The perils of Unemployment…

By Judy Waguma

He sat there, staring blankly at me. And I felt embarrassed. He still got his job. Age for age, responsibility for responsibility - the job was the only difference between us. But it was a big difference.

In a way I really missed my desk? It was comfortable. It had been part of me for so many years. It had brought in money - just enough - to keep things going. But now it was over. Chapter closed. I was on the scrap heap. Dumped.

Did I care? For a while I cared a lot, yes, then less. To be honest, I accepted the job that day he was willing to pay my bills. I say again, it was responsibility for responsibility. How then was my baby going to eat?

But, once out in the fresh air, somehow it just didn't seem to matter any more. The world seemed full of possibilities; unexplained, undecided and only just round the corner. The country air felt fresh in my lungs, the sun beamed down and my whole body tingled with anticipation.

I had not felt so good for years. In a weird way, I accepted my fate; I was going to have a man I barely knew fend for me. He said I was pretty, worth Gold and much more, if only I accepted his offer.

The heavy satchel on my unfit shoulders seemed light as a feather. I felt like I was in the movie, ‘Lady in red’, how else could I explain it. Last night I was eating in a dumpster, I was unemployed for heavens sake.

Today I was listening to songs from hidden birds in the hedgerow crowded by the country air, lifting me up, leading me on.

Just a small country lane - but for me it held the promise of new and better futures. Each stride pushed memories of bitter setbacks into the past and brought with it the promise of a few pennies in earnings.

"So what is it my rose bud, will you take my offer?" I froze, scared, but there in his hands was a bundle of very new notes, enticing me, making me salivate.

For one minute there, I appreciated having a job, and missed my old workstation. That very moment, I wanted to shout to everyone who has a paying job to be grateful, I felt like I was selling my soul to the devil.

He was my rich Uncle, my father’s brother, giving me an offer, to be his mistress.

His voice was low with a musical lilt, a trace of Ireland or Wales.

Completely embarrassed, I felt like a youngster caught pilfering. His look was quizzical, inquiring. But his demeanor was certain, like he knew he was torturing me.


And I looked on….thinking….wanting, was it worth it??
Ends