When I next met Spencer (see he’s also looking for a job), he suggested I buy a few things around the house whenever I get some money.

"Once in a while, you can buy soap, bread or sugar so Jane doesn’t think you are taking things for granted,” he had said.

I still had some money from the press conference so when I got home that evening, I offered to buy sugar and soap but Jane wouldn’t hear it, instead suggesting I keep the money and use it for transport.

I sighed inwardly, for much as I wanted to pull my weight, I also wanted to save as much as I could, at least until I got a job. I was learning more about the city and the people.

Some are friendly and though they won’t offer you a job, they’ll advise you on what to do or suggest possible opportunities. But others are not so welcoming, asking me whether I’d seen any adverts for a vacancy! Still, that doesn’t deter me from trying again.

Because I’m usually not in a hurry to do anything, I walk for the most part. But this has its consequences. When it’s hot, it really gets uncomfortable and you enter a potential employer’s office looking sweaty and weary.

And when it rains, you must wait for it to stop because you’re on foot! Then there are my poor feet which haven’t got a pedicure in months.

The walking isn’t helping matters, often leaving them sore. I would very much want to buy flat open shoes to walk in and only change to closed shoes when going to offices.
 I also have to deal with the hunger. Why do we get so hungry when we’re broke?

Suddenly, you crave everything. You pass pastry shops, cafes and restaurants and your mouth waters. The other day, I entered one. I knew I had no money but I went in anyway.

Remember how as kids we daydreamed about cake or money dropping from the sky? Well, I sort of wished a Good Samaritan would offer to buy me lunch or the restaurant had some kind of promotion and was giving out free meals.

Of course it was all wishful thinking. I scanned the menu, all interesting dishes but the prices were too high for me. Then I thought of a solution to my hunger problem. I would make sure I had breakfast at home so I wouldn’t walk on an empty stomach.

For the next few days, it worked. Jane left for work pretty early, usually before 7a.m. but the maid would prepare porridge about an hour later.

I would down about two cups and eat a mandazi or slice of bread and I would be on my way. In the evening, I made sure I was in time for evening tea or porridge and then supper. But like all good things, my "little arrangement” didn’t last long.

Jane is a nice person, for the most part, but I couldn’t help noticing the way she looks at me when I reach for a second helping of food. Actions speak louder than words, they say, and there’s something in Jane’s stare that certainly speaks volumes.

I always imagine she’s thinking I eat a lot of food. If I thought I was paranoid, her tone one evening confirmed my fears. Reaching for the sugar bowl, she realized the sugar was finished and complained.

"I don’t understand how you people take all this sugar,” she said. My heart skipped. I quickly defended myself though because I felt like she was addressing me – "the intruder”.

I don’t take a lot of sugar. In fact, it’s her son who does, often putting up to six spoons in his cup. If the maid didn’t admonish him several times, I reckon they’d be more. On some occasions, I’ve caught him licking sugar right out of the bowl.

So if there was anyone to blame, it was him. Wanting to set the record straight, I told Jane that Denis is responsible. Later, I heard her talking to him but still, I got the impression that my host was getting tired of us, especially me.

To be continued…