Paul’s Routine

It’s something I have done so many times that I no longer think about it. I just do it. I wake up at 6:00 am in the morning in the same two-bedroom apartment in Valley Arcade, next to my wife. I am the first one to get out of bed, leaving her fast asleep. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth with the same electric toothbrush, shower with the same soap, and change into the same clothes.

I proceed to my home office and go through the contracts that will be getting signed today. When I am done, I know I will find my wife has woken up and prepared our two kids for school. They jump into my old Prado, and we’re off. I think of turning on the radio, asking them how school is, or if they have done their homework, but today won’t be the day I break routine. We drive in silence until we get to the Preparatory. I only see their backs as they drag their oversized bags on their shoulders and disappear through the gate.

On my way to work, I will stop at Astrol Petrol Station. I will have the usual at Java: tea, two eggs, and two slices of bread. I have ordered this combination so many times that I no longer remember the taste, nor have I noticed that the waiter no longer asks what I will have; she just places my meal on the table, 5 minutes after I arrive. If she were to place a cup of water and something that resembles eggs and bread, I doubt I would know the difference.

After breakfast, I get into my Prado and remove my nametag from the glove compartment and fix it on my shirt. ‘Paul,’ it reads. As I do, Timo waves at me with his entire dental formula out in the open for the world to see. Timo washes my car in the evening after it collects dust from all the construction sites I have to visit. Timo is still waving with his dental formula out, and I am giving him a blank stare while waving back. I only notice I have a blank stare when I glance at my face in my rearview mirror.

I never know exactly what I will get from Timo, this going against routine, makes me nervous as I put the key into the ignition and drive out of Astrol Petrol Station at 11:00 am. I breathe a sigh of relief as the distance between us increases and I approach a recently completed apartment block in Kilimani, which our agency is handling.

Today I am handing over the keys to a first-time homeowner. It’s a big moment for her, but for me it’s just something to get done. The client is a tall, petite lady. She’s bubbly and animated as she goes on and on about how her kids will enjoy the playroom and how she will enjoy cooking all sorts of cuisines in the big kitchen, and how she can’t wait to invite her boyfriend over on weekends so they can smoke a joint on the expansive balcony. I don’t know what she sees on my face because she quickly adds that her kids are usually with their grandparents on the weekends.

I am staring at the mirror in one of the bedrooms, and all I see is a blank face with the name tag Paul. “A full-length mirror? Paul, you’ve outdone yourself,” she’s saying, standing behind me while eating one of the complimentary bananas I provide for house viewings. I look into her jovial eyes through the mirror, and I see flashes of yellow that remind me of my days on campus, those days when I felt I could do and be anything before reality sank in and before I had to become an adult. I snap out of it quickly and mumble a thank you.

After she is done signing the paperwork. I drive into the next assignment of the day, showing potential clients completed and semi-completed houses.

“Look at the views, you can’t beat those views at that price in this location.”

“Everything you need is in the building, from a gym, pool, to a supermarket…”

“This is one of the safest neighborhoods in the country…”

I regurgitate the same script to the couple that is expecting a child, the father who is looking for an apartment for her daughter, and the Nigerians who are having Visa problems and have to be here for another 6 months.

It’s 3:00 pm when I am done. I find myself back at Java Astrol as Timo washes my old Prado. 5 minutes after I sit down, the waitress places a meal of rice and beef on my table. I begin chewing and swallowing it, and before long, my spoon is scraping the plate. Timo is showing me his whole dental formula when I approach my car, and he is asking me how the kids are doing. He knows about my kids because of that one time when we didn’t get the memo that the Preparatory was on break, and I had to drive around with them for the day. “Same as always,” I say as I pay him.

I get back in the Prado, remove my tag, put it back in the glove compartment, and drive towards the Preparatory to get the kids. Even though they are walking towards me, I largely see their bags, which seem heavier than they did in the morning. It’s 5:00 pm. The traffic is usually horrible at this time, and today is no different. I look in the rearview mirror, those kids are in no mood to talk, we sit in silence in the slow-moving traffic until we arrive at the house, at the same time, we always arrive. 6:00 pm.

My wife has cooked a meal of rice and beef, or is it ugali and beans? I am not sure, though I have cleared my plate. We never talk at the dining table, nor do we talk in bed, but today I just can’t shake off what I saw in the mirror with the tall, petite client. “Beth, I saw flashes of colour while showing a client a house,” I tell my wife after she tucks in the kids and gets to her side of the bed. She looks at me, annoyed for bringing up a conversation in the bedroom, then furrows her brow as if I have lost my mind. “Paul, the world is colorless,” she says matter-of-factly before pulling the blankets and showing me her back.

It’s 6:00 am in the morning, and it’s the same routine. Before we leave, I pluck a banana from the bunch of bananas in the basket on the kitchen counter and show it to my kids.

“What color is this?” I whisper.

“Colorless,” they say in unison, without second thought.

It’s 11:00 am, and I am leaving Java Astrol, but before I do, I get a banana and call Timo, who approaches with his entire dental formula out for the world to see. Before I even ask, he says, “That’s a bright yellow banana you’ve got there.”

“No, it’s not yellow, it’s colorless.” I roar, throw the banana in the dustbin, and drive off, leaving him with the same blank stare I wear.

I have to live in the reality of things and be an adult, I think, as I drive to my assignments of the day, where I will mindlessly repeat my routine.

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This is me trying to sneak back in here as quietly as possible so I don’t stir up questions or raise eyebrows. Take a sneak peek of the blog every other Wednesday and you might just find a new read.

Salut!