NAIROBI: I have always had a sneaky feeling that Michelle did not excel in the fashion course she was pursuing with gusto last year. Or maybe she got caught up in the web of fake diplomas flooding downtown Nairobi.
A hawker moving the documents got me. He leaned on the window of my car and inquired if I would be interested in an original certificate from an IATA certified college with all the fixings.
“Mzee your dream of flying a fixed wing airplane is valid,” he said smiling. I pointed out to him that driving a plane is way out of my altitude.
“Mzee you are throwing away your chance to be Nairobi County Attorney General, or City Urban Planner. ‘Hutaki kuwa’ Surgeon General wa Nairobi.”
I must say the fellow was quite persuasive. I had no idea Nairobians were so ambitious. The man declared that my dreams are valid.
“Mzee usipige wiper,” I was told. “I will craft such a document the Education ministry will be ashamed to doubt its authenticity.
I told him that is all that I required and ushered him in the car so we could conduct this business in a more testimonial environment.
I tried to get a spot for my car along Standard Street but a city parking attendant insisted that I move. “Come on Kijana, you should know people,” I sneered at him as I forced my jalopy behind a reserved sign.
“Shame on you, for restricting the future urban planner,” I warned. I raved and ranted, warning him that his boss would suffer. “Tell your boss for me he will get the sack tomorrow,” I threatened as the kafellow profusely apologised looking thoroughly harassed.
“You see the life you are getting into when you purchase papers from me,” my passenger noted and I shook my head vigorously in agreement. We went for chai at the nearby Trattoria where I paid a deposit of one thousand shillings processing fee after assurance that my papers would be in order in the afternoon.
You can imagine my pleasure when the man promptly showed up at our rendezvous bearing a certificate, transcript and a recommendation letter.
They all had stamps in the right place, bore the unmistakable signature of Education Cabinet Secretary Yakubu Kiamenyi, and the Dean of Obliviation Institute. The documents were original in every respect.
Before leaving, I decided that as a side hustle, I could purchase myself a degree in Astrology just in case Nairobi Guvvy Evans Omuga Kidesh did not offer me a job immediately.
I could always go back to the village and announce that I was the only certified fortune teller and make a pile of dough. No night runner can match that.
That day when I visited Mama Fatuma’s for a sundowner with friends, I dropped hints of my looming good fortune without divulging the good news.
“Someday, I might decide to rename Mama Ngina Street into Mama Fatuma boulevard but you have to earn my favour,” I told our Mama pima.
“Timbuktu, stop talking nonsense, you are not drunk yet,” she said as she poured my drink. I tried asking the other drunks what they would wish for if they met face to face with the New Nairobi County Government Aviator in Chief.
Imagine, not even one of them had a single wish to make. They just looked juiced and blank. For once I understood what they say about alcohol and squandering soaring opportunities. They will be laughing with the other sides of their faces when I become the Governor’s special rapporteur on ghost workers at Nairobi. “Timbuktu weka sisi kwa list,” they will say.
And I will ignore them.
I left those drunk ignoramuses and decided that I would go and celebrate with Michelle. I briefed Michelle on the phone that at last we would be dining at the county high table and told her to prepare our special.
I got home to find everything arranged and Michelle could not wait to hear the good news.
I was showing her the papers when a reporter by the name of ‘Dennis the Menace’ was filing a report claiming that my favourite college Obliviation Institute was hawking fake degrees.
The man even showed evidence of some moron giving away certificates in exchange of chicken. As though he never had a chance to suckle his mother ‘akatosheka’. NKT!
I had to hide away my papers and lie to Michelle that I had confused our anniversary. “Poor thing,” is all she said.
