Nazret city was as windy as always. Being in the Rift Valley, it was not many metres above sea-level and as such the sun literally roasted anyone who ventured its streets from noon till it set, and it seemed to take a year before it set. The heat from the sun made sure that the soil was almost always dry and this, coupled with the wind, made Nazret one of the dustiest towns in Ethiopia. Ironically, people here had never developed the habit of using caps or umbrellas like you might notice in other hot cities of the world. Two teachers walked down Sellasie Street window shopping at every shop. That was mostly what they afforded, not the real thing. Shopkeepers were used to their habit. They always walked down that street at around four o'clock going back home from work. They briefly paused at a government shop and since none of them had a bed at home, they admired all the “cheap” beds on sale. In their minds they desired that should they one day “strike gold”, they would buy the biggest beds in that shop. Striking gold was a term they had developed after their daily habit or prospecting for new jobs at a government noticeboard. They got out of the shop. No one said a thing. They were single and poorly paid. They walked on toward their area of prospecting. It was an area that had come to stick to their minds like a bad habit. It made each of them sick should they have gone home without checking the noticeboard for some new jobs. It was like each and every one of us. If we had developed such a habit, it was there to stay. And surprising is the fact that the day you miss that habit is always the day you feel that you missed something.
The noticeboard was government owned, like almost every other facility in this beautiful city. As is usual with government property, it was neglected and tired with years of use. Initially, it had steel poles for support and it had a shade around it. Now the poles were wooden and the iron sheets that provided the shade had been looted by some scrap metal dealers, a lucrative business in the third world. It was like the sale of gold in Africa in particular and it ensured that any metallic public facility and road sign was at danger. Pins of all kinds had been stuck on it and in some places they had made holes so big you could stick your finger in them if you had a mind to. Old glue could be seen where it had literally refused to let the paper go. Old notices and adverts were sometimes not removed. Instead, new ones were stuck on them and you had to be careful not to read the wrong item for a certain job. Paul and Seif never minded the age and neglect of this board. Provided it provided motivation through job adverts, then it served its purpose.
Paul was the first to notice.
“Hey, look! They need 'a private tutor at three to four, preferably female for the student is female. . .'”
Seif looked with as much eagerness and disgust as he could balance the two on his sunburnt face. He was disgusted that he was not qualified because of the fact that he was male. Paul looked at him and saw the disgust.
“Wouldn't you like part timing?”
“Why wouldn't I? It says that the candidate should be female.”
“No, it doesn't. You must've skipped your English classes. It says preferably. Preferably, Seif, means that though they prefer a female tutor, they might as well get you. . . ”
“I know what it means. Thanks. I just don't like the way it sounds. They probably think you'll impregnate their little girl if you're male, like that's all males think about. Hey, look at this other one!”
It was a job advertisement from the very school they were teaching. A teacher of Biology was needed. They skimmed through it and saw how much their employer was offering that Biology teacher. Both Paul and Seif were English teachers. Being a private school, your power of negotiation meant how much you earned. It also meant that teachers were paid different salaries. The Biology teacher was being offered double what they earned.
“I can't believe this. He's hiring a teacher at double what he gives us. Why doesn't he use that money to retain me because truthfully I'll leave if I get paid a penny more in some other school.”
That was Seif almost getting emotional. He meant every word he had said. Paul jumped in:
“That's what teachers of English get here. Since English is not a science they believe that you don't need much to earn a degree in it. Now, if you'd done Math or any science you should've been able to make all you could. People still have the mentality that the sciences are more important than the arts. Help us God.”
Other people at the noticeboard now all had their eyes on the board and their ears on these two. Teachers, whenever they speak, people listen. May be it is the philosophy with which they argue that makes them stand out from the crowd. The people at this noticeboard were obviously jobless or bored out of their jobs and they desperately wanted out of the mess they were in and so listening to a little drama was entertaining to them.
“Did you know that those who do the most are the ones who get the least? Look at these people who work in offices for instance. They sit and fart in their seats all day and get a whole heap of money at the end of the month. Meanwhile, those of us who make them who they are – the teachers – earn peanuts. I just don't understand!” Seif blurted out.
The bystanders could not resist laughing at the argument that people in offices just sat and broke wind. Though they said all they said, and though they said it almost every day, they kept their eyes glued to the noticeboard. They did not take their eyes off until all areas, from top right to bottom left were carefully scanned. After noticing that the noticeboard was not providing them with any relief, the two teachers parted ways and planned for the following day. Another day at the noticeboard that provided solace to these poorly paid teachers was gone.
By Kimani wa Mumbi
Note: This story is entirely fictional although characters and the setting in its entirety is not. It was inspired by a real situation.
