Daring to dream. Who doesn’t? That you will be the next big thing- the lady or lad to change ‎the world. To win a Nobel Peace Prize in the camera lights and have everyone wish to say, ‎‎“He is my friend,” or, “She was my classmate.” The question we all have is; how do we get ‎there? It is one most never find an answer to. Only the chosen few, I being among them. I had ‎everything in place. All plans analysed, and no stone left unturned. All at the age of 18. Can ‎you imagine? Having graduated from high school, the world was waiting for me with open ‎arms. I was the hero it needed.‎

For a long time, the children’s orphanage near our home sparked my interest. How did they ‎live? What mattered was that it would be made better. I’m a hero, remember? Walking into ‎the small compound on a warm Sunday afternoon, I met a few girls seated together on the ‎grass, enjoying the sunshine. They quickly directed me to the matron’s office. She was ‎momentarily absent, so the only option was to wait in the makeshift library as she was called ‎to see the Samaritan visitor. It seemed to be a boardroom of sorts, with chairs arranged ‎around the oval wooden table. The perfect place to hold a meeting with a serious ‎philanthropist as he explained what he had to offer. Don’t be fooled, however. It was only a ‎small room with little space to navigate. The books were stacked along one wall. They were ‎old and dilapidated. My pursuit of literature had heightened the last few weeks, but these ‎looked nothing like my piece of cake.

‎ Without wasting time, I gave my side of the story. I was from the neighbourhood and had ‎always wanted to know how I could help orphans but my schooling schedule hadn’t allowed ‎me to do so. That would no longer be the case as I now had plenty of time. The matron, ‎Mama Njeri, was short, stout and had a loving face with the potential to turn violent if ‎someone misbehaved—an African mother. She asked me a few questions to unearth my ‎background to ensure I wasn’t a wolf masquerading in sheep’s skin. No biggie. I had nothing ‎to hide after all. I was insistent that I was ready to help the institution in any way required, yet ‎I gave a caveat that having an opportunity to work with and talk to the young boys and girls ‎was a priority. Helping them with their schoolwork was also not far-fetched. I won her trust ‎and soon had the boys called in for introductions.‎

Kim, Joseph, John, Sam and Kevin didn’t seem excited to see me, just like the girls earlier. ‎They seemed to speak their own language and reluctantly at that. To hold their discussions ‎amidst my presence. To wait for this stranger to go so they could return to their everyday life. ‎It wasn’t their choice to be here. They’d been forced to. I understood. I’d have felt no ‎different. Who is this so eager to help but has never gone through the same? Who lives in the ‎comfort of his parent’s home down the road? Who isn’t prevented from leaving his compound ‎fearing for his safety? Who doesn’t depend on well-wishers to feed him? ‎

Kim, John and Joseph never knew their parents. Kevin’s father brought him here when he ‎could no longer sustain him, while Sam came alone when he realised his grandmother was ‎struggling too. So how could I assist? They wanted a ball since their last had burst in the ‎fence. They wanted to aid in Chemistry because their results weren’t good. I could always ‎pass by on holidays like this one. Or could I? Could I, a mere form four leaver, afford to buy ‎them a new ball every time one burst to pieces? Could I take them through a topic I never ‎understood, a subject I hated? It was then that it dawned on me.

‎ The reason they had all been so indifferent towards me. They had seen many like myself. ‎Many brought nothing but fine speeches about what they could be rather than supplying ‎support to get them there.‎

My father is a rich man. Once we ate some pork at a restaurant, but the serving was clearly ‎manipulated. Our visual weighing scales could see the amount was not what we were used to, ‎despite being charged the usual amount. State Capture is what it was. My father, wealth ‎notwithstanding, didn’t shy from speaking out. Nevertheless, the bill still had to be paid. He ‎therefore unleashed a waft of notes. The auditor-general got to work. On logarithmic notation, ‎she said x was missing. But y? The man is so philanthropic, he normally cashes in then lets ‎waiters count how much the menu owes him. Whether they keep change or not is none of his ‎business. It’s up to their generosity. Unfortunately, on this occasion, the Mathematics wasn’t ‎adding up.

I was due to return to school the next day so my faculties were sharp. Substitution method ‎quickly did it. X equaled sixty shillings. Something small for the chief, you’d think. Guess what? ‎Wrong! The agitation on his face was clear. The wallet was invoked once more. With a click of ‎the tongue, he threw out a one hundred-shilling note on the counter. Just as I began to think the ‎ordeal was over, another hundred-shilling note was dropped.

‎‘Take even that!’ He clicked again.

It was shocking. Who knew what was next? My nerves kicked in. What if an uppercut came ‎next? Luckily for my worries, he had no more tricks under his sleeve. I followed him gracefully ‎as he walked out rather calmly for a person who would have whipped Hitler seconds earlier. My ‎body filled with awe and humour threatened to burst through my being. Yet even the sound of a ‎laugh would have been too daring in the pursuit to avoid being the imaginary victim I was fearing ‎for. A smile would suffice. Yes! I wanted to stand on the hilltops and shout for the whole world ‎to hear:

That is my father! The Conqueror of Exchequer! He who knows no price and weighs pork with ‎his eyes! Engage him if you dare! And I am his son.

What is a hustler? I am a dynasty. Son of man who feels no heat, even as economies reel. One ‎can’t help but wonder. What if it was fate? That The Big Man Upstairs was sending a message? ‎That He was trying to deliver justice? That the waft minus x was the true cost? For how could a ‎man ever accurate go wrong on one random occasion? For cheap hospitality? And I concluded ‎either answer was true. Yes, it was a signal. So coincidental. When he gives in abundance he ‎receives in abundance, but when he receives less he gives more?

But no! X had no role to play. It was a small sum to pay. There was something beyond that: why ‎the serving was less. Why y did not balance with x. Why an engineer with 25 years’ experience ‎had to rethink his algebra and solve never to return to the restaurant again. For the sake of ‎argument, I cared to consider whether the plates were too big or our stomachs inflated since the ‎last time we ate there. Maybe the owner was squeezing the budget to finance new crockery. Like ‎the plates we ate from. Hmm! Yes. They looked the same as the ones we were used to ‎nonetheless. Perhaps the business was sinking and needed salvaging, hence the pruning of ‎equations. If you had a family and rent to pay, wouldn’t you do the same? Soon I was able to ‎justify to myself why it was unnecessary to reproach the poor lady. Why we got what we ‎deserved.‎

Even so, had we walked off with x, we’d have been crucified and torched on Chania River. ‎Nevertheless, because my father found and sacrificed x, Barabbas and his Meat World live to ‎hound another pound. However, my father was still cast. On the cross at the top of Mt. Artifice.‎

Now close your eyes. Stay silent. Listen. Probe the nothingness. The nothingness that is your ‎conscience. That is malleable and changes to suit your comforts. Like I, I had nothing to lose. He ‎pays fees for me, remember? Conscience that convinces you to avoid confrontation when it is not ‎your burial. That makes you say the rich man should not complain. Though does a note know its ‎owner? Does it not serve all men the same? Even my father has a family and rent to pay.