HOW I ‘LOST’ MY JOB TO THE CORONAVIRUS

 This COVID-19 pandemic has almost rendered me completely jobless, yet I’m in employment.

My job mainly entails publicising what some leaders somewhere do. But since we began experiencing a slowdown of activities that involve more than 15 people, I had nothing to do.

I used to do event planning, travel away and set up impressive exhibition stands for my organisation, but that does not happen anymore. I do not know when I’ll be able to do that any time in the near future.

For the second year now, there’s nothing like the Devolution Conferences, Legislative Summits or even an agricultural or trade fairs where I can be of use to my organisation. I’m therefore pretty much out of work.

The suit and tie routine, the clean shaven - smooth buttocky head, Oxford leather and dress shoes had to give way to khaki pants, some random t-shirts, an unshaved head and a scruffy beard, plus Maasai sandals. We’re not going to the office anyway!

Journalists in Embu County are today cursing me for “ of business”. I used to be a fertile source of news stories, then they ended abruptly. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about that. We’re all idle now.

There was also this one scribe with whom I was in a love-hate relationship. He used to write extremely hard-hitting articles which I often had to rebut. Unfortunately, he died of the virus. So, nothing to rebuff.

I really miss my days in active field journalism. I would have really ruffled some feathers and kicked up some dust in such an unengaged time. Stirring the waters to catch some fish was quite fun back then.

My family thinks I’m very comfortable because I go to the office once in a while, not knowing that this effectively means that the gravy train stalled more than one year ago and I’m a financial cripple.

There was a time that life was good; both Income Tax and Value Added Tax were lowered and we were all in a utopian summer camp. Then everything was reinstated and life became extremely hard.

The overall effect of all these? I slept too much that I got back pains and insomnia at night. I ate too much that I gained too much weight. I drank too much and I got gout. I thought so hard I almost got depressed.

Now, today my kids do not understand why I stay home to wrestle the TV remote from them, my landlord doesn’t get why rent is always late, my subscription services are always getting disconnected. Everything is just crazy!

Thought of spending a chunk of this free time upcountry another day, but as I shockingly learnt; the dudes in the boondocks could literally eat you alive. Plus the petty little squabbles there nauseate.

Old man Mukinyia doesn’t even want chaps from town hanging around him or the farm too often. He believes town dwellers are either deadly pathogen carriers or beggars of farm produce. Is he wrong?

I’ve even tried introducing time order in Social Media politics, but as they say: “where ignorance is bliss, being wise is folly”. I soon rudely found out that the juvenile simpletons there cannot be domesticated.

Kamiti Prison

These days I have no qualms answering calls from fraudsters from Kamiti Maximum Security Prison. I play along to their trickery then shoo them off at the end. I know it will always end in unprintable insults, but it is a good way to keep myself busy and lively.

Currently, I’m looking for a part-time job as a masseur, a Public Service Vehicle driver of any category, provided no speed governors are in the picture or even a butcher in the bone-cracking department.

Professionally, socially and financially, I’m wasted deadwood; a certified fifth wheel when it comes to essentially. And the very sad reality is that things might never get back to where they were before.

I officially fear the adverse economic effects of this virus!

End of my Friday soliloquy...

Story by MUTUGI NJUE

This post was originally published on Facebook last Friday.