Diary of an HIV-positive woman (6)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published October 14, 2009

Hi. My name is Jessica but my friends (who are very few) call me Jezzie while my enemies –a constituency of them – call me Jezebel. I am 25 years old and HIV positive. I am a mother of 4 -year –old twins – David (Didi) and Terry (Titi). This is my continuing story.

Week 1

Saturday

My new ‘official’ job responsibility basically entailed being a receptionist, a role I was perfectly able to handle, as well as any other roles that the job may require of me from time to time.

The only small hitch was that I really needed some monetary boost to start off. Thanks to my ‘understanding’ boss, who agreed to a salary advance request amidst a few groans of the notice being too short. I painted Mr Kombo the reality of my situation, and he felt my case deserved consideration.

Just as I had already anticipated, the caretaker, wearing the same clothes for the third day in a row, comes in early morning with five mean and nasty looking goons. I am not sure whether the sweaty stench and tight T-shirts is part of the job. They stink. They scare. They are ugly. Why the shovels, pangas and crow bars? Crude Kenyans!

“I have the money,” I tell the caretaker as I place Kshs.7,000 of crisp notes in his hands. He thanks me profusely and walks away a happy man. A rare Kenyan indeed.“Please wait!” I am feeling ‘sufficiently philanthropic’ to give him Kshs.1,000 extra for himself and then place Kshs.200 in each of the five goons’ hands. The expression on their face is priceless.“Thanks mum!” They at least have the decency to express their gratitude, almost in unison.

I reach the office by 9 a.m. and find Mr Kombo alone. He explains to me that Saturdays is his day to be alone in the office and catch up with the paper work. Paperwork my foot, I mutter under my breath. I like the way Mr Kombo treats me. He seems extremely gentle and patient. He sits there and simply listens. We spend the morning together and share a lot of our past.

He even sends me some guys to help me move houses in the afternoon, insisting that a woman of my ‘class’ deserves a better roof over her head. Who said a woman can’t have it all! My new house is just across the road to Tudor, opposite the Makupa roundabout. Not far from the road and not far from the Kafoca bar, where I can still catch a pint or two. There isn’t much to pack , and the helpers come in handy.

The new house is bigger, a three bedroomed master ensuite. Finally, the kids do not have to share bedrooms with the house girl. Didi is all excited at the new house while Titi is over the moon about her new room.

“We can play football here, yes?” Titi says as she looks at the size of her room. Her bed is dwarfed in the room, and she just marvels at the space. The walls will have to be made a little bit children friendlier, I make a note to myself.

“Don’t you dare!” I jokingly shake my fist at her. It does not take long to set everything in its place, which is not much anyway.

This place needs some real shopping; I make a mental note to that effect as I sink in bed, hoping my tomorrow will be as good as my today!

To be continued.

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