The
proposal
By C. J. Ogai
© 2004
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The phone
call came through at eleven o’clock sharp. It was on her
direct line.
“Carol
Obama, hallo,” she said.
“Hello?’’ she heard what she would describe
as a pleasant voice ask.
“Hello?” she asked in turn.
“Is that Caroline Obama?” the pleasant male voice
asked.
Her first instinct was that whoever it was didn’t know
her too well. Her friends and acquaintances always referred
to her as plain Carol. That was how she introduced herself,
even on her business cards. Caroline was a no-no.
“Yes, this is Carol Obama!”
She heard him breathe in, which showed a sign of nervousness,
and then say: “Miss
Obama I was wondering whether I could meet you?” he asked.
Already she was sure she didn’t know this man. Not only
was he addressing her unfamiliarly but neither did she recognize
that distinctive voice.
“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” she
asked.
“Oh, sorry,’’ he said. “I don’t
think you know me. I better introduce myself, I’m Ouma,
George Ouma.”
The name rang no bells apart from the fact that he was probably
Luo like herself.
“Mr.
Ouma what may I do for you?” she asked. She was already
feeling that there were too many questions being asked on both
sides.
“Actually
Miss Obama I have a proposition to make to you and I was wondering
whether you would spare me a few minutes of your precious time.
I would like you to give me an appointment, an urgent appointment
if I may add.”
“An
urgent appointment?”
“Yes!”
“What
would you like to see me about?”
“Miss Obama it’s not something that we can discuss
on the phone.’’
“Mr.…” she began having forgotten his names.
“Ouma!”
“Mr. Ouma if I’m going to give you an appointment
I think I deserve to at least know what you want to meet me
over.’’
“I can’t say why on the phone.’’
“I certainly can’t meet you unless I know why you
want to meet me.’’
The man went silent and then said: “Let me put it this
way Miss Obama, if you agree to meet me, and I certainly insist
that you do, the meeting will change your life, for the better
I believe.’’
The statement
really amused her. What makes you think that there’s
anything I want to change about my life? I’m doing quite
well thank you! She thought. “This is a business
call?” she asked.
“You
could say so,’’ the man replied.
She wondered
why he was being evasive. If it was business meeting that he
wanted, which it could only obviously be, why couldn’t
he just say what he wanted? Her instincts advised her against
meeting him. And yet she was drawn to the pleasant voice. Deep
in her heart, despite her better senses, she really wanted to
meet this mysterious man.
“Can
I come to your office?” he asked.
“Mr.
Ouma I’m not sure about this, you may very well be wasting
my time,’’ she said.
“Miss
Obama one think I certainly wouldn’t do is waste your
time,’’ he said.
She felt her heart beating fast, telling her that she had to
meet this man who promised to change her life for the better.
She assumed that she was drawn to him by the pleasant voice
and yet her instincts advised her against meeting him.
“Mr.
Ouma I’m afraid that if you can’t tell me why you
want to meet me then I can’t give you an appointment.’’
There was
a long pause then he finally said: “Do you want me to
come to your house then?”
Her
heart missed a beat as she panicked.
“Do you know where I live,” she asked in real fear.
He chuckled then said:
“Maybe
I do, maybe I don’t. But even if I didn’t I could
always find out.’’
She relaxed realizing that he was only being insistent. Silly
me, she thought. She felt that he wasn’t going to give
in too easily.
“Mr.
Ouma are you threatening me?” she asked. “I’m
not too sure I’d want to meet someone who’s threatening
me.’’
“It’s
simple really. I come to your office, I see you, and I make
my client’s proposition, if you like it, well and good.
If not, too bad for me. I’ll never disturb you again.
Just five minutes Miss Obama, just five minutes.”
It was then
that she realized that he was speaking on a speakerphone. The
fellow has a bloody audience, she thought. But he does make
sense. She was almost giving in yet a voice within kept shouting
“No!”
“Miss
Obama it’s quite simple, I mean you no harm,’’
he said in his sweetest voice yet. “Give me an appointment,
today, and I’ll come over. I’ll say my bit and we
work from there.’’
“Well…”
she began doubtfully.
“Or
should we meet in a restaurant?”
“Stop rushing me,’’ she said.
“Miss Obama I come in peace!” he said in a haughty
voice.
She could have sworn that she heard somebody giggle in his audience.
I come in peace? She thought. This fellow must be crazy. She’d
watched a movie a couple of year’s back where some alien
criminal had kept repeating those same words. She was certain
that this Ouma was a most peculiar fellow. But she didn’t
fear him. And despite his audience she had this feeling that
he was charming her.
“What
if I say no?’’ she asked.
“Well,
like a good salesman I’ll keep knocking and knocking until
you say yes.’’
“I
may very well be a hard nut to crack Mr. Salesman!”
“Maybe
I just better come over to your house- preferably- and forcefully
set my client’s case.’’
She could sense some irritation in the man she assumed was Mr.
Ouma and decided to drive in her nail.
“Client?”
she asked.
“Yes,
we could call him that.”
“Him?”
He was silent. She mused that he was giving tidbits away. She
reckoned that if she kept him on the phone long enough she’d
discover what he wanted, which she believed was obviously business.
“So
can I come over?” he asked as if begging to take her out.
“To
my office?” she asked.
“Maybe
to your house!”
“Five
minutes that will change my life?”
“Yes!”
“Okay,
I’ll meet you Mr. George Ouma,’’ she said
mentioning his name to show that she hadn’t lost track.
“
In my office, but not today, maybe…’’
“No!”
he almost screamed. “ It must be today, preferably within
the hour,” he insisted.
“Must?”
she asked. He was silent a moment then he said:
“My
client feels that it’s very urgent. If not he may have
to look elsewhere.’’
“So
why doesn’t he begin with saint elsewhere?” she
asked parodying his “I come in peace joke.’’
“Because
we believe you are the best!”
“You
exaggerate.’’
“Do
I?”
“Are
you sure this life shattering meeting will take no more than
five minutes?”
“Five
minutes at most, probably less.’’
“Five
minutes that will change my life?”
“Five
minutes for the initial meeting where I’ll make our proposition.
If it’s acceptable to you, then they’ll
be a deal
to settle. If not we’ll look elsewhere.’’
“Fair
enough. Will you bring your client along?’’
“No!”
“Why
not?”
“He’ll
only make an appearance if you give us a positive reply.’’
“Okay,’’
she conceded. “It’s eleven thirty, can you be here
by twelve thirty sharp?”
“Perfect!”
the man said triumphantly and cut off the line before she could
say another word.
Strange man, she thought to herself as she put down the phone.
She wondered who had given this strange Mr. George Ouma her
direct line’s number, which wasn’t listed. She rarely
received strangers on her direct line and when she did they
had the tendency of telling her who had given them the number.
But she reckoned that all would be revealed to her as soon as
Ouma called on her. She called her secretary over the intercom
and told her that she was expecting a Mr. George Ouma at twelve-thirty.
She returned to what she’d been doing earlier and was
soon absorbed in her work.
At twelve thirty she buzzed her secretary and asked her whether
her expected visitor had come. The reply was negative. He can’t
even keep time, she thought. She was already thinking of where
she was going to have lunch and had no intention of staying
behind even if the pleasant voiced man was late. Fifteen minutes
later he still hadn’t come and she’d began to wonder
whether the so called life changing meeting was in fact a prank
call. Crazy twit, she reckoned. And did he really know where
she lived? She decided it was all a waste of time and got up
from her desk with the intention of going for lunch. Just then
the telephone rang.
“Yes?”
she asked.
“Mr.
Ouma is here, Madam!’’ the secretary said.
Twenty minutes
bloody late, she thought. “Send him in,’’
she said. She remained standing as the door opened and a fairly
tall man average built man in an expensive suit walked in. He
had what she’d call average looks. He had a golden watch
on his left arm and a gold chain on his right hand. She also
noticed the golden ring. One thing that was certain to her was
that this man had some money and was not averse to flaunting
it.
“Hello,”
he said smiling at her and stretching out his hand. “I’m
George Ouma,’’ he said as he shook her
hand.
“Hello,’’
she said noticing that his fingers were manicured. “You
are late. I was just leaving.’’
“I
got held up,’’ he said not bothering to tell her
where or by what. “Anyway this wouldn’t take long.
Five minutes at most. May I have a seat?” he asked.
“Sure,’’
she said. She returned to her seat and sat down as he did. “Now
what’s this business proposition that will change my life?”
“I
wouldn’t exactly call it business,’’ Ouma
said giving her half a grin.
“Oh!”
she exclaimed in surprise.
“But
first things first. You call me George and I call you Caroline.’’
“Carol
will do,’’ she said.
“Very
well, then Carol it is,’’ he said.
“So
what’s this business that will change my life?”
she asked.
“As
I said earlier it’s not exactly business.’’
Something didn’t add up for Carol. She tried not to stare
at Ouma as she tried figuring just what it was that was wrong.
And then she got it!
“Are
you the man I spoke to on the phone?” she asked.
“Yes,
why?’’ he said with a straight face.
“You
sound different!”
“Must
be your phone line, maybe it isn’t clear,’’
he said.
You’re lying, but why? She asked herself. “Can you
explain what you want of me?’’
“Yes,’’
Ouma said crossing his legs. “Have you heard of one Otieno
Kere?”
“No!”
“Kere
is my best friend and business associate.”
“He’s
the mysterious client?” Carol asked.
“
He’s not exactly a client. He’s an investor, among
other things.’’
“He’s
your business partner?”
“Yes,
sort of.”
“Sort
of?” she asked. “You either know when someone is
your business partner or not. What would your Mr. Kere like?”
“As
I said Mr. Kere is a very successful businessman cum investor.’’
“Okay,’’
Carol said getting irritated by Ouma’s beating around
the bush. “And what would your friend
cum business
investor Mr. Kere like us to do for him?”
“I
guess you are saying ‘us’ as in this business?”
“Of
course!”
“Miss
Obama you keep forgetting that this is not exactly a business
call.’’
“Not
business?” Carol asked incredulously. She looked at the
neat Mr. Ouma and wondered what he was up to. Not only had he
taken more than the five minutes he’d promised not to
exceed, not only had he lied about being on the phone earlier,
but now he couldn’t get to the point. “What do you
want?”
“Mr.
Otieno Kere is a very wealthy man. He has sent me with a proposition
to you.”
“Which
is?”
Ouma looked Carol straight in the eye and said:
“Otieno
Kere would like to marry you!”
It hit Carol like a thunderbolt. She sat staring at Ouma unbelieving
what she’d just heard. It seemed like an eternity but
it was just a few seconds.
“What?”
she asked, unbelieving what she’d just been told.
“I
said that my friend Mr. Otieno Kere would like to marry you!”
She jumped
to her feet and screamed:
“Get
out!”
“Aren’t
you going to hear me out?” Ouma asked, seemingly unfazed
by her anger.
“I
said get out before I call security,’’ Carol shouted
pointing at the door.
“Okay,’’
he said coolly getting up from the seat. Looking straight at
her he put his hand into his coat pocket. In a moment of temporary
insanity she thought he was about to remove a gun and she froze
in panic. Instead he removed a business card and placed it on
her desk. “Incase you change your mind, call me,’’
he said coolly.
“Out,”
she screamed.
“I’m
going,” he said and walked out of the room closing the
door softly behind him.
She stood staring at the door, trying to remember the last time,
if ever, that she’d been as angry as this before. Even
she was surprised by how she’d lost her cool. She picked
up the card the card. It read:
“Executive
Options, George Otieno Ouma, Director.” What surprised
her was that the company name sounded familiar. She tore the
card in half and threw it into the wastebasket. Stupid bastard,
she thought. And who’s this fool who sent him, who’s
this Otieno Kere?
She sat
down feeling angry and confused. She locked at her watch. It
was already past one o’clock. She felt that she had to
talk to her best friend. At least with her she could let off
steam. She tried ringing her office but no one answered. She
was sure that she’d left for lunch. She decided to go
to town and to the restaurant her friend normally had lunch
in and resolved that if she weren’t there she’d
go to her office and wait for her.
She drove
to town cursing that one George Otieno Ouma, the so-called Director
of Executive Options, had the guts to come to her office and
propose marriage. And not even for himself but for a so-called
business associate one Otieno Kere. What kind of stupid country
tyke is this Otieno Kere anyway?
Though Ouma
had appeared sophisticated enough to her, his style and the
way he carried himself said as much, she reasoned that only
a ‘mshamba’ would have come up with such a stupid
proposal. Even Ouma’s card, which she’d torn, had
a sense of class. But this Kere fellow?
She’d gotten to the Oyster Restaurant where her friend
was seated with two colleagues.
“May
I join you?” she asked, forcing a smile.
“Sure,’’
one of friends colleagues had said as they all smiled back at
her. She’d ordered lunch and joined the small chitchat.
Her friend’s colleagues had left them as she continued
eating.
“What’s
wrong?’’ her friend asked. Carol knew that she could
not hide anything from her friend, especially her moods.
“Diana,
I received a wedding proposal.”
“What?”
Diana exclaimed in shock.
“Some
gentleman by name George Ouma came to the office and…”
“And
asked you to marry him?” Diana interjected still surprised.
“No!
He was an emissary for one Otieno Kere.”
“Did
you say Kere?”
“Yes!”
“Where
I grew up our neighbors were called the Kere’s,’’
Diana said to her surprise.
“And
you know Otieno Kere?”
“I
don’t know if they are the same people,’’
Diana said. “They were five brothers and a sister. And
they all used Christian names or nicknames. And it’s been
a while since I last bumped into anyone of them. But I can make
enquiries.”
They agreed
that Diana would make her enquiries and call her as soon as
she’d heard anything. Carol had driven back to the office
and yet she couldn’t concentrate. She retrieved the card
she’s torn from the basket. She placed it on her desk
and carefully tapped the two pieces together with celotape.
George Otieno Ouma, she read. Otieno Ouma and Otieno Kere! Kere
wants to marry me, a straight A student in her day. A successful
business executive. A cute woman like myself. Thirty-one and
single. I’m not desperate. She couldn’t deny the
fact that he had piqued her curiosity, this Otieno Kere fellow.
And though she was waiting for Diana’s call she knew where
she could get the information she needed.
Next door was the manager Casper Omondi’s office. Casper
seemed to know everybody who mattered, especially prominent
Luos’, even the ones who didn’t appear prominent
but were. But she reckoned that this was a personal matter and
Casper could be very nosy. She intended to wait for Diana to
come up with the ‘goods.’ But by four thirty she
despairing and decided that she’d have to use Casper after
all. Going next door Casper’s secretary told her he was
alone after knocking on the door let herself in.
“Could
you spare me a minute?” She asked from the door.
“Sure,’’
he said. Casper was a bearded bespectacled man of a fairly large
build. He leaned back in his chair as Carol sat on our of the
visitors seats.
“Have
you ever heard of an outfit by the name Executive Options?”
she asked.
“Executive
Options and Metis!” Casper said.
“And
what?” Carol asked.
“Metis!”
Casper replied. “Executive Options is run by one Otieno
Ouma and Metis is run by one Otieno Kere. They are best friends.
But Metis is the one that matters.’’
“What
do they do?’’
“Hard
to say. They deal in anything and everything. I reckon that
they fancy themselves as trading houses. But what they make
is money, lots of it. Why do you ask?’’
“Ouma
was here to see me,’’ she said.
“What
did he want?” Casper said and pushed his spectacles back.
“He
wasn’t very clear, it was like he was trying to pick my
mind, but they seem to be interested in doing business with
me,’’ she lied. “Have you ever met them?”
“Yes,
once and very casually. It was at an harambee in Gem hosted
by Okii Ooko Ombaka. I doubt that they’d remember me now.
But what do they really want with us. Maybe they want to buy
the company.”
“Buy
the company?” Carol asked in surprise.
“Don’t
be so surprised. These fellows are raiders. They look for an
opportunity in everything. Once they’ve got what they
want they move on. You should be worried more of the Kere fellow.
He’s the real mover of the two. If he sent Ouma it was
just to feel us out before he makes the decisive move. And when
he comes you wouldn’t know what hit you.’’
“
They appear interested in me, not the company,’’
she said.
“Oh,’’
Casper exclaimed. Carol had told him this because she feared
that if he felt that it had anything to do with the company
he’d start his own investigations. “Maybe they want
to drag you away,’’ he said seriously.
“Fat
chance of that happening,’’ she said to assure him.
“This Kere how old is he?’’
“He
looks roughly your age!”
“And
he has already made enough money to buy us out?”
“He’s
a bit like you, a go-getter,’’ Casper chuckled.
“A friend told me that he calls his outfit Metis because
it’s
the French equivalent to ‘Sungura Mujanja.’’’
“His
sly?” she asked. Carol did not consider herself sly.
“He
doesn’t pass for a sly fellow. In fact he looks as innocent
as a choirboy. He’s a good looking sort of fellow if I
may say so myself, also smiles and laughs a lot.’’
“This
Kere fellow, do you know where his offices are?”
“No,’’
Casper said but picked up his directory and looking through
the yellow pages came up with nothing.
“Could
you find out?” Carol asked. She was appealing to his ego
and ‘digging’ abilities.
“I
could try,’’ he said.
“Could
you try now, please?”
“Sure,’’
he said and picked up the phone. He rang a number and without
once mentioning the name of the person on the other side of
the phone had a five-minute conversation. During the five minutes
he laughed heartedly and at the end promised to call on his
friend before the end of the week.
“Well
what did you find out?” She asked trying to hide her anxiety.
“Kere
is based at Commercial Towers!” Casper said.
“Thank
you,’’ Carol said standing up.
“Maybe
Kere is looking for a good marketer,’’ Casper said.
“Why
do you say that?” Carol asked.
“Apparently
he has developed political ambitions. And he’s getting
a rough time of it. Not only is he considered too cosmopolitan
for a rural constituency he’s also in the wrong camp,
and stubbornly so.’’
“Maybe
he thinks that he’s money will compensate for that,’’
Carol said moving towards the door.
“Well
he better use his money to solve his other weakness,’’
Casper said.
“And
what’s that?”
“His
opponents have been having a field day on the fact that his
a bachelor!”
Carol had returned to her office in a state of mild shock. Who
ever this Otieno Kere was he was serious about solving one of
his problems. The fellow really is looking for a wife, she thought.
But he’s picked on the wrong Turkey. And yet she really
couldn’t put this Kere fellow off her mind. Political,
single, millionaire, my age and wants me, she thought. She’d
promised Casper that she’d inform him as soon as Ouma
or Kere contacted her. Fat chance, she thought. Just then her
direct line rang.
“It’s
me,’’ She heard Diana say excitedly. “It’s
the youngest of the Kere brothers. His first name is Derrick.”
*
Derrick
Otieno Kere had been born the son of an aspiring politician.
He’s father had stood for election several times and only
won once, and even then he’d been rigged out. His mother
had always been his father’s greatest political confidant
and was as much a political animal as his father was. It had
always seemed natural to him that one day he’d follow
in his father’s footsteps. But Kere Onyango, his father
had made what he considered a mistake: Seeking office without
getting property first. So when still young and seeing the financial
problems his parents were in he’d made a decision opposite
to that of his siblings. The other Kere children had decided
that politics wasn’t worth it and only led to economic
bankruptcy. They’d all rejected politics for what it had
done to the family. But Otieno Kere felt that his father’s
mistake was in his lacking a financial mind. He was therefore
going to seek the economic kingdom first before plunging into
the political life. With money he believed he would be able
play the game as independently as he was wont to be. Deep down
all the Kere’s were independent people who wouldn’t
play second fiddle to anyone. Indeed he had to admit that this
independence had been one of his father’s Achilles heels.
But he also believed that one had to play politics with principal.
With money he believed that he would be able to play in politics
and keep his principles.
Once he’d made the money he plunged into politics with
the same gusto that had seen him succeed in business. That is
by courting disaster and experiencing complete failure and a
near mental breakdown. First had been the issue of choosing
a constituency. In fact it hadn’t been an issue. It appeared
absolutely natural that he should stand in the rural constituency
that his forebears hailed from, the very same constituency that
his father had pursued with so much frustration. The issues
of a rural constituency had raised several complications the
moment he’d declared his interest in the seat. There were
clan issues. There was the fact that that his father had stood
several times and still had a following. This meant people he
could inherit and others he didn’t want. There was also
the fact he’d inherited some of his father’s enemies.
There was the fact that though his father wasn’t particularly
active politically his mother remained very active. And then
there was his command of the Luo language. He spoke it like
an urbanite and badly at that.
And there was the problem of political camps. There was a political
divide had taken hold though it was only developing in 1995.
In Luoland there were three camps. First there was the camp
of the nations ruling party Kanu. This he considered a bunch
of thieves and murderers. Joining this group was against everything
he stood for. And then there was the Ford-Kenya party. This
was divided into two factions. There was the fast Raila Odinga
faction. This he considered as standing for the collective defence
of the Luo community through Luo conservatism. And then there
was the Wamalwa faction that in Luoland was associated with
James Orengo. This he could describe in classical terms as “representing
a Western-style meritocracy through the transcension of ethnic
conservatism and through individual achievement.” This
last group is what he joined despite grave warnings from his
parents, particularly his mother who was firmly in the Raila
Odinga camp, and most other people who sensed the rise of the
‘conservatives.’ But he considered himself too much
of a sophisticate to join where everybody said the tide was
turning. In moments of self-belief he’d brag that had
he been born in his father’s generation he would have
been an unabashed Mboyaist.
With what he considered his war chest he’d made his assault
on the constituency. He’d tried to enlist the support
of his four brothers and they had all flatly refused to get
involved noting that it wasn’t too long ago that he’d
been totally broke. But getting the support of his best friend,
George Otieno Ouma, and added his young cousin and personal
assistant, one Andrew Ogolla, as his political ‘linkmen.’
They had no objection joining him with all the gusto he expected.
He was to brag that he’d hit the ground running as the
impact of his money was immediately felt. It was an ill-advised
move. Not only were the constituents not used to such large
sums of money but it also raised a great deal of resentment
from his opponents and those who felt he was supporting a ‘Jamwa’
in Wamalwa. His supporting Wamalwa also resulted in some of
his supporters deserting him.
But despite this he was able to maintain a high profile because
of his money. Even the Wamalwa factor could still be contained
at that time, as the ethnic factor was yet to take root. At
this time none of the candidates had as yet build a distinguishable
base. And he was a darling of the youth, for he was young, radical
and had money. No matter how much he was resented they all loved
his money and given the volatility of Kenyan politics many hoped
he would see sense and stop supporting the ‘wrong’
camp and join the ‘right’ camp. In such a move all
his sins would be forgiven. And his rivals noticed that if he
continued pumping his money in the resentment would soon develop
into liking. They also knew that last minute defectors were
always accepted with open arms. And it was then that they went
into overdrive looking for anything to beat him with. An old
man at an harambee presented it to them.
The old man, a village power broker, had been speaking half
seriously and half in jest. He spoke of the young politician
who had money and was doing many good things. But the old man
said he was worried that they were going to be led by a ‘boy’
who didn’t have a ‘house.’ A musumba. How
did he expect to lead people with homes while he himself didn’t
have one? And the crowd had burst out laughing. He’s opponents
had pounced on this. One of his opponents had spoken of young
men who were unable to seduce women to marry. He reminded the
people about the traditional ‘Jagam’ and stated
that he was ready to assist the young ‘woud’ Kere.
Kere sat there humiliated as the whole crowd laughed at him.
He’d brushed off the incident and assumed that it was
a small thing that would die a natural death. But such was his
perceived generosity that this, for the moment, was the only
thing they could hurt him with. It developed a life of it’s
own and soon he was reeling. Even his supporters couldn’t
understand why a man as old as him couldn’t get a wife
and yet there were so many available. Some even suggested that
they could help him out. He beat a hasty retreat to Nairobi.
Kere was a thirty-one year old with no particular interest as
to marriage. What he had was an interest as to getting into
parliament. Since his father had stood for parliament when he
was a ten-year-old this had also been his ambition. Now he found
the ‘small’ issue of a wife deflecting from his
purpose in life. He did not have a girlfriend whom he could
surprise with a marriage proposal. In fact he’d last had
a girlfriend when still a college student and that had ended
in disaster. All he had were illicit relationships, which he
kept very very private. Marriage just had never seemed to be
an issue. And now it seemed crazy to him that he’d underestimated
the importance of that institution in his ambitions. And yet
one of his heroes, James Orengo, had gotten into parliament
without a wife. But he now, for the first time, felt that that
was a unique situation. Under normal circumstances he would
not have bothered with this marriage business. But this wasn’t
a normal circumstance. The political bug that had destroyed
his parents had caught him. It was for this reason that he’d
decided to get married.
Kere decided that what he needed was an arranged marriage. He’d
once read in a magazine that most marriages in India and Japan
are arranged and that they lasted longer than western style
marriages.
He’d
summoned Ouma and Ogolla to his office and told them:
“I’m getting married.’’
“You
must be joking?’’ Ouma exclaimed.
“Who’s
this lady you want to marry?’’ Ogolla asked equally
surprised.
“That
is the purpose of my calling you guys here. We are going to
find a suitable candidate.’’
“That
is nonsense,’’ Ouma said.
“Look
you guys, if you know me as well as you should, romance is not
my fort. Let’s not waste time telling me about going to
seduce some girl and marry here. If anything those types of
relationships wouldn’t survive my character. If anything
arranged marriages are more successful that the other sort.
And you all know that when I put my mind to something I generally
get what I want.’’
It wasn’t that Ouma and Ogolla bought what Kere was telling
them, it was simply that they knew that he was at times eccentric
and that they’d learnt to live with it. And living by
Kere’s whims had proved hugely profitable to both of them.
Ouma at times would question Kere. But more often than not Kere
would bring him round to his way of thinking. And whenever he
came up with statistics more often than not he was right.
“I
know most people like the idea of a romantic marriage, but trust
me when I say that arranged marriages are the best thing for
political types like myself,’’ Kere said.
“I’m
going to be honest with you,’’ Ouma said. “I
don’t like the idea. But you may have a point. I read
somewhere that compatibility tests can be used to identify suitable
matches. So even though I’m not particularly gaga about
the idea you may well have a point.’’
“Andy
what about you?” Kere asked his young cousin.
“I
agree with Ouma,’’ he said. Ogolla was no fool,
he wasn’t going to tell his boss, a cousin or not, how
stupid he thought the whole thing was.
“Good,’’
Kere said. “Now what we are going to do is look for suitable
candidates. She must be pretty to fairly good looking. No thorns.
She need not be a genius; in fact I don’t want any bookworms.
But I don’t want any dumb blondes either.”
“Must
she be Luo?” Ogolla asked.
Kere hesitated. This was tricky. Luo had its advantages. But
he was liberal. He had to stand by his beliefs.
“No!
She need not be a Luo lady. I’m not a tribalist. What
we want is a suitable lady. Once we get acceptable candidates
I’ll separate the **** from the chaff.”
The criterion put up by Kere was so easy that Ouma and Ogolla
expected the wife-searching mission to succeed. Ouma to his
own surprise got down to the job with gusto. Ogolla was very
reluctant but he finally got going as well. As for Kere he did
absolutely nothing. Unknown to his two colleagues he had panicked.
It had dawned on him that marriage was serious business and
he was afraid. And at one of their progress meetings, this one
held at Kere’s house, Ouma said what he thought,
“You
are frustrating us.’’
One this
occasion as at a couple of other Kere had not found any of the
candidates acceptable. Kere was working on instinct, and he
was very afraid. Ouma choices were too ‘plastic’
for his liking. Even then he’d privately put one on hold.
As for Ogolla’s choices he felt that they were all airheads,
though privately he found a couple sexually appealing. Privately
meant that he did not express his opinion to either of his colleagues.
“So
we keep looking?” Ogolla asked rhetorically.
“Yes!”
Kere had said lazily. “Something’s missing.’’
“Of
course something is missing,’’ Ouma said. “Its
called love and you’ve got no time for it. What we are
looking for is a convenient individual and I think we presented
several.’’
“Maybe
we should expand the brief of the kind of woman you want. I
think the one we are working on is very narrow,’’
Ogolla said.
I can’t
give you a brief on Priscilla! Kere thought. Priscilla was his
college sweetheart and the nearest he could think of as an ideal
candidate.
“Just
somebody acceptable,’’ Kere said.
“That’s
not helpful at all,’’ Ouma protested. “I’m
about to bloody throw in the towel.’’
“I
haven’t got the itch man, when I do we’ll be in
business,’’ Kere said.
Ogolla watched
the two of them and like Ouma also felt frustrated. He had often
seen Kere act fast in tight situations and yet here he could
see that he was buying time. Lazily he picked up a newspaper
on the coffee table, spread it open and began to go through
it. He’d come to the page with the business pictorial
and saw a familiar face.
“Patel’s
in the paper,’’ he said with a chuckle. He read
the words in the caption below and added: “He doesn’t
look crafty at all in this picture.’’
“Let
me have a look,’’ Kere said and turned the paper
round to face him. “It’s him all right.’’
Patel had made a donation to the Lions Club. He remembered doing
business with Patel and getting ‘fairly’ outfoxed.
“Twit,’’ he said.
“Just
a good businessman not a twit,’’ Ouma said and laughed,
remembering that Patel spoke better Tholuo than any of them.
“If
you say so,’’ Kere said. He then saw a picture with
a pretty lady on it. The picture was of three men and two ladies.
Two of the men, one Caucasian, were shaking hands. He read the
caption which said:
“Christian
Afwande (Director, Market Systems) shakes hands with Carl Brunswick
(Chairman, Holstein E.A.) After signing a contract for Market
Systems to distribute Holstein products in Kenya. Also from
left are Casper Omondi (Managing Director, Market Systems) Edith
Mungai (Marketing Manager, Holstein E.A.) and Carol Obama (Director,
Market Systems.) “I know this girl,’’ Kere
blurted out in surprise.
“What
girl?” Ouma asked leaning next to him. Kere pointed Carol
out. “Looks like a woman to me,’’ he said.
Ouma read the caption. “Carol Obama, not bad looking,
who’s she?”
“I
met her about ten years ago, at a wedding. Mind you we didn’t
even speak to each other. She came to where I was speaking to
my pal Tony, and not as much as a word to me. Mind you we were
only half a foot apart. She’d just cleared University
and was telling Tony of the interview she’d had with some
Boer firm. She also mentioned her boyfriend who’d just
left for England. She was really showing off. But God was she
cute. Her sister was a model. Appeared in some television adverts.”
“Do
you think she was showing off to you?” Ogolla asked.
Kere thought that was a silly question but he said: “Yes,
I think she was!”
“Did
you see her again after that?” Ouma asked.
“No!
Today’s the first I’ve seen her since the wedding
incidence, mind you it’s only a picture.’’
“She
hardly looks Luo,’’ Ogolla said. Carol was a light
complexioned lady.
“In
fact I was surprised when Tony told me that she was Luo.’’
“Was
she called Obama then?” Ogolla asked.
“That’s
how I bloody remembered her,’’ Kere said in an irritated
manner as if Ogolla was asking the
obvious.
Ouma gave Ogolla a knowing look.
“How
old was she?” Ouma asked.
“She’d
just left campus, she must have been roughly my age!”
“And
you can remember her after ten years. She must have left quite
an impression,’’ Ouma said.
“Yes!”
Kere said to himself and not to them. He was silent and lost
in thought of the pretty lady he’d
seen almost
a decade ago. Yes! He thought to himself, she must have made
quite an impression.
“Thirty-one
and still single,’’ Ogolla said.
“She’s
either frustrated or a single mother,’’ Kere said.
“A
director? I don’t see frustration, I see success. And
thirty-one and single is not strange for a career woman,’’
Ouma said.
“Career
wise a success, maybe. Social life, a failure. Why should a
cute chic like that be single at thirty-one.”
“Maybe
she was chasing her career,’’ Ouma said.
“How
come you didn’t speak to her?” Ogolla asked.
“Firstly
I was never fast with the babes and second I was going through
a lean patch.’’
“Well
don’t you think that her being in the paper today is a
real coincidence?” Ogolla asked. Kere looked at Ogolla,
then at Ouma and finally at the paper.
“Okay
you’ve dished her,’’ Ouma said. “But
do you feel it?”
“Feel
what?” Kere asked.
“The
‘itch’’’ Ouma said.
Can I feel
it? Kere asked himself. Yes he could, hard and deep! He turned
superstitious, as he was wont to when confused. Is it a coincidence
that she should appear just when I need a wife? Is she my fate?
“Is
she not a bit old?” he asked. She was his age after all
and that meant she was old. She must also be a single mother.
But Ouma understood the feeling. He knew that Kere was looking
for reassurance.
“Age
is but a number,’’ Ouma said. “Do you feel
it?”
Go, go,
go, Kere heard a voice screaming inside. You’ve met your
destiny.
“Do
you feel it?” Ouma pushed again.
“Yes,’’
Kere said.
“Yes!’’
Ouma shouted and exchanged a high five with Ogolla.
“Hold
on guys, before I do anything, here comes the tough part. One,
we’ve got to confirm that she’s single. Just because
she’s using her father’s name doesn’t mean
she’s not married. And two, she must not be a single mother.”
Kere’s fear had to do with the fact that so many single
professional women had resorted to single parenthood. He knew
that despite his avowed liberal views he couldn’t handle
that.
“So
what we suggest we do?” Ouma asked.
“I’ll
leave that to you two, you guys are definitely better than me
at this,’’ Kere said. Much of his success
had come
to do with the realization than when you have someone better
than you at a job it was best to leave him or her at it. He
had always prided himself in his ‘investigative’
abilities, but he knew that he had no passion for this particular
undertaking.
“If
she’s single it’s a ‘go’ decision?’’
Ouma asked. He felt that Kere kept procrastinating.
“It’s
all barrels blazing!” Kere replied.
Ouma’s
next move was to call a friend who was in advertising. They
agreed to meet in the evening at a bar in Westlands. The fellow
was John Kariuki, an account agent with one of the largest advertising
agencies in town. They hadn’t met in a while. Kariuki
had found Ouma waiting for him in the bar seated at the counter.
They’d gone through the usual formalities and then Ouma
got straight to the point.
“How
well do you know Carol Obama?” He asked.
“The
one in the paper?” He’d asked in turn.
“Yes!”
“Who
wants to know?”
“I
want to know!”
Karuiki
smiled and ordered another beer.
“If
I know her what’s in it for me?” he asked. He knew
Ouma as a wheeler-dealer and supposed it was business that he
was after.
“Nothing!”
“Come
on, that’s not fair,’’ Kariuki protested.
“This
has nothing to do with business,’’ Ouma said. He
was being honest with Kariuki because he that Kariuki wouldn’t
believe. He watched Kariuki ponder what he’d said and
could see that he had him where he wanted him.
“I
don’t believe you,’’ he finally said and looked
straight at Ouma.
“What
I want to know is who her husband is and how many children they
have, that’s all.’’
“What
the hell do you want to know that for?”
“My
friend wants to marry her!”
kariuki was now sure that Ouma was pulling his leg.
“What
do you really want to know about Carol and why?”
“I
said my friend wants to marry her!”
“Do
you expect me to buy such rubbish?” Kariuki asked, almost
annoyed.
“Is
she married?”
“Yes!”
Kariuki replied with annoyance. Ouma looked ahead as if through
the bottles of spirits that were placed upside down on taps.
Damn, he
cursed. We are back to zero.
Kariuki
looked at his friend and wondered why his friend wasn’t
being honest with him.
“I
better be going,’’ Ouma said, getting up from his
stool.
“What?”
Kariuki asked in surprise. Ouma gestured to the waiter to give
him the bill. “Hey, hang on.’’
“I’ve
got to get going, you’ve already given me the information
I want,’’ Ouma said reaching into his coat for his
wallet.
“Sit,
sit,’’ Kariuki said quickly. “She’s
not married.’’
“Are
you sure?”
“Of
course I’m sure. We meet once in a blue moon. If she were
getting married she’d most likely invite me, which she
hasn’t done to date. And why the hell would she want to
use her maiden name if she was married?”
“They
sometimes do.’’
“Carol’s
not married, believe me.’’
“What
about children, does she have any?”
“What
do you want to know all that for?”
“I
told you my friend wants to marry her!”
“Stop
giving me that crap,’’ Kariuki said. He was no longer
hungry. Ouma got back onto his stool.
“Does
she?”
“Does
she have a child?”
“Honestly,
I don’t know. I’ve never seen her pregnant, but…”
he said without finishing what he was
saying and
throwing up his hands in frustration.
“Can
you find out for me?”
“This
is crazy,’’ Kariuki protested.
“Can
you?”
“You
are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes!”
It didn’t
make sense to Kariuki at all. He couldn’t make sense of
what Ouma claimed he wanted the information for which he considered
a joke. But he considered Ouma a friend and would play along.
“I’ll
call you tomorrow and tell you.’’
“Can’t
you find out now?” Ouma asked and pulled out a mobile
phone from the outer pocket of his coat.
Mobile phones
were still novelties then. They were still very expensive to
operate. Kariuki didn’t have one.
“I
see you are doing very well,’’ Kariuki said, taking
the phone.
“Do
me this favour and if anything turns up I’ll let you in
on it,’’ Ouma said.
“You’ll
invite me to the wedding?” Kariuki asked in jest.
“Definitely.’’
“I
wonder if I can get the fellow who should know this,’’
Kariuki said. He keyed in a number and the
phone had
rang a while but when it was answered he’d had to walk
out to the veranda for the bar was too noisy. He’d come
back five minutes later.
“Well?”
Ouma asked.
“Today
you’ve made me appear funny,’’ Kariuki said
sitting down.
“Does
she have a kid?”
“Kids!”
“Shit,’’
Ouma cursed.
“Don’t
you want to know how many?”
“No!
It doesn’t matter,’’ Ouma said. Back to zero,
he cursed.
“I
really don’t understand what you want with her,’’
Kariuki said.
“I
wanted to give her a job. But we needed a single lady without
any encumbrances,’’ Ouma said.
“Does
it have to be Carol?”
“Well
she had a lot going for her.’’
“Such
as? Or is it that she’s Luo?”
“Partly!”
“She’s
childless.’’
“What?”
“She
doesn’t have a kid. You just weren’t being level
with me so I decided to give you the run around.’’
Bingo! Ouma
thought.
“Carol
was a girlfriend to a friend of mine back at the campus,’’
Kariuki said. “Things didn’t work out for them.
I guess that’s why she pushed her career so hard. She’s
good at what she does. But I doubt she’ll leave Market
Systems to join up with you guys. She’s really attached
to that outfit.’’
“I’m
going to buy you a lot of beers,’’ Ouma said. With
the information he wanted, and positive at that,
he relaxed
and drank a few more beers with his friend. It was heading towards
ten o’clock when they decided to leave.
“My
wife’s going to kill me,” kariuki said looking at
his watch.
“We
should do this more often,’’ Ouma said.
“Sure,
you know where to find me,’’ Kariuki said. They’d
gotten to Kariuki’s car first and as he got into it he
asked: “Tell me honestly why you wanted that information
on Carol.’’
“Honestly?”
“Yes,
honestly.’’
“As
I said I want to give her a job.’’
Kariuki
nodded half drunk. This time he believed Ouma.
“Bye,’’
he said and drove away.
Yes, I want
to give her a job, Ouma thought. Marrying Kere can only be a
job. Even being his best friend is a job.
Ouma had
thought that that was the final phase for they had the information
that Kere had asked for, and it was all positive. They were
in Kere’s office when he passed on the news.
“It’s
all guns blazing now?” Ogolla had asked.
But Kere
was still hesitant. Inside he was afraid, very afraid. He was
having his doubts about the venture. And yet he could feel the
itch, in fact it was growing stronger day by day.
“I’ve
got to do her graphology test,’’ Kere said.
“What?”
Ouma asked unbelieving. He knew that Kere prided himself as
an amateur graphologist.
“Now
remember that from the very start I’d said I’d separate
the **** from the chaff. I always intended to do a graphology
test. Even with all the credentials I’ll have to do the
test. And Ouma remember that you said that compatibility tests
work. I may be committing myself to living with this woman for
the rest of my life. I’ve got to be pretty sure of this.’’
Neither Ouma nor Ogolla could argue with that. “Andy this
is your job. I’ll need a paper with Miss. Obama’s
writing on it.’’
“I’ll
need some money,’’ Ogolla said. Kere removed ten
thousand shillings from his drawer.
“Do
me proud,’’ he said to Ogolla as he handed over
the money.
At about
twelve thirty Ogolla had parked his car at the gate of the offices
of Market Systems in the Industrial area. He walked over to
the two watchmen at the gate.
“Habari
wazee,” he’d greeted them.
“Habari
Kijana,’’ one of them replied.
“Si
hapa ndiye ofisi ya Market Systems?” he asked.
“Ni
vile tu unaona ime andikwa,’’ the other watchman
said.
“Sawa.
Natafuata yule kijana anashfishanga head office,’’
he said.
“Unatamfuta
nini?”
“Nime
tumwa kwake, lakini si mambo ya office,’’ Ogolla
said.
“Vijana
wanafanya cleaning hapa ni watatu, unataka ngani?” the
first watchman asked.
“Si
wajui vile, yule ana itwa sijui ni John ama Josephu?”
“John?”
“John
yuko.’’
“Nafikiri
ni yeye. Si ata toka lunch?”
“Kama
kawaida!”
“Si
akitoka umuambeyi nataka kumuona, niko kwa gari,’’
Ogolla said. He gave them two hundred shillings. “Hi ni
ya lunch.’’
“Asante
sana,’’ they said happily.
Ogolla had
to wait twenty minutes before he saw the watchmen directing
a young man to his car. He opened the door as the man neared
the car and asked him to get in.
“Hello,’’
he said.
“Hello,’’
the man called John said. John was roughly his age.
“You
are John?” He asked.
“Yes!”
“Somebody
I’m not going to name told me that you could help me,’’
Ogolla said.
“Help
you do what?” John asked suspiciously.
Ogolla removed
two thousand shillings from his wallet and gave it to John.
This was half John’s salary.
“I’ll
give you another two thousand shillings, but you have to do
something in return.’’
“What
do you want?” John asked nervously.
“You
know Miss. Obama?”
“Yes!”
“Do
you clean her office?”
“Sometimes!”
“Can
you get in there today?”
“Why?”
“First
things first. Can you get into her office?”
“We
normally clean their offices in the morning!” John said
nervously. He expected something bad to come out of this. Two
thousand may not be enough, he thought.
“Can’t
you go in to collect the trash?”
“If
she goes out I can do that!”
“Good.’’
Here comes
trouble, John thought.
“I
want you to get me a piece of paper with Miss. Obama’s
writing, preferably a whole page. I don’t care if it’s
from the trash as long as it’s eligible. Can you do that?”
“Just
that?” John asked in surprise.
“Just
that for four thousand bob! That two thousand I gave you is
just a deposit.”
“Why?’’
He asked. John couldn’t believe that he was going to get
an amount equivalent to his salary just for getting a letter,
even from the trash.’’
“John
this is nothing criminal,’’ Ogolla said brushing
aside the question. So when do I get the letter?”
“Five
o’clock would be all right,’’ John said. Just
then a red Alfa Romeo sport emerged from the gate.
“That’s
Miss. Obama,’’ he said. Ogolla took a note of the
numberplate. Though she’d passed quite close by he’d
been unable to get a look at her.
“Can
you get the letter now?” Ogolla asked.
“I
don’t think so. You better come at five.’’
“Very
well. And john,’’ he said with what he considered
his Mafioso voice. “Don’t mess up with me. You wouldn’t
like me if you mess up with me.’’ Ogolla knew that
it was always helpful to scare people a bit in such situations.
“Don’t
worry about anything of the sort. I’ll get the letter,’’
John said. He’d dropped off the car wondering whether
this man who had not bothered to introduce himself was a devil
worshipper or not. But he wouldn’t bother worrying too
much. He didn’t particularly like Miss. Obama who he considered
too arrogant.
“Corrupting
people,’’ is what Kere had said when Ogolla had
handed over the three sheets of paper with Carol Obama’s
writing. And they’d been a bonus; John had added one of
her business as well. The papers were a bit crumpled. They’ll
do anyhow, he reckoned. “I better go home and get started.’’
He enjoyed doing her graphology test and it was ready by the
next day. The test should have resolved the matter but he found
himself more nervous and ‘itching.’ He filed the
report away, not at the office but at home. Ouma and Ogolla
expected him to make his move but he didn’t. Instead he’d
left town on a business trip for two weeks. They’d both
known that he really didn’t have to travel. And on his
return he hadn’t done anything either. After a few days
in town he’d left for upcountry again only to find that
his opponents were still capitalizing on his ‘weakness.’
He returned to Nairobi cursing them and the ‘stupid conservatives’
who listened to them.
They’d
been in his office with Ouma and Ogolla when Ouma said: “You
are developing cold feet.’’
He was scared.
Approaching Carol Obama scared him.
“If
she passed your test what’s holding you back,’’
Ouma asked.
“I’m
working on strategy,’’ Kere said.
“By
doing nothing. That’s a unique strategy,’’
Ouma said. These were rare moments of indecision in Kere.
But Ogolla
had noticed that anything to do with Miss. Obama created indecision
in Kere.
“She
might say no you know,’’ Kere said.
“And
she might also say yes,’’ Ouma said.
“It’s
crazy!”
“It
was your idea not mine.’’
“It’s
over, isn’t it?” Ogolla had asked.
“What’s
over?” Ouma asked.
“The
parliamentary race!” Ouma replied.
Kere felt
heart broken, feeling the failures of his earlier years. He
held his head in his hands, elbows on the desk. It was in challenging
such moments that he’d become the man he now was. It when
things appeared wrong he’d challenged them and made them
right. And here was the man he considered his protégé
saying that it was over. All because he wasn’t being decisive.
He looked up at the wall clock. It was approaching eleven o’clock.
He’d picked up the phone and dialed her direct line, which
he now knew off head. He put on the phone’s speakers so
that they could hear what he was saying. The “Go”
decision, like in so many things that he’d got started,
was made on impulse. It was then that he’d masqueraded
as Ouma and made the appointment.
Ouma had returned from Carol’s office mad.
“She
bloody threw me out,’’ he cursed. Kere was Ogolla.
“Miss.
Obama?” Ogolla asked.
“No,
the Virgin Mary,’’ Ouma said.
“Did
you leave the card?” Kere asked.
“I
didn’t like this bloody idea from the word go,’’
Ouma said bitterly.
“But
did you leave the card?” Kere asked.
“Yes
I did, but it’s a bloody fiasco.’’
“Rubbish,’’
Kere said.
“She
was as mad as hell,’’ Ouma said.
“So?’’
Kere asked.
“What
do you mean ‘so?’’’ Ouma asked angrily.
“She must thing I’m a nut or something.’’
“I
was trying to provoke a situation and it appears that we’ve
done better than expected.’’
“Provoke
a situation at my expense. Why didn’t you just use the
normal method of seduction? I thought that after your graphology
test you’d find out her haunts and approach her. Like
normal people do,”
Ouma said.
“You know very well that I’m not looking for a normal
relationship. I want an arrangement, and on my terms may I add.’’
“It’s
tactless,’’ Ouma said, their argument finally over.
“What do you expect her to do?”
“I
hope she’ll investigate to find out who Otieno Kere is.
I hope you mentioned my name?”
“Of
course I did. What do you think I am, stupid?”
“Your
cards the clue she needs. Unless she gets a lucky break.’’
