#thebestformilesaround

You contract someone to do a job. Its a face to face interview. They’ve been recommended highly, ‘the best for miles around’ you were told. Three days only, you need them. Between 9am to 6pm. You shake hands, the deal is sealed. Work begins tomorrow. Then, “But I need transport money,” they say. Okay.

Day One. They arrive at 9.30am. They’re not carrying any work clothes or equipment. You leave them to go about their work. 45 minutes into their pottering about, you hear a phone ring. “Kale nzija. Muli Kibuli? Muyingire awo ku ka lestolanti nja kusasula.” They are communicating to someone in Kibuli to have something to eat at a restaurant, and that they will clear the bill when they get there.
They then matter-of-factly inform you that they are done with the job for today because they had “only come to check on the magnitude of work they have to deal with, but that they will be here by 8.30am tomorrow.” And before you have time to say “Naye we agreed…”, they have bolted like a dog stealing a bone. Vanished. Melted into thin air.
Of course you’re disappointed but you decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all… they came highly recommended as the ‘best for miles around’.

Day Two. You’re at the site by 8am. It becomes 9am. You go about your work till 10am. (They had actually had the nerve to diss ‘BanaUganda who do not value time!’ on the day when you were signing the deal- said in a Tamale Mirundi - like gritting-of-the-teeth fashion.) The clock ticks its way to 11am. 12pm, the sun is high in the sky. No sign of the ‘highly recommended’ expert, 'the best for miles around'. You decide against calling. You give up, do your stuff and head home. Maybe they ran into a problem, Maybe this. Maybe that. But your doubts are setting in.

Day Three. You have new hope.
But it is the same story. No show. Now, you’re really disappointed. At 6pm, a tiny flicker of “Maybe… just maybe…,” makes you pick up the phone- they could be injured, or sick, or lying in a kidnappers' den somewhere. But you don't want to apply a 'nkweguya' tone. You also check that your mad (read: angry) voice is safely tucked away, then call.
“Ha, nvuga. I’m driving and can’t hear you. Call me later,” they say. And they switch off. But the background was really quiet. Or was it your ears? Anyway, you’re so done.
Three and a half hours later, they call back. On some number, not the Airtel and Airtel they gave you. “Auntie”, they start.
Oh, so now they’re calling you Auntie, and yet on the day of the deal signing it was “Madaamu”. Yeah, you have suddenly become all chummy.
“Yes…”, you’re feeling stern. As stern as Mummy when you would ask for something after you had disobeyed her order to set the table and went out to play instead.
They start the unending greetings. “Gyebale egyeyo.” Thanking you for work.
You say, “Gwe ani?”. Who is speaking please? But you know who it is. Don’t delay the eventualities. Get to the point!
“Munnange Auntie, nafuna omulimu n'abazungu. Naye nzija next week.”
You keep mum, thinking, “Oh, so the bazungus put a gun to your head and forced you to go work for them? And you relegated my work to next week. Work for which you will be paid! What happened to courtesy?” You look out of the window to see if it flew out.
“Auntie,” they start again.
“Wanji.” Yes?
“Nze mbadde ngamba nti I will come…”
“Mpulidde ssebo.” You hope that will stop them in their lying tracks.
“Kati mbadde nsaba ompereze ssente za transport…” They want fare. AGAIN! Before they have even started the job. And they are asking for more money!
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You very quietly put the phone on the table and let the one who came highly recommended, 'the best for miles around', speak to the air.