So has an acquaintance of mine, who we will call BB. BB is one of those young Kenyan men with a whole lot of ambition but who for some reason never really get what they want. There are other people who say that what it really is; is that these youths don't really know what they want.

BB had quite a bit of potential, passing his KCPE exams and landing himself a place at the exclusive Alliance High School, yes, then when it was at its zenith. Four years later BB emerged laurels ablaze at the KCSE level. You would think that any parent blessed with such a bright young man for a son would be filled with pride and oh-so-much-joy. But our BB tells me that while his mother jumped with joy, his father just looked on coldly; highlighting half a decade of a frosty relationship.

I don't know why but I listened to him with a bit of my own frostiness. See, while he has a father, who was there albeit coldly, I don't have a father. While all the other kids would look with shining eyes as their mothers and fathers showed up at school functions, I would look hopefully at the gate wondering if my mother a sole parent would get leave from her job as a typist in a busy office to come to my school just this once. Which is better, a cold father or an absent one?

These events in BB's life sparked a rebellious flint in him. Although for a very long time he had talked of studying medicine, he now boldly went off and enlisted in the Army. His father, passionately against violence of any sort did not approve, and so the chasm was widened.

Unfortunately, this mutiny did not end very well for BB. He was discharged while still a cadet for dishonorable behavior that even in this expose is unmentionable. His tail couched between his legs he returned home and begged his mother (he could not face his father), to help him get into university and let him have another chance at making something of his life. Five and a half years after his plaintive plea was answered by a sympathetic mother, BB earned his second-class degree in science; lower second-class.

his strong points

I get mad at this point again. Man, you have an IQ of 138 with a definite partiality for Mathematics and Chemistry! How in the whole wide world do you end up with a lower second-class degree?!! He explains with a sheepish grin that now seriously infuriates me. I thought I could get by without studying.

I walk away in disgust at that. He's throwing it all away with a grin, and I'm wishing I had a mind like his. A mind and half a chance. That is how ugly it makes me feel, Buddy Boy makes me so mad I forget to count my blessings.

I am one of those people who suffer a wild heady idealism. I want to lend a hand, help out with the kids especially, and never mind that I cannot do something for all the children in all the worlds. So it was that I found myself working as a volunteer at a local high school with students who need a whole chunk of remedial tutoring. Yes, its one of those tiny private schools that are part-funded by wealthy philanthropists living in Colchester, Nice, Toledo or some such other place most Kenyans have never heard of. Part-funded, it must be said, for unknown to the exotic patron the other part of the schools funds comes from the children's families, families that are supposedly benefiting from free education. The unKenyan question may be posed here, even though it will have to be rhetorical, where does the donated money go?

So here I am offering my services to this charity as an untrained English teacher. And what do you know? One other person on board this trusty enterprise is the accursed BB. He is not a volunteer like Juliet. He is one of the paid teachers at the school. BB, he hates his job. I think for a whole while he hates me, too. You see, he thinks that because I am a volunteer, I must come from a nice family living on the pretty side of town and cushioned on nice thick wads. I'm not.

I'm just one of those Kenyans who have been out of a job so long that they're willing to work for free at something, anything. I gain a little work experience and save myself going mad sitting at home and waiting for dear mother to come home after a hard day at a stressful low-paying job.

strong to serve?

After a while BB gets to know the truth about me and quickly starts to unload on me the ache of talent, high qualifications and an extended education on the heart of a professional who has been unable to find a niche in the world of scientific and mathematical research. A professional who has had to make do with a teaching job that pays much less than he dreamed he would be making. But this is all before I find out about the second-class lower. I would have been impelled to help him kill a few more brain cells and reduce his intelligence further by bashing his head in. Fortunately for us (I hear the jails are so very bad), I only found out about that a while later.

I tried to be kind to Buddy Boy, maybe I even went a little too far. I introduced him to my dear sweet mother who has since become something of the go-to counselor for the youth of the religious community we both associate with. She talked to him, about his difficult job environment, his sad little romance with a smart girl who felt he was too negative to be any good in her life, his prospects of finding the job he really wanted and so on. Mother would never tell me about their conversations but he was more than happy to share. I was after all sob sister to him and a few other boys. Why, I wonder do these boys come to me, not for dates, but for counsel and a shoulder to cry on. I'm not complaining.

BB recently landed a really good job at a bank. His experience as a teacher may have helped him get the job, but he still had to start low in the ranks. Still it was a great opportunity; he could rise up the ranks and get those rewards he so badly wanted. Then last night, he called and told me he had quit his job. The pressure was too much and he could not envisage himself working with people who did not appreciate him.

Yes, I am furious. So I am still looking for a job, a regular job with an income I can bank on. I would love to have one, to help about the home, to maybe get something for my mother. So it does rankle more than a little.

I don't mean that I am better than BB. It is not either that I think everyone must take everything that comes to them stoically. Still, even the most imperturbable soul will take offense at the culture of incessant complaining and whining, with very little appreciation for the great opportunities that come our way that many of us have chosen to make ours. Even worse a whole lot of people I know, just plain refuse to be positive and work positively at being better people, better Kenyans.

Life is tough. There is very little justice about in this system of things. But even in all the darkness of Kenya, we can unlike other countries, live in a sense of relative peace and stability, we have schools, and most of us have food and a roof above our heads. We can and we must do everything in our power to safeguard that peace, if only to maintain the launch pad from which we have a better chance at making things better. For those of us with a little, we really must remember that there's many who've come from much lower and achieved for themselves the happiness that their earliest, most wishful dreams portended.