There came a point when jobs were very scarce. In fact, there were none at all for my impoverished neighbor. He maintained the core musculature of hard labor, but he became eerily thin. Bones protruding in the wrong places. Cheeks retracting their puffiness. I felt sorry for him. We had grown up together after all. But, like the rest of the village, he did his best to stay away from my family and me.

Rumors were abound about my mother and the mysterious circumstances of my father’s death. These rumors were perpetuated by the fact that a funeral service was never held for the body. This being a particular directive from my father himself when he was still alive. That fact mattered little though. His immediate family labelled us a coven of witches who deserved to die. The breaking of age old traditions. My mother refusing to budge regardless of threats and intimidations from my uncles. Uncles who, by the way, proclaimed everlasting love, protection and loyalty once upon a time. All reversed in a single moment. Nobody, relative or otherwise, has ever come to our house since then. And there is apparently an unwritten rule to not walk past our gates after dark.

But I’m not fazed. I walk where and when as I please. Shop where I please. If I need something I will go and request it from whomever. I mostly get denied but there are people who are still willing to socialize with me. Albeit on a very limited “Hello. How can I help you? Goodbye” basis. But like I said, I am not fazed. I get around these annoyances without ever giving my enemies the satisfaction of allowing them to believe I require their affections at any point in this life or the next. To hell with them all.

Shuma was never my enemy. He didn’t speak so I wouldn’t know if he was anyway. He stopped speaking years ago. It was a gradual process. He devolved from making incoherent speech, to speaking just a few words at a time. Then to grunts, groans and deep throated mumbling. Eventually he just used body language with a short hum here and there.

I decided to pay him a visit one day since he wasn’t going to pay me one during my lifetime. I entered his yard and found him sitting on the porch. Staring lengthily at something in the magazine he was holding. It was probably the dinner recipe section. I looked at his forlorn figure with sadness in my heart. His surprised eyes darted away as soon as they made contact with mine. “Long time,” I said breaking the ice. He turned the page in his magazine. “I’ve been watching you. You’re not getting any more jobs. For quite some time now. I think I can help.” He turned another page as I squatted down to his level. “I think we can be friends again. Not that we ever became enemies. But I think we should, you know, be close again. If you remember.” I tried to express my words with hand gestures as best I could. Involuntarily mind you. “It would not be brotherly of me to stand by and watch you suffer. Let people use you and demean you the way they do. I also know that you hear what everybody else hears. The fact that you’ve avoided me for so long means you’ve taken what you’ve heard to heart. That’s a real shame if you ask me. In my opinion, you wouldn’t be in the situation you’re in if we had never drifted apart.”

He began swaying his knees in tandem. Still ‘reading’ his magazine. “I want to offer you a job. I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry. Even when you’re not working you’ll always be taken care of. And other benefits on top.” He looked up at me. His eyes were pleading on his mouths behalf. “Come tomorrow morning and we can discuss things further. See if you can handle the assignment.” He was looking at me without looking. Like holding a chicken bone to a puppy’s nose but pulling away when it thinks its about to take a bite. So it pretends it won’t but you already know it will if you turn the other way. My old friend even forgot to turn the pages in his magazine.

“There is a condition though and it’s very important,” I continued. “Once you start you cannot work for anyone else. You’ll find out why as time goes on. So make sure you are free and available at all times.” I could hear his stomach growl during the entire conversation. I just didn’t pay attention until that moment. I knew the deal was sealed. He just tried to hide his joy as best he could. His stomach gave him away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said. Putting a little more authority into my voice. I stood up, patted his shoulder, then turned and walked out the gate. Down the dusty village road. Continued further still towards the cemetery by the villages end. Then some more. Through the heavy stubborn bush overlooked by the great mountain Badimo Ba Lla.

Now if I were to describe Shuma, I would say he was pretty much a by the book weirdo. Extended staring, awkward presence, never smiling, recluse. But he had an extraordinary work ethic. His physical attributes, prior to the involuntary hunger strike, consist of a dark skin tone. Squared off natural muscles with rounded edges. Wire like hair with a bushy consistency. Sandpaper hands. Almost chubby cheekbones. Bloodshot eyes and crusty lips. His lack of speech left him susceptible to unscrupulous ‘employees’. To the point that his humanity was disregarded for the chance to acquire maximum labor for minimal, if any, pay. That’s if food can be considered pay. I’m pretty sure he must have felt good about the arrangement I offered. Knowing he’s not going hungry anymore. Even on his off days. Staying in a proper house with a family. We were going to rekindle our friendship just like the old days. When we were still innocent minded. Before rumors and slander got into his head.