My One Day Experience at a ‘Mjengo’ Job (Part 2)

My father and I set off for the construction site. My heart was heavy but I dared not be true to my feelings; I feared to ‘jolt’, to life, the latent fury of my father.

I will not forget the impression the Indian contractor made on me when I first saw him.

He was a short man with a slight paunch. He had such mean eyes that I felt like running away before I was introduced to him. His eyes reminded me of The Undertaker in wrestling.

When I was introduced to him, he gave me a penetrating look as if trying to judge whether ‘there was any work in me’. Then, rather coldly, he extended his inky hand for a handshake. I could feel the roughness of his calloused palm as it scraped against my soft, ‘naïve’, palm. A shudder ran up my arm.

To show that he was the one who called the shots there, he bade my father goodbye rather prematurely, and added, in heavy Indian accent: “Tutaelewana na kijana, wewe ondoka.”

He turned to me and said, “Chugua kajiko na ufuate wengne.” At first I did not understand his Kiswahili. But he repeated what he had said gesturing towards a spade that lay on the ground near his feet. Then I understood what he meant.

First things first, the spade I was told to pick up was among the heaviest things I had ever lifted. Anyway, how I managed to carry it to the construction site is somewhat abstruse. I lay it down, sighed and made to sit down. By a fluke of ‘good luck’ I looked up only to find the Indian close by, monitoring my every move.

His eyes seemed to tell me: “Boy, stand up and get to work or else I’ll fire you right here and now!” There was that conviction in them that I scrambled to my feet and set to do what the others were doing.

Then I caught my breath; my eyes glimmered and grew bigger to take in the whole scene. ‘My fellow workers’ were all muscle and brawn – as if they had gulped huge chunks of meat in their lifetime (and the chunks had wend their way into their biceps and chests!). And how they handled the spades was something to admire – the rhythm of their body movements; their glistening bodies; their rants, raves and heavy breathing, the works!

I looked down at myself: my weak hands, my equally flat chest and what next…I could not even handle an empty spade let alone when it was full of sand and gravel. A formidable, dampening spirit enveloped me; I was more than ready to throw in the towel.
But one thing held me back from facing the Indian contractor; the plain thought that it was my father who had ‘traversed’ the lengths of ‘landing’ me that job. It would be unfair to him if I gave up before I tasted what the job entailed.

To be continued…