The sad story of Gikara
One morning, as usual, he drove to the workplace. If something was wrong, like an ominous hanging cloud, he should have read it from the security guard's face as he raised the barricade bar to allow him to pass through. As he walked into his office, where he held the level of a senior officer but not the superior one rank, he could feel a kind of change in the atmosphere. Silent stares from staff. Was something wrong? He was about to find out.
He settled in his swivel chair behind the mahogany desk. There was a letter waiting for him at the desk. He read it three times in total disbelief. His heart racing. Face pale. Breath almost suspended.
He had been fired!
No warning. Not that notice giving him like a month or two weeks notice of intention to terminate his terms of employment. No usual counselling that employees were put through when the sack was on the way. No. He had to clear by end of business day that very day. He tried to call his senior. Extension line was dead. Disconnected.
Now the hard part. Auctioneers came for him. His car and high value movable assets went. Next a piece of land where he intended to build his retirement home was gone. He changed addresses, and moved to his aged parents rural home from the posh address of an upmarket estate where he lived.
He remembered John, a successful investor in academia. John was known as Wamakothi on basis he runs a TVET with branches spread all over the country like tentacles from a hydra head. He asked for a job as he figured ways to find a financial footing. Wamakothi couldn't believe a friend was begging him a job. Wamakothi did what he loves to do when such characters sounding desperate tries to reach him, he blocked him! Wamakothi is known for a preference of female employees than males. His staff comprises almost ninety percent females.
Wamakothi called Kamau, a friend who is in real estate and fondly known as Wamigunda. He asked him if they could meet at Jezebel Lounge that evening as he, Wamakothi, had important matter to discuss. They did met, and Gikara was the "matter" of their topic.
The pair was the unofficial financial officers discussing Gikara. Each time they'd meet their friend Gikara was always the topic. How he was not wise to have invested in this or that field. How he was not wise to have bought blue chip companies stocks. How he was not wise to have seen employment is slavery and began own business while still employed.
But in their hypocrisy they didn't realize not everyone is cut for business.
They watched as Gikara sunk into depression. The man who used to drink the finest whiskey in high end pubs was reduced to selling personal items and taking chang'aa at village shebeens or second generation liquors in backstreet pubs.
But they never would reach out to him in his hour of need.
They saw his family crumble and Gikara reduced to the level of destitution. The once potbellied man with looks of a business executive was reduced to a walking skeleton.
Then Gikara breathed his last one night. Alcohol poisoning.
Wamakothi and Wamigunda were the first to drive in their respective, expensive fuel guzzlers, to his home to condole with his folks. They appointed themselves the official funeral organizing committee members in honour of their departed friend. They managed to fundraise hundreds of thousands for his decent sendoff, and were more outspoken than the bereaved on his passing. They literally wailed by his graveside.
What many did not know was Gikara was unfairly sacked and there was an active court case challenging his former employer at labour court where he was demanding millions in compensation. Rumours had it he was unfairly targeted by his senior because he was eyeing the same female employee the senior had vested interest in.
But Gikara's story is a moral lesson to us all. When you hit rock bottom and reach out to your friends, that's when it'll hit you that you don't have real friends. Their true colours manifests at such a time.
And this is not a TBT story!
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