THIS THURSDAY

The Nyayo House building in Nairobi, Kenya. Image Source: Kenyan Facts (Twitter)

The towers are high. The stones are decades old but still standing strong, protruding and kissing the scorching sun. There are military men surrounding the building, shoes thoroughly polished and their uniforms neatly pressed. Most of them are clean shaven with brisk steps. On the other hand, there are all sorts of people. Some lining up to collect their passports, some to apply for passports, some to simply talk to the wakubwa, the top officials. It is the famous Nyayo House. Rumours have it that our then President, Daniel Moi, if found you as insubordinate, would have you corrected at the Nyayo House torture chambers. Probably Baba would tell you a thing or two about how thoroughly enjoyable the exercise was, or because of his distaste for it, how much discomforting it might have been.

It is 10 am and I am here to apply for my passport. There is something you’ve got to understand about our government offices. Things can be done quickly if properly induced. Words such as ‘Governor’ or ‘Senator’ would help a great deal during your inquiry. Talk about the Boss’ son, and how you used to smuggle 'weed' for him while in High School. Do not look too tense. Be at ease and give the illusion that your father is the richest man in Kenya. How you dress matters. Do not wear a suit or the shiny black shoes. Have the bad boy wealthy look, your timberland boots on, long unkempt hair to show you do not care. Be a bit arrogant, just enough to emphasise the fact that you have the power. Lining up is for the desperate and the weak, the powerful know exactly where the right offices are. Most importantly, if you are not privileged enough to be associated with the top dogs, have a note, or a phone call, or a letter from one of them to precede you. If not, if the officials are Luo, speak a little bit of Luo and brag about the famous Kondele town and how tasty their fish is. If they are Kikuyu, mention the President, spark a conversation how he’s spending sleepless nights worrying about our wellbeing. As for the unemployed youth, just say it’s their laziness and a thing for the white collar jobs that renders them jobless. The point is, you’ve got to get your passport ready as quickly as possible and you do not want anything standing on your way.

I looked at the written note signed by my area Governor, Kemi Mulla. It was polite alright. It read:

Please issue Jack Sidwong’ with a passport in the shortest time possible. He is a bright student and has been selected to study in a top school in India. Thank you for your cooperation.

Kemi Mulla

County Governor

Office of the President

I wondered how three lines of someone’s wretched handwriting could make such a huge difference. Everyone is given a waiting number before entering the building. Mine was 463. The counters read 325 or thereabout. But as for me, I had the note, I headed towards Mr. Wanjiru’s office, the Boss. Even the Boss can get busy. There were many of my kind I came to realize. Not as many as the rest of the waiting lowly people, but just enough to make me wait. I took a seat just outside his office, the secretary was entitled, arrogant and mean with most people. She would push anyone out who came without special permission. There were noises of children crying on their mother’s laps, military men patrolling the place and people moving up and down. At the counters, some people were begging the officials to pardon the ‘small’ mistakes on their Passport Sheets, some ranting at them after pulling frustrated figures.

Just about then, two smartly dressed people headed to one of the counters. One of them was dressed in a three piece blue suit with a white shirt and a black tie. Probably a wealthy tycoon. The other, pot-bellied, short, seemed to be a top official in the building. He wore a black suit with a blue shirt and a grey tie. The official was being followed by the tycoon. He walked head high with his briefcase across the waiting room and caught everyone’s attention. After about 5 minutes of conversation in the counter, they went back smiling. In less than an hour, the man had his passport ready. I was encouraged, I smiled.

“Number 463, counter number 3.” I hesitated, not sure whether to go to the counters or continue waiting for the Boss. I cut across the thin air and dodged some people who were too angry to notice anyone. I was at counter number 3 and gave all my documents from my brown envelope. The official wore a serious face full of wrinkles. His hair was kinky and seemed as if he had been forced to get up. He had spectacles and gave that you are not getting your passport anytime soon look. My hopes were faint as he carefully examined my documents. It took longer than usual. He clicked his desktop and appeared to be processing my documents. He was quiet all along and we never really spoke about the Luo or Kikuyu. I was nervous and then suddenly, “Here, come collect your passport on Thursday afternoon.” He said.

“On Thursday? This Thursday!?” I asked.

He looked unimpressively at the supposedly bright student and mumbled, “Yes.” It was Monday and instead of the 3 or 4 weeks I thought it would take, it turned out to be 3 or 4 days.

I dragged my feet away holding my waiting receipt. As my steps faltered, I glanced at the people still waiting for the Boss. “If only they knew…” I murmured. I looked at the Governor’s note again and thought, “Will I really get it this Thursday?”

”Yes! It must be this Thursday! Don’t worry Jack. It’s this Thursday. This Thursday!”