The pain in the Hope

He stares below at the multitude before him and silently smiles. This group had grown exponentially over the past ten years. Ten years ago he was struggling through life barely able to afford a meal a day. Ten years ago his friend had grown tired of his endless pleas for money and give-aways. Ten years ago he had tried everything from herdsboy, house boy and any type of boy that ensured he would keep something in his stomach. He had made contacts with the high and mighty. The women who walked on high heels and wore tight and short skirts to the ones who walked in panties he had heard they were called bikinis. Some of these women were very beautiful while others had beautiful purses. He had slept with most of them at their hour of need and he’d hoped from one mistress to another in pursuit for the ultimate boss. The lady who pays well and when he found her he decided to change the rules of the game. He decided to be the boss and call the shots. That was his undoing because in the world of women who drove big cars, worked big jobs, swayed their bony behinds and carried goatskins in under arms no man was irreplaceable. They could afford it all and all they needed was not some MR. I own your ass.  His downfall was a sprint because soon he found himself at rock bottom.

He devised a plan to get back up. And the plan involved being a salesman. He would sell one of the most sought after commodities the world over, hope. And that is how this multitude began, with 10 people at first then 50 and now he’d lost count. Even as a young boy he’s never imagined leading such a big group. In those days his treasured times involved sitting at his grandma’s feet and his hair being cleaned out. Sometimes with a piece of old knife, other times with a scissor and his favourite was the times she used a razor blade. The blade made some soothing sound when it journeyed across his ugly shaped head. This sound was the only music in those days. The only radio in the home belonged to his father and he carried it everywhere he went, even to church. After church all the few learned men in the village would hurdle around this piece f technology and listen keenly to the words that came out of it. Any child who strayed near them would have a hearty ass whooping. Those were the days when the child belonged to the society and any old member was empowered to whop your ass. Woe unto you if you went home crying or reported this to your parents because then they would punish you for not being responsible enough to learn your lesson and move on. These were the days he would wrap an old clothe around a tiny stick to clean his grandma’s ear, this he did every time she was convinced she had grown deaf, and each time she praised his dexterity and magic. He reminisced of Zibamba, the randy girl from the neighbourhood village who had stolen his innocence. He had gone grazing and she had gone to fetch firewood. He vaguely remembers the details of how it all started save for she was holding his pee pee and it felt good. He also remembered the sensational feeling when he peed inside her, the best feeling he’d ever experienced. Now he was a grown man, he had broken 20 hearts, nay 30 hearts, ok ok maybe they are more. He had had fun. Behind he had left a trail of bastards, law suits, arrest warrants and certain petty offenses. But that was his past, now he bragged of being a changed man.

He looks into the audience and recognizes the boy who was at his house last night. He had asked him to do it with him so that he would pay his fees. He wasn’t sure if he would hold his end of the bargain. He was surprised how members of this audience kept coming to him seeking favours. Why him? Can’t they as well seek their own like he did without being sore sights at his door every single second. Two rows behind is the hitherto young girl who now clutched onto the life form in her arms, maybe his or not. How would he know after all they had done it just once, she must think he’s stupid? He denied her an audience and gave her a thousand shilling to disappear then called on his lawyer and asked for a restrainment order. Money could do a lot of things, he had come to learn and lack of money is the most desperate situation one could find themselves. Since he got himself in his new found well being he’d bought a new Jaguar XFR and customized the interior. He had bought a house in Muthaiga, another in Runda and now he had 200 acres in Limuru. His new Range rover would be arriving in a months time. The city had received him well, they had given him a VIP status which meant he could park any of his cars anywhere. He would occasionally appear in the press most times being lavished with praise for the positive impact he had on the citizenry. Politicians had come to notice him and some came asking for advice, others seeking his blessing and support.

He looks up at the multitude before him and picks the book he’s been flipping its pages all this time and join the crowd in saying, “This is my bible, I am what it says I am. I have what it says I have. I can do what it says I can do…” soon this sermon will be over and he will call his favourite girls for a party into the Monday morning.

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