The Irony of Life (6)😔😔

THE IRONY OF LIFE (6)😔😔

Duration: 4mins

“Hey Kiddo, shut the door after you, ” said Thaddy as I followed him into his office.

Male or Female, young or old, living or dead, Thaddy fondly referred to all as ‘Kiddo’.

“Have your seat,” he said as he took the chair behind his desk, pointing me to the one directly opposite. “I see you don’t like your job here any longer?”

That threw me off balance.

“What? I do.”

“No, you don’t. The record shows you moved only twenty crates on Friday night. I learnt you were even sleeping at some point while others were working. Were you ill?”

“No.”

I told thaddy I was saving up strength for the work at Mrs. Penelope's place. 

“As smart as that sounds, it’s a foolish thing to do in your case. What if the company head showed up and met you sleeping; and you were neither ill nor dying, you could lose your job here. Should that happen, you will automatically lose the job at Penelope's place.”

Do I still have the job with Mrs. Penelope?

“I guess you are aware the management of this company made a deal with the guys who signed you and the others up to work here. As much as they want to profit from getting you the job, we also want to gain from giving you the job. Should you for any reason stop working here, I will no longer be able to stand as your guarantor for the work at Penelope's place. I hope you caught the drift?”

I nodded in response, waiting for him to put a full stop so I could tell how things ended with Mrs. Penelope.

“You don’t want the eyes of the management here set on you, nor those of your contractors. You will be wise not to do one job at the expense of the other. Brace up for the two Kiddo. Besides, what happened between you and Penelope?”

I knew it. My one-time of being slack at work couldn’t be the only reason for Thaddy's unfriendly countenance.

“Was it all about a portrait and nothing more?” asked Thaddy after I narrated what happened.

“I swear that was all.”

“Well, she called to apologize for taking her troubles out on you. I should say to her credit that she seldom behave that way. Rather, she is a simple and jovial lady. Unfortunately she lost her husband and two children in a plane crash five years ago.” 

“Aaa,” I blurted.

“She has moved on fine since the incidence. In fact, she has had a couple of intimate relationships within her Hollywood circle. That portrait of her family must have triggered the rare mood swing. I assured you will be at her place come Saturday. Right?”

“Sure.”

“Good. You can get to work.”

I left Thaddy’s office with sympathy for Mrs. Penelope. Back in there, I couldn’t help feeling awkward each time Thaddy referred to a woman at least ten years older than himself by her first name.

Should he then call her Aunty Penelope?

I thought and chuckled . Little did I know Mrs. Penelope would soon have me toss aside title.

In a while now, Jamani wouldn't stop talking about an African restaurant he discovered while checking out the streets of Miami. He spoke so well of the meals a brand ambassador wouldn’t do better. But what choice has got a penniless man like myself than salivate or eat them in my dreams. With some dollars now in my pocket, I plunged into the temptation headlong. I had planned to work for a month at Mrs. Penelope's place before sending something substantial home. If only someone had told me a bigger temptation that would drill holes in my pocket awaited me at Mame's African Cuisine.

By 3 p.m. on Sunday, Jamani and I stepped into the restaurant. We had barely entered when a dark, petite, slim damsel in her early twenties came running towards us, 

“Jam!” she screamed as she flung herself into Jamani's arms, drawing the attention of patrons that filled the wide space save some scanty tables and seats.

“Bread!” Jamani responded, hugged and raised her off the ground.

A couple of patrons hailed Jamani as we walked through a narrow path barricaded with rows of patrons on both sides till we got an empty table to the right. 

“Oreoluwa, meet my bread; Fatima,” Jamani introduced.

Fatima was Mame's daughter; the woman who ran the restaurant. She became endeared to Jamani since the first day they met and it turned out they both hailed from the same area, Mombasa; Kenya. Her family had long immigrated into the States and had become citizens. A few times, Jamani had enjoyed Mame’s irresistible delicacies on credit thanks to Fatima.

“It’s my pleasure to finally meet the beautiful damsel Jamani can’t live a day without mentioning.”

“Really?” asked Fatima, beaming with smiles.

“Of course. And guess what?”

“What?”

“He can't stop saying you are the best thing that happened to him since he landed the States, as you have made it home away from home.”

“Aww…,” cooed Fatima, curled her arms around Jamani’s neck, rewarded him with a peck and rested her head on his shoulder.

I heard about Fatima for the first time on our way there. Jamani had prepped me for the moment. He caught my eyes in the seat where I sat across them, sent me a job-well-done wink.

“What should I serve you guys?” asked Fatima, breaking off Jamani.

I was surprised to find pounded yam and èfórírò with ègúsí stew on the menu. While I settled for that, Jamani went for Ugali; a popular Kenya staple made of maize flour.

Fatima left and soon emerged from afar with a tray bearing our orders. It was going to be business as usual when suddenly, a dark, plumpy woman showed up from behind; on the other side of a long and wide wooden counter where a set of three service girls stood attending to patrons. Her shrill voice brought Fatima to a halt.

“Fati, where are you going with those?"

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To be continued same time, next week. Hope you enjoyed the read? Please leave a comment. Thank you.🙏🏻