The day I received my termination letter started off like any other. Hot and humid, and boring as F… as usual. Nothing in the normal-ish breakfast of watered-down, black-as-coal tea coupled with a not-so-delicious and dry as hell “Andazi” prepared me for this thing that has, in more ways than one, drastically changed the direction my life was headed.

There I was, at my workstation. Perusing through customer profiles, absent-mindedly willing my nine-hour shift to end as fast as Usain Bolt’s vanishing act in the 100 meters. When a brown envelope, apparently sent to my branch manager from the HR department at the head office in Nairobi, Kenya, landed on my desk. The first sentence read… “As originally stated in your appointment letter, dated June 1, 2017. This letter is to notify you that your role in the position of Customer care intern, will end effective May 31, 2018, and will not be renewed…”

I will spare you the rest of the gory, heart wrenching, soul-grinding, butt-squeezing, suffocating details. I read the rest of the letter in a resigned, I-frigging-hate-this-like-Trump-hates-china kind of way and knew then and there, in the deepest crevices of my heart that my life would never be the same again. I had zero savings, massive debts and an unstainable lifestyle, all of which depended on my salary, without which I was remorselessly fucked. In the truest definition of the word.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, my job as a customer service representative in one of Kenya’s leading retail enterprise ended in that not-so-romantic way. I hightailed it out of there and was literally thrown out to the dogs. And believe me when I tell you, being without a job, and in debt, in a town far away from home, in a society that doesn’t give a rat’s ass is something you don’t want to find out about. I lived like a church mouse…the ultimate church mouse… Indeed I lived like a homeless church mouse whose friends just bullied and threw out of the church.

I had no rent money, no food money, and no money for any number of a hundred needs and wants money is needed and wanted for. And because of this, I did any number of jobs that I could wrestle out of mother fates cold-dead-gnarly uncaring hands. Everything from freelance writing to writing for second-rate peanut paying content mills that have so many rules for registration you would think you are applying for a UN job. In the end, after 4 months of hunger and anger and depression. I received a call from a friend saying he wanted to hook me up with a job.

Turns out the job was Insurance, so yes. I just started out my career as an insurance agent. A whole new jungle of struggle and challenge. One which I have chosen to embrace and cling to like a dying man in a frigging ocean. My life is at a crossroads… my life will never be the same again. Not ever.

And if I manage to crack this insurance gig, most people don’t think I can, in fact, most of my friends and family, my mother included, think I’m demented to even take the job, that’s how tough the insurance market in Kenya is… but if I crack this gig… well, then, maybe, just maybe for once in my life I will be truly free.

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