Broke girl’s paradise

coinsI am squeezing coins real tight in my palm lest they fall and scatter and disappear into the night bush like my life depends on it. You see, I am headed to town and specifically at this time, half hour late for work, to save money so you can imagine my near hypertension moment when the bus tout says that the fare is ten shillings above what I so desperately cling to.

I stand my ground and make the least diva face I can manage. I am born diva. I have held my head high and walked oh so confidently since I can remember. So you understand how much of a struggle this is. It is gruesome; heavily taxing.

“Nina sitini pekee baba,” I pray to God he doesn’t hit the bus signaling the driver to move along. Then doing the swing as if to mock your dumb broke behind wearing a face that says, ”You can afford to clothe yourself and look that good but cannot find ten shillings extra for bus fare.”

“Ingia.” He says in a not so kind way but an invite to board nonetheless. I am not really choosy nowadays so I happily board.

I am off the hook for the day. Angels sing.

Upon my boarding, the public service vehicle’s female occupants survey every inch of my well curved body, to see who this very broke woman that got them three seconds late for work at the “La femme Boutique” is, I suppose. I am not calling them mean, but if eyes had bullets and a trigger.

I grab a seat at the far end and pull out my Jeffrey Deaver novel. The creepy cover ought to scare the judge Judies away for now. Yes, be afraid you impatient beings, I read Jeffrey Deaver and I don’t scream when someone nudges me unexpectedly, well most times, but they did not know that.

And just like that, I get to go to work. And the evening, well it will worry about itself, jheee I only have a heart and mind for one of me. I am not about to lose them.

At the back of my mind, I fear, I may have made the wrong choice. Dropping out of an”acclaimed public university”, a course that is quite very well marketable in our ever so volatile economy.” But then again the economy IS volatile so you never know who sells and when. Things are always changing.” I say to myself in a manner that is more persuasive than it is reassuring.

Months into my decision to chase my dreams of becoming an acclaimed published author, I am getting cold feet. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

Where is a pack of Sonford fries when you need one? I sought to hustle my way to comfort food later today.

Dials #1.

“Hey you,” he sounds excited. I hope silently that means he is moneyed. “Buy me lunch, I’m depressed man,” well that was loud but civility is not essential when dealing with my best friend.

“Coming right up, be out of the office by half past twelve.”

“Your wish is my command.”

I hit disconnect and somehow I am fueled for the day.

Thank God for small favours.

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Living is a risk, as you stand to lose your life. Chasing dreams is deemed a waste, we chase money instead. But why preserve time you have no control over? So I chase my dreams praying time’s end finds me risk fully happy. Find more on her blog kimarinyokabi.blogspot.com

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