Be ready for the employer’s red card

By Joseph Maina

Two weeks ago, I sat with my comptroller, the mboch and my mboys watching a rerun of the recent send-off ceremony held by the armed forces for the outgoing Head of State. It was a colourful event, and the send–off package included a small herd of grade cows and a brand new tinga.

Watching that coverage made me realise that my time as an employee is quickly flying past. I may be only 41, but my days of slaving for my boss are numbered.

Unlike the other Baba Jimmy, I will not score a shiny tinga or the kind of cows that produce milk like there is no tomorrow. At the very best, my employer will send me off with a poem, a wheelbarrow and a pair of gumboots. After this, I will officially join the growing list of pensioners and learn new skills to get me going — for instance milking cows, shearing sheep and whistling at goats.

It promises to be a lonely existence, and I will probably spend my evenings narrating ogre stories to my grandchildren. One good thing is this: I will forget the hustle and bustle of the city and say ‘goodbye’ to the traffic jams and the ‘tyranny of manambas’.

My youth and stamina will be gone, and my bones will become accurate predictors of earthquakes and weather patterns.

Rural celeb

However, on a brighter note, my fellow villagers will lionise me for my years spent in the city and turn me into some sort of rural celeb. Who knows, they might even vote me treasurer of the local cattle dip.

“Mama Jimmy,” I said to the comptroller, who was admiring the army’s uniforms and the lovely set up at the presidential dais. “It’s about time we focused on our retirement.”

She remained unmoved.

“Ah, it’s too early to think about such things,” she said, dismissing me with a shrug. “Kwani unaogopa retirement?”

For some re

It may be convenient to live in denial, but the sad reality is that retirement is a bitter pill that everyone must be ready to swallow. Whether you like it or not, a time will come when your employer will show you the red card.

“But you still contribute towards your pension, don’t you?” she observed.

 “Look, we have barely invested,” I said dryly, adding that  we have nothing to show for our years in service.

To drive the point home, I reminded her that our paychecks get blown off in the form of taxes, household bills, the landlord’s hut tax, the peanuts we pay our mboch, school fees for my heirs and donations to relatives in shags. To put it in another way, our savings are below sea level.

“Naona tayari uzee umeanza kuingia,” she teased.

A county future

In response, I reminded her that one day her traffic-stopping properties will become history and her teeth will drop out of her mouth like hot potatoes.

Then, on a serious note, I pointed out that we would need income-generating activities to keep us going in those days.

Mama Jimmy still seemed disinterested.

I was starting to dislike her cavalier attitude but seeing my low spirits, she consoled me with a humongous helping of dinner.

“Kula supper utulie kwanza, Baba Jim,” she said, promising to pay more attention to the matter.

ason, most young and middle-aged folks are scared of the subject of retirement, and this includes Mama Jimmy. I guess she hates to imagine that a time will come when her coveted job will go up in smoke.