Ladies and gentlemen getting a job is one thing and losing it another, especially if the circumstances under which you lose it have a lot to do with matters of the heart (not pants…you mischievous you).

It is a well known fact that, I am the most handsome man in east and central Africa.

The throngs of admiring ladies, bated breaths as I walk in a roomful of people and those who will flirtingly but seriously as for an evening out with me should bear proof of that title. Most handsome man.

The black Bond…James Bond. Differing in only who we report to…the movie star reports to the MI6 while I report to the public, as a journalist.

The year was 1973 when a job advert for a media consultant ran in the regional papers and I thought that I had what it took to clinch it.

I went through the interviews with the region’s most brilliant brains in media issues and thanks to the gods (above, below, wherever) I scooped the top job. Mmmm…I still savour the moment that phone call came in.

I was to take up office at the HQs in Nairobi, Kenya. I couldn’t contain my excitement and eagerness to execute my duties with the highest level of professionalism.

Little did I know what would develop between me and my Kikuyu secretary lady.

"The young lady here will be your secretary. Her name is Mukera Juliet, speaks English and Swahili…hope you will have a good working relationship,” said Cherop Daniel, my boss.
"Good to meet you Juliet,” I said.

She curtseyed in response. Not the theatrical kind of curtsey but just that slight bow of the head. 

When this captivating sculpture of God parted her lips to speak, I got dizzy and immediately mentally promoted her as secretary of my office, private and secret life as well.

Briefly about Julie, she had a gap between her front upper teeth and in Rwandan culture, you know what that means, no need to explain.

Her smooth skin was of a light complexion. Just looking at her, I concluded she had grown up in Kenya’s cool highlands.

Monday morning was my first day at work. I ordered, with immediate effect, that her desk be moved into my office for "easy coordination” of activities.

You know Julie’s smile would light up the entire office and keep the "work spirit” up. "Shooter, you look so much of an introvert,” she said a few days after somehow getting comfortable with me. She was poking a lion-in-a-sheep-skin without knowing the explosive ammunition hidden therein.   

Though an "introvert” she had also realized that I am an outgoing person. One evening, she offered me nyama choma washed down with my favourite Tusker larger at the Nairobi Carnivore. Here, her perception of me being an introvert changed.

The love songs I sung to her ears the whole evening were partly reason for this change.

In the office, things moved smoothly. She told me what she liked and hated and even about the irrationality of her ex.

"Kaniaru was brutal and arrogant that I would not stand him. Shooter, I swear you are down to earth,” she told me one day in office.

People, I don’t blow my trumpet but I have come to believe that I have a special gene that tickles women. In comparison, Clinton, Lewinsky and cigar are nothing…. 

Low and behold, one evening we had stayed late behind "working hard” in office and the office window was not closed and the office lights were shining brighlty.

Our boss, suspicious of our working ways, decided to supervise our "late work”. About what he saw, your guess is right. Whatever it might be you have guessed. It was Shaggy’s ‘It wasn’t me’ scenario.

He vowed over his mum’s body to teach us some office ethics. But as smart as I always were, I immediately drafted a resignation letter which he took and I lost ‘gracefully’ with my head high.

I returned to Kigali with a ruined career but a true professional who is never fired but resigns.

Hey you reading this, let me see you throw that first stone at me. I knew you wouldn’t. For starters am far from your reach.

Ends