You are reading a newspaper, or cutting your ugly toe nails, basically minding your own business on a very jaded Saturday afternoon, right? Suddenly a dark shadow is cast over you, like an ominous cumulus cloud. You look up and your woman is standing there and she asks, “Who is Carole?”
The first thing that pops into your head is, Is that Carol with an “e” or without? One look at her and you know she isn’t there for comic relief. From her posture and gait you are sure she doesn’t mean your cousin Carol. You are also quite sure she isn’t asking because a certain Carol sent her a friend request on Facebook and the only friend she has in common with her is poor you. She is asking because she knows Carol, which basically marks the end of the world. For you, not Carol.
And there is a way women stand that signals an impending fight depending on how you respond. Hell, it never really matters how you respond. When she decides there is going to be a fight, there is going to be a fight. She will stand with her feet slightly apart, sometimes her arms are crossed over chest, or held akimbo or holding their phone, breast-level, as if the phone is Exhibit P-56B. Then the eyes, patient eyes, as if they know exactly how you will respond. Tragically, half the time they do.
But this isn’t even the worst danger sign, the worst sign is when she asks you this question then actually takes a seat across from you! Oh that’s bad. That’s very bad. Bad because when she sits it means she has decided to make time for your bullshit and a woman who has decided to make time for your bullshit is a dangerous woman. It is not safe.
And right at that moment you realise that there is no right or wrong answer to her question. There is only her answer, the one she knows. But because we are men, regardless of whether we are guilty or not, we were built with the exact same factory setting answer to that question: “Who?” we will mumble in bewilderment. Another chick’s name is brought into our space and all of a sudden our hearing is bad, so bad we need hearing aid. I think we need to unlearn this, maybe the next generation – our sons – will find it in them to answer the “Who is Carole?” question with a bit more class and intellect.
And the dhing is, sometimes your woman will ask you a very innocent question because she is testing you but one that will make you look instantly guilty no matter how innocent you are. It’s how they ask it. It’s a form of art. But women just don’t ask random questions. Never. Every question is connected to something and you might not find out the connection that instance but maybe three months down the road she will ask the exact same question and you had better give the same answer, Romeo. And they have mustered the art of interrogation, perhaps borrowed from Heinrich “Gestapo” Mueller: The unblinking eye contact, the slight crooked smirk, that half-bored look that says, I won’t believe anything you say, but please, proceed to humor me with your answer.
At this point you will give yourself a pep talk. You will tell yourself; “OK, control your breathing and your heartbeat damn it! Stop breathing hard for crissake! Take shallow breaths, feed your heart with oxygen because your brain needs it. Don’t blink. I repeat, don’t blink! Act casual, or even bored, no sudden movements. Don’t touch your face! Relax. She can smell fear, they can all smell fear.”
So you will make the second mistake of the day, you will ask dumbly again, “which Carol?” And instead of repeating her question loudly for everybody in the kangaroo court to hear, she will ask even more calmly this time, which is a lot worse; “ How many Carols do you know?” Now you are on the ropes. When you mention the right Carol you will say the words that will definitely seal your fate. “She’s just a friend.”
By the way, the “just” in that statement is always an admission of guilt even if she is just your friend. One of our ancestors overused it and now it’s in a wasteland of guilt, only used by the careless and the brave. We should never use “just” before a noun. It has a defeatist connotation. “I’m just a writer.” “I’m just a designer.” “I’m just a twitter big wig.” It means you have resigned yourself to a fate you didn’t choose. In all the history of admission of guilt there is no bigger phrase than “She’s just a friend.”
The thing with women is that when she stands before you to ask about another woman it’s not that she wants to know because she already knows. Women live by the same code that lawyers live by; never ask a witness a question you don’t know the answer to. So when she is asking about Carol, she knows Carol’s full names, how they appear on her national ID, she knows where she works and how much she earns and even when she is due for a raise. She knows Carol’s best friend’s name and the cost of the weave she wears on her head, she knows where Carol lives and whether or not she has a pet. She even knows her pet’s name and when it’s due for a jab. If Carol wears corsets, she knows where she buys them from, and at what bloody discount. She probably befriended Carol on Facebook and follows her stealthy the way a mountain leopard stalks her prey. Maybe she even chats with Carol, who thinks she is just a pleasant lady who sells women’s shoes and jeans. The scariest thing is that she knows Carol better than you will ever know Carol. So when she is asking you about Carol, believe me, your goose has been cooking for a while now! Which means we will never win this war. We are doomed. Forever.
At this point there are two roads she will take; if you give her an answer and she just says, “hmm,” and walks away, that is much much worse than if she gives you a dress down. When they walk away with a “hmm” you don’t know what she will do next. Who she will kill next. Maybe she’s slowly scouting for a place where she will hide your charred bones. Her silence will haunt you. When a door bangs you will jump. You will have nightmares. It will drive you insane!
But since we are men and we are generally foolish, when we are interrogated and we are somewhat guilty we will act up and throw our toys from the pram. You will put down your newspaper dramatically and ask, “Where is this coming from? Is this one of your fantasies again? Are you going to ruin my afternoon by putting me on the spot? When will I sit down quietly in this house and just read one line of a newspaper? ONE line! Why do you behave like this Emily? Eh? Why do I feel like I have to answer everything like I’m in some fuckin’ prison? What is this? Are you tired of me? Do you want to leave me? Is that it? Do you want a perfect guy who reads verses and rescues homeless cats? Am I not enough? You know what,” then here you toss aside your newspaper in full dramatic fashion, ”I’m done with this shit. I can’t deal with this level of negativity anymore!” Then you walk out in a huff and she watches you calmly and right then a brilliant idea occurs to her how she will dispose of your body.
You know, if I’m in the middle of something such as writing and the Missus walked up to me and suddenly asked, “Who is Tamms?” I swear I would look up and blurt the first thing that comes to my head; “She’s just a friend.”
So when my phone rang some weeks back and because Steve Jobs felt like we iPhone users wouldn’t want to know who our True Callers are, I didn’t know who was calling. So I pick and this voice says, “This is sijui-akianinga’wa from KCB and I’m calling on behalf of the Credit Reference Bureau.”
I froze.
That, right there, is the financial equivalent of, “Who is Carol?” I panicked even though I’m not servicing any bank loan neither have I defaulted on any loan ever, so why would the CRB be calling me? I felt cornered. Guilty. My immediate thought was that maybe they had confused me with Steve Biko – the finance blogger, Soko Analyst. Maybe Steve Biko owes the bank money and he had skipped town and is on the run and KCB and CRB are on his tail and they thought we are related and that I might know where he’s hiding. I was so ready to go all Judas on Biko, I was ready to tell them, “Biko? Oh, he’s just a friend.”
This guy on the phone was all proper, talking like all bankers talk; with no humour in their voice. Did you know you can tell when someone is smiling while talking on the phone? I never get that with bankers, they never talk with a smile in their voice. Even social calls from banker friends. Such gloomy conversations. I wonder what happens behind closed doors of banks. Someone should investigate what they do to those poor people in there.
So this guy asks, “Do you have a KCB Mpesa Account?
“I don’t bank with KCB,” I tell him a little more defensively than I intended to.
“You don’t have to,” he retorted, “just dial *844# and you get access loans up to 1million – “
Then I started thinking, is this one of those annoying calls from guys from banks always telling you that they have this “exciting” product that might interest you and then when you realise they are trying to sell you a loan you feel like you have wasted 2mins of your life that you will NEVER get back? But because he had mentioned the Credit Reference Bureau, I just didn’t want to blow him off because the CRB doesn’t take shit from anyone. CRB is the Godfather. When CRB calls you stay on the phone.
But what is this about? I asked.
This is about some people who have defaulted on M-PESA Loans.
Uhm, OK and?
Yes, and we want you to send that message to them.
Who’s them? How?
Them, yes, guys on your blog.
Pause.
Guys on my blog owe KCB money? I’m confused.
Maybe. Maybe not. But some of them do and some of them might in future.
Oh. So this call is about business, and I’m not in trouble with CRB?
No. You are not in trouble. Not that we know of, anyway. Do you owe anybody money?
Yes, Sande.
Who? Anyway, that doesn’t count.
Pause
What is that? I ask.
What is what?
That sound? Are you calling me from….the sound of water, are you in the kitchen, is that a waterfall?
There is no sound of water here, Jackson.
It’s Biko, thank you. No, really, I hear running water.
I’m calling you from my desk. Why would I be calling you from the kitchen or a waterfall?! (Uuu, touchy)
Anyway, so you want to tell the guys who read my blog who may or may not have taken loans with you that CRB will be on them?
Yes.
What if they think you are just scaring them with dead snakes?
Oh, trust me CRB doesn’t do dead snakes.
If I say no, will you guys falsify my credit history and put my name in the CRB?
Haha. No. We aren’t about that.
OK, fine, but it will cost you.
That’s OK, we are Kenya Commercial Bank, I’m sure we can pay for this.
With little fanfare: here is what CRB and KCB wants you to know. You know how you take a loose 5K loan on KCB Mpesa to push you until end month? Or you take 10,000 and you don’t pay within 90 days because you think, what are they going to do, come to your office? Or you have defaulted on your bank loans for three months? They will give CRB your details and for the next 5-years you will not be able to take a loan at ANY financial institution; Sacco, microfinance, whatever. Nada. Well, I suppose you can borrow from a loose shylock….but that’s your business.
You have a HELB loan you haven’t paid in 90 days? Your name is probably at CRB now. You forgot about that 2K KCB Mpesa loan you took 4-months ago to fuel the car? If your name is at CRB now nobody will give you a loan in this country as a result because they all fear CRB. People owing as little as 10 bob, yes, 10 bloody shillings, have been transferred to CRB and they will have you on their black list for five years and you will pee blood before any institution gives you a loan. I understand that even some embassies now get statements from CRB on request and your VISA might be denied because of that. Hell even employers are now requesting that statement on top of certificate of good conduct. It can only end badly.
In short, forget KRA, CRB is the giant rising and they are coming for you and KCB is saying, “Just pay your loans, guys, not matter how small.”