The last couple of weeks, my landlord Makaveli has been a close friend of mine owing to several issues that have been occurring in his life.
I call him friend with some hesitation. Though not an enemy, I may pass him as a friend to cope the best way I can or else ship out.
Being a friend to a miser is in fact a very tricky affair.
Makaveli will always come to me for advice when the chips are down, but will never give me any favour in return.
Take the other day for instance. I have been hearing altercations from his house in the dead of the night and I can bet my miserable wages that he has been fighting with his morose wife.
So when he called on me the other day, he was looking downcast, depressed, with a big scar on his forehead.
I could tell that the latest fight must have been serious and the wife appears to have beaten the living hell out of him.
I could tell from his mood that he was ashamed to talk about his predicament but still wanted my advice.
I am neither a marriage counselor nor a motivational speaker, but I can still give some good advice to the likes of Makaveli, knowing pretty well that the major source of his misery is his meanness and self-centeredness.
However, this time round I vowed inwardly that I wouldn’t give my advice and counselling for free. He either waives one month rent or pays my water and electricity bills.
As I served him tea, he kept darting his eyes around the house, probably checking for damages or gadgets that consume too much power to blackmail me.
I have told him several times we pay using tokens and can use it whichever way we liked. He wouldn’t understand.
Anyway, the whole problem centered around a chicken business he was convinced to start by his wife, perhaps to satisfy her appetite for chicken and chicken products.
I have been passing close to the business in Mavumbi town but had no idea it was his wife’s brainchild.
Apparently the business had picked up well.
However, the rate at which his wife consumed the stock was counter-productive. If she was not swallowing chicken she was busy breaking eggs with reckless abandon.
That kind of appetite is dangerous and if truth be told, the business was almost on its knees.
So the clever man, instead of stocking chicken, decided to venture into day old chicks.
The chicks were ordered from Nairobi straight to Makaveli Kuku Empire.
Sadly, the empire is collapsing faster than it came up, the wife having refused to sell day old chicks. Apparently, that was the cause of the latest altercation that caused him bruises.
“You can’t stock day old chicks the way you stock eggs in a shop as these creatures are very delicate. Chances are they will die if not well taken care of. Alternatively, rear them yourself to adult chicken,” I advised him.
“The problem is that woman in my house. She only knows how to eat, but hardly brings anything on the table,” he countered almost angrily.
There are limits to mediations, especially on domestic matters, so I threw in the towel.
“Maybe you should shut down the chicken business altogether and open a hardware store. Start selling roofing nails and barbed wire,” I opined lightheartedly.
Makaveli looked at me in the eye and said nothing.
By Pascal Mwandambo
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