Jobseeker’s diary

May is drawing to a close and I still don’t have a job. Diane, the contact from Jerry is out of the country, and will be for the next three months, her personal assistant told me when I called. Sad, sad news for me. I’d hoped for a break there. Tough luck I guess. I will try again when she returns. In the meantime, I’m stepping up my job search in the form of “tree and wall reading”. If you find me seriously scanning your fence, don’t be alarmed. I’m not trying to figure out a way to break in. I’m told some organisations do post vacancies on their fences and nearby trees. Guess they figured it’s a cheap way to advertise! While “reading walls” one time, I was overwhelmed by the delicious aroma of rice and fresh fish cooking. Unable to resist, I did the unthinkable, rang the bell at the gate. A teenage girl opened and I asked if the boss was home. You see it was one of those enclosed places that double as office and residence. The home-office, some call it. “Yes but he’s in a meeting,” the girl told me. “I’ll wait,” I said. I made up my mind that I was not only going to ask about the jobs but for food too. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures. I figured there was no point in going hungry when I could ask for a little something to eat. I didn’t get a job there but I got lunch, which I considered a big achievement that day. Away from the job-hunting scene, the home front is not rosy. I’m struggling with a number of challenges, Dennis being one of them. For those who don’t know, Dennis is my host Jane’s son. At the moment, I don’t really like him, in fact, I resent him. He’s only 10, so what business do I, a 20-something have hating this little boy? I should know better, you must be saying. Well, you haven’t been bullied by a 10-year-old brat! When I’d just moved in with them, he was actually nice. He would greet and hug me when I returned from my job-hunting missions. At some point, he even offered to teach me Kinyarwanda and I was to teach him English. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when our relationship began to sour but with time, I noticed a strange look in his eyes. His body language has also changed. It started with teasing and progressed to mean little acts, such as jeering when I ask him to do something and snatching things, especially edibles right out of my hands. On top of that, he often goes through my bags! At first, I thought it was the maid until I walked in on Dennis checking my personal belongings. I have no idea what he’s looking for. Many times, he breaks off into Kinyarwanda or French, especially when there are visitors, well-knowing I hardly know any of those two languages. Even a fool would know what such conversations are about, me of course. Other times, like when we’re having tea, he literally counts the spoons of sugar I put in my cup and he does this loudly so his mum can hear. Never mind that he puts up to seven in his own cup! The other day, he served the porridge and on tasting mine, there was hardly any sugar. As I made to put some, he insisted he had put sugar. I ignored him and proceeded. “Mummy, Sophie she’s finishing the sugar,” he said in his broken English. Of course Jane didn’t say anything to me but I’m sure she took her son’s word for the truth. On the rare occasions that he talks to me directly, it’s to ask for something. “Hey, where’s water?” or “Give me the soap,” he often says, addressing me. One time, I was so pissed at his arrogance that I angrily asked him, “Do you see me with water?” Where I come from, children are raised to respect their elders but it’s clearly different with this boy. I think the disrespect comes from the fact that he knows who pays the bills and it’s definitely not me. Sometimes, I get so mad I want to spank him if only to put some sense into his head and get him to show me some respect, but I know too well that, that would be the quickest way out of my free board. He’s Jane’s son and I must always remember that. To be continued...