The pain and frustration that is moving house

Illustration | Joseph NGARI

What you need to know:

  • My husband declares there and then that unless an agent actually operates from a recognised house agency, we will never contract him or give him a cent. And when we do, it will not be in the tune of half the rent.

There are two groups of people whose jobs should either be declared illegal or get a proper job description after being vetted by the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission.

Touts and house agents. My experience with these two has been nothing but sour through and through, especially, the latter.

I know times are tough and any job that puts food on the table is acceptable, but when the jobs are more of an avenue to swindle people of their hard-earned money than make an honest living, something needs to be done.

I encountered the worst house agents when my husband and I moved to Mombasa recently. Moving is hectic.

There is little joy in packing up your entire house in a box, then transporting it to the other side of the country. Sitting down to unpack it can bring you close to tears. The last thing you need, therefore, is someone adding to that pain and stress by swindling you.

Anyway, after getting there, we find that the house we had booked is not as good as we had thought and, even worse, it is far from the highway. We need one nearer the road, so we start to look. With our belongings still in the car, we start house hunting at 5.30pm. We must get a house or sleep in a thousand-star-hotel — under the moon in the fields, that is.

A helpful woman goes out of her way to connect us to a “house owner”, who declares he has a suitable house for us. We happily get our stuff inside. When we are finished, the real landlord comes in. Since it is late, he says we can pay the following day. But the other “house owner” declares that we have to pay him his money there and then.

We look at him askance and he nonchalantly announces, “You are giving me half the rent. I’m the house agent!”

You should have seen my eyes pop. Then he stands there without blinking. My mind thinks a million things. But the one that comes to mind first is the lovely Ann Njeri, who walked in the heat of the coastal sun to get us this house and deserves that money.

The following day, I find him at a restaurant eating chicken and painfully remember the unearned money we gave him the previous day.

My husband declares there and then that unless an agent actually operates from a recognised house agency, we will never contract him or give him a cent. And when we do, it will not be in the tune of half the rent.

And then some of the touts here!. I am convinced that all they do is sindikiza jua (help the sun to set). So far, we have counted over 100 young men in their maroon uniforms, who sit by the roadside waiting for a turn to go for a trip with one of the matatus. And that is in one neighbourhood only.

If these young men engaged in more productive businesses, they would make much more than they do sitting all day waiting for one trip that will make them just Sh50. And then when the cameras roll, all we will hear is, “tunaomba serikali iingilie kati” (we ask the government to do something about our miserable lives).

In the same neighbourhood, there is a physically disabled man who makes beautiful seats using reeds. They are outstanding and in our budget.

As we create jobs, let us ensure we create those that encourage us to use our heads. As my good friend, Ayub Mwangi, once told me, empty pockets cannot pull you down, but an empty head will.