The Outsider(S) (16 page)

“Yes!” I said.

“How much you earn?” she asked. It sounded more like a statement than a question. At that point, something clicked in my mind. I remembered a story Topista once narrated to me. She once lived together with other Africans and they took every cent that she earned. They also beat her up. I didn’t respond to the question, instead I looked around.

“Come and stay with me. We all sisters and brodas!” she continued. I hadn’t mentioned that I was looking for a place to stay. Her house was one small room with a big bed in the middle and a small stove in the corner.

“Rent is negotiable,” she said.

The short, fat woman pushed me in the direction of the bed and signaled that I should sit. And the woman in the
Kitenge
started talking again.

“Sit, sit, make yourself comfortable! We watch a movie from home!” And then suddenly, a big picture appeared. What I had thought was a mirror on the wall was actually a big TV. It was so flat. I have never seen anything like that before. The movie was nice. It was about a witch killing a whole village. But I didn’t get to watch it to the end.

“All black people stay together!” the woman in the
Kitenge
said. I nodded in agreement, but she didn’t stop talking.

“I had a vision that you would come to my life,” she continued, and suddenly I was sitting sandwiched between the two of them.

“God
told
me
he
would
send
a
servant
my
way,”
she
said
slowly
while
regarding
me
carefully.
I
thought
about
it
for
a
moment.
“Let
us
thank
God
for
being
faithful,”
she
said.
We
stood
up
and
held
hands.
The
three
of
us.
“My
God,
my
savior,
my
redeemer.
You
know
how
many
people
I
have
helped
in
the
past.
That
is
the
reason
you
have
sent
me
a
new
one.
Because
I
am
your
trustworthy
servant,
I
asked
you
to
increase
my
monthly
earnings
to
five
thousand
Euros,
and
now
you
have
done
it.
Thank
you
for
being
faithful!”
I
opened
my
eyes
and
realized
that
I
had
been
the
only
one
who
had
closed
her
eyes.
I
smiled
up
at
them.

“Where
is
the
toilet?”
I
asked.
She
pointed
to
the
corner
of
the
room.
I
turned,
but
instead
of
walking
to
the
corner,
I
rushed
out
the
door.

“Sister! Sister!” they screamed behind me. I saw people staring at me from their windows. They were mostly black. I ran like I have never run before. But now I am back in my own four walls. I have still not lost hope of making some friends. It might just take longer.

Your
friend,

Philister
Taa

Ramona

Germany, 2010, Discounter

“I
have to let you go,” Frau Katberg says, looking at me wearily. “You left yesterday at three p.m. again.”

“Yes. That is because my shift ended then and I had worked the previous day up to six p.m. The other thing is that I had to pick up my son from school,” I say apologetically.

Frau Katberg sighs and looks at me resignedly. “The time written on the contract is just that. What matters is staying until all the work is finished,” she says and stands up to get her coat.

“Uwe!” she calls out to the guy from the butchery department who is just passing by. She throws me a glance, and just like that I realize that our meeting as well as my stint as a discount supermarket employee is over.

I read through the list of my supposed wrong deeds as I walk out of her smelly office. I do need this job, but I am also kind of relieved that it is all over. In the corridor, I meet her, Ines Wolke. The object of my misery. After getting the diplomatic response from Lufthansa that yes, they would like to employ me but no, they do not have any opportunities at the moment, I had continued looking for a job—any job. The Lufthansa rejection had surprisingly served to inject some confidence in me. I walked by a discount supermarket and saw that they were looking for assistants to help in the various departments. I passed by the next day armed with my CV. I was determined to do better than I had done at Lufthansa.

“Have you worked in a supermarket before?” Frau Katberg, the head of the branch, asked during the interview. She was a lanky woman with bad teeth and short black hair. The hairstyle gave her a masculine look. Before I responded, she cut me off.

“It doesn’t matter. You will learn on the job. We are a very team-oriented company. We are especially family friendly. I myself have three children of my own,” she continued breathlessly, shoving the contract my way. I tried to read through it. The words were so small and so many.

“You are expected to work at least twenty-five hours per week,” I read to myself.
But
what
did
“at
least”
mean?
I thought silently but didn’t dare ask Frau Katberg.

I went home that day very happy with myself, and for the first time started believing that the self-help books are not just money-minting machines for their authors.

The next day I appeared at work smiling widely at everyone. I wanted to make a good first impression. I stretched my hand to greet everyone and introduced myself, believing naïvely that being good to other people automatically makes them be good to you.

My first assignment was arranging milk on the shelves. I did it carefully and thoroughly. I wanted anyone who passed by the milk shelves to grab a packet even if they didn’t need one. That was pretty much what Frau Katberg implied when she said, “Arranging goods on the shelves is an art.” I did that well, or I thought I did. As soon as I finished, I went to Frau Katberg’s office to let her know I was finished and to ask her if I should continue arranging the soy milk as well.

I came back with her and was astonished to find all the milk that I had arranged in the shelves neatly put back in the cartons.

“Frau Rosler, I thought you said you were finished.” She looked at me reproachfully. I was lost for words.

“Y… e… ss.” I felt tears of shame welling in my eyes.

“Finish them and then arrange the soy drinks as well. When you are really finished, come and let me know.” she said and marched off.

That was the beginning of my nightmare. Ines Wolke, the de facto boss, decided to put me through the baptism of fire. I quickly learned that getting a job wasn’t enough. The real challenge was surviving a job.

Every day, I did my duties religiously and hoped that I wouldn’t be accused of something. And every day, Frau Katberg called me into her office for alleged wrongdoing.

“You drink coffee the whole time and don’t even bother to clean up your cup?” she said in a voice that implied it was somewhere between a question and a statement.

“I…” I started before she cut me off.

“Make sure from now on that there are no dirty cups lying around the kitchen.” The truth was that I had never drunk coffee at work. At that point I thought to tell her the real truth behind my woes, but then I remembered what Irina from the grocery department had told me earlier.

“Don’t bother reporting Ines unless you want it to become worse. If you want to keep the job, you have to just play along.”

Ines walked into the office and smiled at me brightly.

“Frau Katberg, everything is in its place. Don’t worry about anything. I will take care of all the orders.” She looked like she was about to kiss the ground on which Frau Katberg walked. Frau Katberg smiled at her and turned to me.

“Why can’t you be like Frau Wolke? She takes responsibility, does her work very well, and is very reliable. On top of that, she even has time to redo your mistakes.’’

“Oh, Frau Katberg, she is still new. She will learn with time,” Ines responded humbly. I watched her silently and felt tears welling in my eyes.

Irmtraut

Kenya, 2010, Car Rental

“G
ood morning, here is Irmtraut. I would like to borrow a car,” I said crisply. I was calling Ace, an international car rental company that also had branches in Kenya. I remembered only too late that I had in my introduction directly translated German to English. “Here is Irmtraut” sounded more German than English.

“You mean rent a car?” responded a female voice that sounded distinctly English.

“Rent, borrow, what is the difference?” I asked getting irritated. I didn’t miss the haughtiness in her voice.

“You can rent a car at our place for a fee for a certain period of time. I don’t know about borrowing,” the voice on the other end said without emotion.

“How much does it cost to rent a car?” I asked in a much calmer voice even though I was feeling mad.

“You can find the prices online,” she responded in an indifferent voice.

“Online?” I asked slowly, totally struggling to keep my cool.

“Yes, the prices depend on the type of car you want and the duration,” she continued and I could hear the sound of typing in the background.

“I should check online?” I asked again to be sure that I hadn’t missed a thing.

“Yes,” she responded impatiently.

“But I have called you. Doesn’t that count for something?” I asked.

She sighed but didn’t say anything. “Well, what would you like me to do?” she asked finally in what sounded like a puzzled tone.

“How about doing your job and giving me an overview of the prices?” I asked, and instantly felt better. Ever since I’d landed in Kenya, I had been doing nothing other than trying to be nice. But I realized then that my patience was wearing thin. The phone clicked, and for a moment I didn’t realize what had just happened. I felt fury engulfing me. She had hung up on me. Fuming, I walked into Mr. Clark’s office.

“Whoa,” he said when he saw me.

“These Ace people are unprofessional!” I yelled.

“They are the best in town!” he countered.

“There are others but I wouldn’t go there if I were you. Just take a cab and go there,” he said finally when he saw the doubts on my face.

I walked back into my office and got my coat. The thought of being behind a steering wheel was intoxicating. It meant control. I had bid Mr. Makokha farewell earlier in the morning. We had gotten used to each other. At some level, we had become friends. I was going to miss him, but I felt confident enough to move to the next level. The car would enable me to learn more about Kenya and its people. I was planning to drive to the Masai Mara and to many other beautiful places. The thought was scary, but more than anything, it was exhilarating.

I walked out of the offices to the taxi area, where I was bombarded by taxi drivers. “Madam, best price!” they all seemed to be saying. I stood there feeling vulnerable. The memories of the walk in Uhuru Park came back. For a moment I thought of running back into the office, but then I heard a voice.

“That isn’t the way to treat a customer!” the voice said calmly. I looked up and saw a youthful-looking man making his way toward me. He was dressed in a black rugby shirt with the red, green, and white stripes of the Kenyan flag. The other taxi drivers stepped aside, and suddenly he was standing in front of me. “Sorry about that. We sometimes get too excited when we see a client,” he said in accent-free English.

I nodded and smiled politely. “Where would you like to go to?” he asked. I gave him the Ace business card. “That is in the industrial area. Should I take you there?” he asked carefully. Before I responded he stretched out his hand. “I am Kioko Johansson.” I got into the taxi. Like most cars in Kenya, it was a white Toyota Corolla. I looked around the car. The car was new and furnished with all kinds of gadgets. We drove off, and for a while neither of us said anything. At the junction, we took a turn into Uhuru Highway. There was a traffic jam.