When Frank Goes Off Air

For some good time stretch, I have been giving some good thinking about what to wear. This or that shirt with that tie? Or this and that shoe? First impression matters, so I tell myself. I neither want them to look at me and think I am one tobacco tenant or ‘mbwenumbwenu’ from somewhere in the plains of Chitipa nor one ‘molele’ grower or ‘moya’ from the sticky clay soils of the Thyolo escapement. First time impression matters and I have to matter, no matter what!

The morning cracks open and I yawn myself out of bed, quickly freshens up and tries out the best my wardrobe can give. Men are virtually no matchers, so I am thinking and thinking, as I keep changing, trying this and that shirt and that tie and that shoe. I am just being mindful of my friend, Willy’s sarcastic description of those who mix several colours as wearing mbendera za dziko lonse and I don’t want to look like the world’s flags blended into one. No, not me, not now, not at any time, never!

“Nay, not that one,” I tell myself and quickly throw the thoughts to something else.

“If not that, then which one? That plain, white shirt and that pin-striped tie? They have no affinity whatsoever with that jacket. They are munthu ndi apongozi ake.”

You see what a little plenty can be? Confusing and laboring at times!! Ask those with just one of everything, and you’ll entirely agree with me. They are not bothered. How can they when what they wear is all that they have? I try and try and try, again and again and again!

“Boy, how do I look?” I ask in a manner that should remind you of one Eddie Murphy in the movie, Coming to America. Not that I am asking anyone in particular. I am in this mood that I just seem to enjoy asking and answering myself.

Well, after putting my wardrobe to ample test and practicing that smile, grin et cetra, et cetra, I tell myself ‘Frank you’re ready to matter, no matter what’.

I admire the guy in the mirror, his courage and his presentation, and in the language reminiscent of the times of King James, I once again tell myself ‘go thee and let thy presence maketh sense.’
Ask me, you never get this honest and faithful than this day. Never ever and I mean exactly that. Never ever this faithful.

What’s your clock? I roll up my shirt; caress my silver-lined wrist watch to check mine. It ticks 7:30 a.m. Guess what; I have been sitting here patiently for some good 20 minutes; studying the reception and assimilating its receptive feel.

In the world of thoughts, there’s no rule that governs against wandering and wondering. So, there my eyes go, sinking into the Zain branded walls and my spirit squeezes through the concrete to the world of wander. So, there I go, ‘Frank in Wander land’ and as I wander and wander I find myself wondering and marveling at the different messages walls wear and radiate. Oh my, my, walls can make your day, big time. Lying? They would look at you with stuff like…

“Christ is the head of this house …banja ndi awiri, wachitatu ndi…and oh I like this one…imfa siithawika. It’s just another story gone bad just like when Bud Spencer goes West; the branch giving in, the axe falling off, the snake about to share the venomous strike, down the river the croc preparing its hungry jaws for a sumptuous swallow, and the lion by the river eager to beat the croc at the catch. What a description! Death indeed cannot be eluded – just as these reception walls before me.

Oh this Blessings girl, she sounds so reassuring. “I hope you don’t mind waiting until eight. By that time HR people should be in.”

Well, even if I mind there’s nothing else I can do other than to wait – patiently, of course. The little pious angel in me remind of some verse somewhere in the Bible that promises goodies to those who are patient.

Bear with me, folks, I can’t remember exactly what reward the patient will receive but one thing I am certain of is that there’s one on its way for the patient. Like me! I am not joking, just grab your Bible – I think it is written somewhere…er…was it Jesus during his sermon by the mountain or it was King David?

Anyway, one of the two for sure promised to reward the patient. So the patient me is still dug in the reception chair, thinking like an Aristotle’s admirer, and waiting like some faith-filled Christian waiting for the second coming of Christ: the way, the truth and the light.

Eight is fast approaching and true to her word, more and more footsteps are filling up the reception. They are in various types; light and heavy, quick and slow and they blend up for an unknown tune that can only be understood by the music wizards. They pass by, some so courteous enough to ‘good morning’ us. The few I know go that little mile.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of Zain.”

“Oh, finally you’re here, good you’ve come.”

“Hi, Frank, what brings you here?”

With lap top computer bags strapped onto their shoulders and intimating with their waists, they pass by some wearing the ‘hey, I have some deadlines to meet’ look.

Their behaviour does not surprise me at all. Rather, it briefly shoves me into another train of thoughts. Will I be behaving the same way? Passing by this same corridor just like they are doing? Wearing the same ‘hey, I am damn busy’ look?

Could be…yeah, could be. When you’re in Manchester, you do what Sir Alex Ferguson does: chewing bubble gum. When you’re in the Vatican, you do what the Pope does: praying for peace in the West Bank [close to Gaza] and for the flood stricken in the East Bank [in the Shire Valley in Malawi]. Interesting and funny in deed!

And when you’re in Amsterdam’s Red Light District, you do what the Amsterdamers do: wonder why there’s no red light district in Malawi.

And similarly when you’re in Zain, you do what Fayaz, Saulos, Enwell, Bridget and all Zainers do: amass ‘good to great’ motivational articles and wear branded materials every Wednesday and Friday.

And there now is Robert. He walks in, wearing the usual smile he wore when I first met him. He throws his eyes around - with no specific targets of course. One of his throws lands on these two new recruits – Jimmy and I [I am sorry I forgot to tell you I am with Jimmy].
He hi’s us and asks us to follow him to his office, after which he takes us on a tour of Zain offices and the faces that occupy them.

“Oh, your voice sounds the same,” many tell me the obvious. Oh damn you; my voice will not change with my change in position.