My dream is to be a watchman

At one point in my young life, I wanted to be a watchman. Now, that’s really ridiculous. Why would anyone seriously want to take up a job as a security guard? This very line of interrogation discouraged me from sharing this ambition with anyone. I couldn’t tell anyone about it. I almost never told myself either!

Like ‘fisi’ cursed with a heavy tongue, afraid to let his ‘prey’ in on his wildest desire, preferring instead to drool after her from a distance, I kept this dream to myself. A watchman, of all the numerous professions! Couldn’t I dream better? What were my family and the big-mouthed villagers going to say?

Unable to bear the thought of being the topic of discussion in that small village, I chose to shelve that line of thinking. I chose to simply sit at home after completing high school. That seemed like a brilliant idea. It would make for a good job. A sit-at-home son!

Don’t we have presently sit-at-home moms? Aren’t they doing an amazing work of tending to their home and kids as their husbands toil away in some high-end offices in some blue-chip company? Isn’t it surprising that the feminists seem very okay with that? I am yet to hear them put up heated campaigns against that ‘oppressive’ treatment of these women.

So, a sit-at-home son I was. My fear of being back-bitten and maligned in the community had won. It bore immense power that could dwarf the power wielded by the political class. If you, in your sophistication, cannot put up a combat against the state, who was I to fight my fears?

Some wars are better left un-fought. Cowards know this better. It is a survival tactic. When your survival instinct tells you to fight, you obey, sometimes unconsciously. If it tells you to take a flight, you grow wings magically and skedaddle! You don’t stop to ask why. No one questions their survival instincts, unless, of course, they are hell-bent on losing their life.

I would sit at home and be the guard I pictured myself to be. I would see myself manning a huge steel gate of some company, preferably a media organization. When the boss would come through, I would spring to my feet; make that huge gate fly open with my left hand as I swung the right one into a brain-melting salute. I would do this all day every day until I ‘eat cotton.’ What a fulfilling job!

Then one sun-kissed day, a friend from a neighboring village dropped by to inquire how I was doing with my job (of being jobless). As always, it was fulfilling. There was nothing to complain about. I know you wish I had told him I was miserable being jobless. But I had long taught myself to look positively at things. Show me a person you have consigned to the corner of ‘the ugliest,’ and I will show you the beautiful things about them you have cast a blind eye on.

The young man (we will call him Ron) then poured cold water on my silent dream. The one I had long learned to feel comfortable practicing in solitude. His revelation shocked me out of my ambitions. Or, should I say ‘shook’ me from my dream? 

The night before, there had been a disaster. The village granary had been razed down. An unidentified gang, armed to the teeth with crude weapons, had sneaked in at the heart of the night, killed the six guards on duty, stolen what their greed allowed them to, and burnt down the rest.

My chance to make my dream come true was here. Though it was sad to lose the villagers, I was happy to start my new job as a watchman. I was a little bit scared that I would also die like the previous guards; but this time I did not let my fear take the best of me. Together with Ron we went and took our new jobs. It is not as great as I thought but at least it is better than nothing.