Race of Life

The sun evaporated anything on its path, drying leaves and grass. Those who worked under it felt their skin peel off as the day grew older. However, under a shade provided by the government – a boda boda shade – the sun’s hostility wasn’t as brutal. The iron sheets above blocked the unforgiving scorch, baking those who were under it. The boda boda riders were trying every way they could to scratch the earth for a penny to feed themselves and their families. Though under the shade, the riders enjoyed a moment of reprieve for it was an open oven and the baking heat felt a lesser evil compared to the atrocity outside.

“I don’t know what I’ll give the owner today,” remarked Ben, a young man in his mid-thirties. He wore a large black jacket that was worn out around the neck and wrists. The embroidery prints on the chest had been tattered, a story of its service to the owner Ben who didn’t remember how much it had cost when it was new.

“What are you talking about,” replied Steve, another occupant of the shade who sat on his two-legged machine, his helmet on the speedometer.

“I haven’t made enough money to give my employer his share, and I don’t know what to do,” continued Ben, his voice low with apprehension and uncertainty. In his mind, he thought about his young boy Maverick. Earlier when he took him to school with the boda boda motorcycle, Maverick had requested a storybook that the teachers had been requesting for the past month.

“You should work harder,” ridiculed Steve, “I already have my share and that of my employee,” he explained. Steve had seven clients who woke him up before the sun scorched the earth, and they paid him good money.

Ben stared at his friend for a second before telling him, “You should count yourself lucky. And continue facing the same direction when you pray!”

“I don’t even pray that much,” chimed Steve, “it’s called having a plan in life. With a good strategy, you can work wonders!”

Ben didn’t believe Steve’s words. In his recollection, Steve was in a position to say that because all the clients he served in the early-bird hours were friends. One client led him to another, and the story translated that way to all of them.

“Thank your God,” remarked Ben one more time.

And then, as if timed, another of their friend, Peter, who also shared the shed with many others arrived at their favorite station, his tires soaked in mud and a portion of his helmet too.

“Where did you get that,” poked Steve as he stared at Peter’s motorcycle.

Peter parked his bike casually and gave an exhaustive sigh.

“I’ve had the worst day,” he said, his facials trying to recollect the events he’d been through, “can you imagine I almost died!”

Ben squinted but Steve gave out a chuckle and said, “Who wants to kill you and you don’t have a copy yet!” inferring to Peter’s marital status. Of the three, Ben, Steve, and Peter; Peter led a single life – the only bachelor at the boda boda station.

“You know, I can’t tell what’s wrong with people out here,” continued Peter lamenting, his face crumbling around his nose while his hands dusted himself. Traces of dried mud laced his navy-blue tracksuit, evidence that he had fallen with his motorcycle; a detail Ben had picked up from the engine and parts of the exhaust pipe. There weren’t major damages on his tool of work, but that couldn’t be said about Peter.

“You look like you were in for an adventure despite the blazing sun,” said Steve, completely insensitive to Peter’s predicament. “Did you go skiing in the mud?”

“What happened?” then asked Ben, curious to know where Peter got the mud from. The rain had stopped at least a month ago and the bits of evidence trailing to Peter’s unfortunate accident weren’t adding up.

“I got this client,” recounted Peter, anger creeping in his tone, “and he said he wants to go to Greendale estate.”

Ben and Steve looked at him with increased interest. Greendale was far, and that meant one job that paid for the day’s expenses.

“And I tell the man that it would cost him a little extra,” recounted Peter. “The man says, ‘Don’t worry. I’m okay with that let’s go!’”

Steve started chuckling immediately as his thoughts took him to a time, he once took someone to Greendale and failed to pay.

Disappointed in Steve’s irrationality, Peter paused a question, “Why are you laughing?” anger boiling up in the large vein on his forehead.

“No,” stammered Steve, “Just continue with your story. I hope he paid you!”

“What’s your problem if I didn’t get paid,” retaliated Peter, “you should learn how to control your mouth!”

“Leave him alone,” consoled Ben as he urged Peter to continue with what transpired in his journey to Greendale. He wanted to take his mind off the burgeoning thought of going back home with a few coins. With him was seven hundred shillings, and the owner wanted five hundred. The extra two hundred would be the price of fuel to his home and the first few rides the following day.

“How did you end up in the mud in this hot sun?”

Sighing, Peter said, “My client was after a girl he was dating. And he had been told that she was in a car that headed to Greendale. And I am the one to play catch as he followed the car just to make sure it was true!”

Steve laughed even harder.

“You know I was cruising at dangerous speeds simply because he wanted to catch her in the act,” explained Peter.

Following up with a question, Ben asked, “What act?”

“He wanted to see her in the car as they got inside the house or something!”

“Were you chasing after the car?” clarified Steve.

“No, we didn’t even see the car,” elaborated Peter, “the man knew the number plate, the make of the car, and the house it was going to!”

Piqued, Ben thought those were intimate details. “Did he know the one driving the car?”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t even know. We never got to the house!”

Steve’s disappointment showed on his face, “Then what’s the relevance of this story?”

“We fell somewhere along the way. Right before you get to the mall. The man had said we take a shortcut through the construction zone so that we could get ahead of the car, and that’s where we ended up in a ditch!”

Steve crackled even louder, “So your girlfriend is taken by a man wealthier than you, and since you don’t want to accept that, you get injured while trying to confirm you’ve been left!”

Ben didn’t laugh, his fears quickly owned the man’s situation and thought about a possible situation with his wife. Life had been tough for him, and the weight of not having another five hundred shillings as his day’s income threatened a similar fate.

“What happened after you guys fell,” asked Ben, “was any of you hurt?”

Peter shook his head, “I told the man I wouldn’t go on, and he was frustrated. We then came back, but I could feel his pain on the way back. He said they’d dated with the girl for five years now!”

“Five years and the girl left just like that?” voiced Steve, “he must’ve been poor in bed. There’s no other reason for it!”

Ben stared at Steve with a puzzled look; his brows clenched together as his lips parted slightly. “How do you even know?”

“It’s the rule of life. The way of this concrete jungle. If he gave his girlfriend the stick the way it’s supposed, she wouldn’t have run away with another man,” asserted Steve, “girls only respond to the magic stick and you can argue all you want!”

Peter stared at Steve for a couple of seconds and said nothing. He continued to examine his motorbike; touching the side mirrors, the indicators at the front and back, the stained exhaust pipe, and the engine to check for any anomaly.

“I always tell you guys that a man is his might in bed,” boasted Steve, “look at me! I’ve had the same wife for six years and she knows who I am. Each day after giving her some money she gives me what I deserve. You’ll never hear me complain about another man coming between us!”

None of the two men gave Steve attention. Peter was busy questioning how the day would end since the man he took to Greendale complained a chunk when they got back to the Central Business District. He paid three-quarters of what he ought to pay. Making Peter hope his motorbike didn’t have any damages that would force him to cough a few cents to the mechanic.

Ben on the other hand shifted his attention to the street, staring at the intersection to the left. He secretly hoped to see a person wave to them, a sign of a potential client who would give him the money he needed. That morning, he promised his son Maverick that he would get the money for the book he desired, and things weren’t as promising with only four hours left to dusk.

“So, were you paid for your troubles,” asked Steve.

Peter nodded in agreement.

“You don’t look like you were paid,” said Steve as he watched Peter’s frustration build up in his eyes as he inspected the motorcycle.

“I was paid,” lied Peter one more time. He wasn’t in the mood for Steve’s insensitive jokes.

“I hope you are telling the truth because I would’ve charged twice the amount! You cannot lose the girl and fail to pay up!”

Ben disagreed visibly. In his experience, being a man wasn’t all about bedroom matters. There were other areas of life that were more important, and that’s why Ben hopped on his motorcycle telling Peter, “Thank God you weren’t hurt. That would’ve been a different story.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, a gust of wind forcing him to pause his speech momentarily, “I only got a scratch on the ankle.” Hoping on his left leg to exert a little more pressure.

“You know what guys, this life is a race,” said Steve as he sat upright on his motorcycle. Ben silently agreed because he picked up that philosophy back in his twenties, and he’s been running ever since.

“And with that, I want to get three more clients before the day ends,” he continued, secretly envious of Peter. Steve assumed Peter had earned more than him for the day, and wanted to be the top earner amongst his peers.

Ben held back his reservations because Steve’s way of life was known. He would earn more, and then pass by the tavern before going home.

“If God can bless me with one more run today, I’d be a happy man. My wife will be happy back at home,” wished Steve while his peers said nothing.

Ben prayed for a couple of runs and not just two. He wanted to earn at least seven hundred shillings before nightfall so that he could have enough for food and his son’s book. Peter, on the other hand, wanted one more job so that he could get a few coins to buy fuel that would kickstart the next day.

“If God blesses me that way, I’ll be able to make something for myself because I’ve been making runs since I was young; and it’s paying off! I could build a house with this job!” shared Steve.

“You’ll get tired along the way,” said Ben, “with this job, you cannot run forever as you think!”

And in that moment, a man with black pants and a t-shirt waved from the intersection Ben had been eyeing for the past couple of minutes. A race began as the three friends hastened to start their motorcycles and rush to the potential customer.

Whoever got to him first would win the job.