MR SURVIVOR: How I used Hustler Fund to revive Queen’s Slopes Supermarket
Kenyan currency.
Although I was still planning and budgeting to revive Queen’s Slopes Supermarket, and I told you as much, the events of last Sunday at Happy Valley made me hasten the process.
When Queen failed to find me with my pants down with Makena, as her informers and my enemies of marital bliss had told her, Queen suspended me to marital Siberia. That was a way of cutting any communication between us about the embarrassing incident.
‘Buying myself’ back to Queen’s wifely fold required that I buy sufficient redeemable bonga points to use to bargain for the lifting of the suspension. You see, Queen is used to blackmailing me into fulfilling her wishes, both realistic and unrealistic. And as our people aptly put it, an elephant is never tired of carrying its own trunk.
When I was still contemplating how to top up one of my numerous loans in various micro-finance banks, our magnanimous president launched the Hustler Fund, and it immediately went online. And just by pressing buttons on my phone, and in the comfort of my office—the Concorde’s driver’s seat at Happy Valley taxi bay—I instantly became a few thousand shillings richer.
You should have seen me walk and talk like a Kenyan governor. As is the manly thing to do, I had to thank the ancestors for the good tidings. I sat at my reserved corner at Happy Valley, and in the company and help of my gullet’s favourite desires, I planned how to better utilise the hustler’s loan. As they say, failing to plan is planning to fail.
After an hour of meditation and supplication to the ancestors, I was properly advised and ready to go.
To better bring the supermarket back to life and make it self-sustaining, the bottom up Rutoconomics model was the way to go. This means stocking the smallest quantity and cheapest quality that are affordable to the mama mboga and boda boda customers who are the majority in Happy Valley.
Before the coming of bottom up, it was called kadogo economy, but the word kadogo is not only insulting but poverty inviting.
From Happy Valley, I drove straight to Aberdare Wholesalers. Although I thought that I would surprise the management by my huge shopping thereby earning a discount, I was shocked to learn that the stock would only take Concorde a maximum of two trips while commercially packed. But I had to make an impression. I packed the stock economy class and that turned to four trips.
To maximise on impression, I surprised Queen with a text message, a rare medium of communication which we only use during either extreme cases of annoyance or marital happiness. “Hi dear, open our supermarket. I am landing in a while.” Unfortunately, instead of surprising her, she surprised me in two ways.
One, was the fact that she was near her phone, which is rare to her, and the reply was prompt. The second, and more touching, was the content of the message. “My supermarket! Waiting,” she wrote.
I ignored her cold reply and concentrated on what had to be done. And because Makena had not around and Omosh could not risk facing Queen, I had to do the offloading with the assistance of the future leaders.
Although Queen did not come anywhere near the supermarket, I found the items properly arranged in shelves on every consequent delivery. “Where is mum? I asked the boys. “Ako kwanyumba,” said the boys in unison. “Alikuwa hapa lakini akiona gari yako anaenda kwa nyumba,”said the first born, the family critic.
“Atarudi hapa tu ukienda,” said the second born, the family Ombudsman.
“Anatuchungulia kutoka kwa dirisha,” said the last born, the family joker.
After the last trip, I gave the boys a packet of biscuits each for the job well done. I then told them the job was over. After a whole long hour, I received a message from Queen. “Umejaribu lakiniungenunua mattresses, clothes, shoes, juice and Christmas cards. They go fast in December.”
Well, I did not reply. I know my Queen better. The words thank you do not exist in her stock of vocabularies reserved for me.
Anyway, thanks to the Hustler Fund, Slopes Supermarket has reopened its doors. With that, I have managed to turn Queen’s huge energy into a socially and economically acceptable activity. She now has neither the time nor energy to disrupt peace loving World Cup fanatics at Happy Valley. And most importantly, in spite of the cold SMS, Queen’s heart was very warm. I was immediately pardoned of all my sins of omission and commission, real and imagined, and reinstated to marital bliss.
And that, good people, is how I bought my peace at the Palace. Long live hustlers’ loan, long live chief hustler. Amen!
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