I have once before talked briefly about the cornerstone of Kenyan industry, the bedrock on which the giants on whose backs we climb upon to see far stand on — morning tea.
The NARC Government fondly imagines itself to be the engine behind the Kenyan industry. Those beefy gentlemen and ladies will doubtlessly be upset to learn that they are taking credit from where it is due — a certain leaf actively cultivated and harvested in the Kenyan highlands.
People for some reason just cannot seem to break out the sweat of honest toil without a mug of some liquid of indeterminate colour steaming at their elbow. Sugar, milk and even water are optional, but tea leaves must, I repeat MUST be present. Unconfirmed rumours circulating the office have attributed to a senior manager an incident where said manager was seen to be chewing meditatively with an empty tea bag torn open on said manager’s desk. The unconvincing explanation, coupled with the expression of sheer guilt cast the matter in stone.
Many of my colleagues for instance, communicate in gruff, abrupt grunts early in the morning (“morning” officially begins after tea is served). They shuffle forward absently, look at their neighbours balefully and are more tightly strung than the belt that keeps the presidential trousers in position. The particularly gifted in the linguistics department confine themselves to two or three monosyllabic grunts as a response to anything, ranging from “good morning” to “so, this weather we’re having.”
Even particularly humorous anecdotes fail to evoke laughter. An occupant of a distant office, upon being told of a particularly humorous tale that reduced the teller to tears, was heard to respond with an abrupt “LOL”.
The 15 minutes to 9 appear to be the most trying. Computer keyboards can be heard rattling audibly, leaving you to ponder what it is that is being typed: you know for a fact that the men from Kenya Power disconnected the power half an hour ago and the generator key is in your right front trouser pocket. One member of the team, infamous for his reluctance to use words with more than two syllables, is reduced to assorted growls and facial expressions. The facial expressions in particular have an informal pool in the office as to whether or not they can stand in the way of the siring of his progeny.
By a combination of good fortune and Machiavellian stratagems, I happen to inhabit a corner office that directly adjoins the kitchen. In fact there is a window that opens directly into the kitchen, through which I can hail the good lady that dispenses this valuable elixir. This window has and will continue to be used to its maximum potential — establishing Stephen Hawkins’ truth as to the shortest distance between two points.
It also allows me to observe strategies verging on the Napoleonic.
You fill find a chap saunter into the kitchen, drop a biro and spend the next half an hour looking for it and 5 seconds picking it up. It may help to note that on a linear time scale time T1, time when tea is served and time T2, time after which biro is picked up differ by the said 5 seconds.
You will also find another chap whose skills in matters culinary put him in the rare percentile of individuals who when tasked to boil water, manage to burn it. When asked to butter bread and sugar the tea end up teaing the butter and breading the sugar. These are the fellows who very chivalrously volunteer to help the good lady dispense the tea. Burns, scalds and scars never seam to dampen their enthusiasm.
I’m reminded of a chap who reasoned he could juggle the tasks of scaling the steps and chewing the gum, and arrived in the kitchen equipped with biro behind the ear and laptop computer. My pet theory that man is on earth for the entertainment of those in heaven enjoying eternity gained that much more credence that day. IBM Thinkpads may be XP compatible, 2000 compatible and 2003 compatible, but they most certainly are NOT H2O compatible. I also learned that hard drives are powerless against soft margarine.
Management too need their fix. Nothing galvanizes the work force more than the well known engine notes of the vehicle that delivers the MD to his people. One particularly slow employee flung himself onto a desk and begun typing industriously before gravity and the grim, look from the man that paid his salary (who had not had his morning tea) forced him to realize that
- He may have found a chair but the chair had no desk
- If there was no desk there was unlikely to be a computer
- Without a computer, or indeed any device of any kind, the value of typing was questionable
But inevitably the tea is delivered into grateful hands. Both of them. Everyone else has not time for Job and his ideas of patience. Mohammed moves to the mountain and the bewildered tea lady is gently but firmly relieved of her tray bearing mugs of tea even before she leaves the kitchen. Those of us old enough to remember footage of one Daniel Arap Moi helping out with building gabions will understand how those mugs rapidly pass from hand to hand.
The effects of the tea are almost instantaneous. Our colleague who hitherto has been communicating with grunts and scowls now peppers his speech with words like onomatopoeia and refers to his token salary as the ‘ product of a decidedly conservative fiscal policy’.
“Good mornings” that has been hitherto responded to with hostile glares are warmly returned. Hands are clasped in a comradely atmosphere and inquiries into the health of the wife and the baby are exchanged.
Sons of toil shout with good natured amusement on realizing that power has been gone for the last half hour and therefore all their typing has been in vain.
People have been known to snap out of a semi-comatose state and state with wonder that their last recollection was laying their weary heads on their pillows and are surprised and amazed to find themselves in the office kitchen.
Hair that has hitherto been wildly spiky relaxes and mellows (except mine).
Brothers and sisters hail themselves with cheer and enthusiasm, and as power is reconnected, another day of industry proceeds.
AOB
The tribulations of my man Archer should be a lesson to all. There are yahoos everywhere. KBW, needless to say, is *not* an exception. Watch thyself!
Puff Johnson – Yearning
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