with the taxes. I looked like I was headed for a Met gala. The only thing missing was a red carpet and a swarm of paparazzi.

Remembering those stories that we used to be told back in primary school, sijui when going to an interview treat people right, you can talk rudely to a gate man and you find him in the panel, I knew I had to be on my best behavior. But when I arrived at the gate to sign in, I was shocked. Checking the list, I was number 93, and people were still streaming in. Unemployment is no joke.

My heart was beating fast.

Okay, I have lied. It was beating faster. And faster. I didn’t even have breakfast that morning. My turn arrived and I stepped into the slaughterhouse. Three Indians on the panel. I am sure most of you have interacted with Indians from YouTube: learning calculus and organic chemistry in 3 minutes, but I doubt whether you have talked to them one on one, grilling and disorienting you for like 6 minutes hivi.

I am not sure I can quite communicate what it was like in there, but let me give it a shot:

You step into those big board rooms furnished with an exquisite brown conference table. If Mr. Chesire, my geography teacher, was right, then it might be hardwood timber, either mahogany, teak, or mvule. Three Indian men sat on those revolving leather office chairs. Two on one side, and the 3rd on the opposite side. Let’s assume they all had the name Patel because that’s the only Indian name I know. Oh, and now what? Adani?

Anyway, an empty seat is at the front. You greet them and wait for them to tell you to grab a sit. You hand them your CV. They scrutinize it and they start throwing a barrage of missiles the way Iran did to Israel.

Let’s assume they all had the name Patel because that’s the only Indian name I know. Oh, and now what? Adani?

With that YouTube accent:

“So, tell us about yourself...” It’s not that you haven’t prepared, but when you open your mouth, the English and the content go out the window. This is the sole reason why we needed a formation back on campus during exams-for the sake of refreshing memory. As you diligently defend yourself you see them jotting something down. You panic. But you are determined.

“Okay, what is your experience in this field?” Remember you have never been to any job related to this before. For a moment, you feel like telling them, I was born ready. Why do I need all that experience for? I will learn on the job. But you aren’t that brave and so, you decide to vomit a couple of things that you did during the attachment period.

You know, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit, just the way Chares Githinji stunned Kenyans by telling the vetting parliamentary committee that GDP equates to a country’s population. Now you are slowly gaining confidence slowly swiveling in the chair, gently rocking left and right.

“Finally, why should we give you this job?” Mayooo. Now you get the Mike Tyson moment: Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face. The question disorients you for a moment. You know very well, the Kenyan dream: Dream ya Kutoka kwa block is what motivates you and that’s why you want this job.

But that’s not the answer they are looking for. As if you didn’t quite catch what they said, you sprinkle a little “pardon” and you feed them with even more bullshit.

“That’s all for today. Thank you for showing up. Don’t call us, we will call you...”

Ever heard of l'esprit de l’escalier? (been waiting to use that word) Trust me you have; you just don’t know it. So here it is: You Walk out and that ka thing: mbona sikusema hivi rings loud in your head. Sounds familiar? Yes. As you walk out, your stunning look gives an impression of a top corporate executive, but in reality, the Indians will say you gave a vibe of Vioja Mahakamani. Maybe they laughed because you were a joke. Feilia.

It’s been 3 months and still no call. I am starting to think maybe the salary expectation that I quoted scared them off. But come on, 50k? Was that too much to ask those descendants of railway workers? I mean, hiyo ni kitu ya kunyima mtu kazi kweli? Isn't that what we learned in school as the LCM—the least common multiple? I think that’s the price I will pay for dreaming big-wanting the GCD.

To that one unemployed friend of mine, hold on. One day, itajipa. Or as we all say, IPO SIKU.

For me, I see two options: either I go back to that place (not where I did the interview), but the one behind my national ID, or I open an OnlyFans. Si you know kunashughuli haitakangi mbogi. And stop looking at me as if you don’t know what I am talking about. To the hiring manager: I hope this finds you well. Hebu tumeni za cabbage as I contemplate my options. Ushago? Nah.

As usual, live fully and love wholeheartedly. Remember to live is to love, and to love is to live. So:

Live and let live.

Cover Image Credit

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We're going to fight until the very end. I'll leave you with some inspiration from Mariah Carey's Make It Happen:

…But still, I had to keep on going never knowing if I could take it. If I would make it through the night. I held on to my faith, I struggled and I prayed. And now I've found my way…