Handler??

Today, I was reminiscing about my campus days.i remember in the last months in campus, I saw a job advertisement in one of the newspaper.the advert was vague, they had just written a new company was to be lauched soon and they were looking forward to employ people from diverse fields. I updated my CV, attached relevant documents, wrote a formal letter and posted my application in the postal address provided in the advert.

I just did that for formality and farmiliarity, because in a few months time I would graduate and will join the job hunting bandwagon.after one month of no indication of any communication, I gave up about the job and forged my way forward.any way I have not yet graduated, I thought.

Three months later, I received a call while I was in the campus library.the guy introduced himself as Tom and he acknowledged the company had received my job application letter together with my credentials, and they were in the process of recruiting staff.he proposed if we could meet the next day at exactly 12pm in a city restaurant for a possible interview, as they were to lauch the company in two months time. I obliged offer.

The next day at exactly 12pm I was in the lobby of the restaurant, just when I was fumbling my phone to call tom, someone tapped my back and stretched his arm for a handshake, “you must be jura, am Tom” he introduced himself.we were ushered in by the waitress to a reservation at the far corner by the window side.

He was a calm guy, had no obvious accent and wore spectacles.he told me to order anything before the interview kicks off.famished as I was, just told the waitress to bring me ugali-kuku, and he told the waitress the same would do for him. We talked generally on basic topics and I had to be frank and tell him that I had not yet graduated but would be graduating in a few months time.

After devouring my meal, and now taking a mango juice, Tom reached on to his laptop bag and removed what seemed like a newspaper.he told me he would like to examine my analysis skills. He handed me two. newspapers.they were UG newspapers, daily monitor and new vision.the heading in both newspapers were about opinion polls in UG.Uganda was almost heading for an election at that time.Tom told me to read the newspapers and make a detailed analysis report about the political temperature in Uganda."We will meet after seven days same place same time "having said that, he again reached for his bag and handed me brown envelope. He told me to pay the bill when I was ready to leave.

A glimpse inside the envelope stunned me.i was literally dumbfounded.two stash of freshly printed ksh.100 notes were stashed in two huge bundles.the aura is still fresh in my olfactory nerve.i paid the bill of ksh.2500 and left.its when I reached to my room that I realized the balance was ksh. 7500.at some point I thought they were fake, but no, they were genuine.

At that time I was as well engrossed in my preparation for the final exams.i used to spend most of the time in the library.i only read the newspaper when I got tired in the library.the newspapers were boring because the only people I was well acquainted with in UG were sebo and besige. I have to admit I was not that interested.i remember making a hastly shoddy analysis report on the eve of our meeting.perhaps I was not serious about the whole thing.

On the D-Day, we met at the same restaurant at exactly 12pm.i took my previous meal just like him.after our meal I handed him my analysis report and the boring newspapers.he briefly scoured through my three pages analysis report and tucked it in his bag alongside the newspapers.he told me he would go through my analysis later.he handed me a brown envelope again and retorted that when am ready to leave I should clear the bill. “One thing,” he seemed to have forgotten something, “if you qualify to the next level I will contact you within three weeks, if I don’t contact you just know you didn’t qualify.” He said.the contents of the brown envelope were just like our previous meeting.freshly printed notes with deep aura.i cleared the bill and left.when I got to my room, I thought it would be better if I saved Tom’s contact in my phone book. ALAS!! His number had mysteriously disappeared in my call logs.i scoured through my phone but couldn’t get anything.

Wakubwa, more than six years later bado nangoja communication.

That part that subsaharans climb on each other and puff and huff …that part why are u conviniently leaving it out?

Waria jipe shugli

Your story doesn’t add up. Sounds like a Hollywood movie script

It’s called a live drop. You shook hands with the devil and you didn’t even know it.

I know

Uko na bahati.it was not ordinary job.probably espionage.hungewai kua na amani