5:30 a.m. I let out a groan as I turned around in bed to switch off the annoying bedside alarm. Monday mornings were definitely not my favourite. Stretching and still a bit disoriented, I took a look around the tiny bedsitter I lived in.
I’d been thinking about moving out for a long time, but the construction job I worked left me with no option other than to deal with my stern-faced, middle-aged landlady, Mama Shiro.
After paying rent, sending some money back home, getting food supplies for the month and buying one or two drinks at the local den, Jonte’s, I was often left with nothing from my measly salary.
But while imbibing at Jonte’s that Sunday night, I had stumbled upon a solution that could see me finally leave my bedsitter for a luxury apartment. Light at the end of the tunnel, as they say.
My co-worker Denno, telling one of his winding stories as he always does when drinking, had lamented how his plumber uncle hadn’t even invited them for a house-warming party after winning himself a luxury apartment.
“He didn’t even register anywhere. He was just texted that you’ve won a serviced apartment. It’s unbelievable.
“This guy bana, it’s like he has forgotten we were eating chapati and beans together in Kangemi last week,” Denno had jokingly noted.
I was intrigued. You mean that there was a way for me to leave my bedsitter and not have to deal with avoiding Mama Shiro every end of the month?
Denno’s uncle had been awarded the apartment for making transactions on Lipa na M-Pesa, my colleague had revealed.
Determined not to be left out, I took the Ksh7,500 I had standing between me and poverty out of my mattress ‘ATM’ as I walked out of the house to start my day. I headed straight to the neighbourhood shop to deposit the money in my M-Pesa account.
The aroma of chapatis being flipped quickly on the pan hit me as I went to have breakfast at a ‘local restaurant’. Chemu, the waitress, saw me walk in and immediately approached me, smiling. “The usual?” she asked.
“Yes. By the way mko na till? (By the way do you have a till number?)” I posed in response.
Without uttering a word, she pointed above my head. I turned and saw a sign branded Lipa na M-Pesa along with a Buy Goods till number.
I’d taken time to do my research and established that every Ksh100 I paid via Lipa na M-Pesa’s Buy Goods or Pay Bill option would earn me a point, with each point considered an entry into the draw to win an apartment.
After breakfast, I was off to work, supervising a small group of workers constructing a new apartment block.
On my break, I remembered I was supposed to pay the initial deposit on a fridge I wanted to get for my mother. I hopped on an online shopping website and used the Buy Goods option on my phone to send the money before I got back to work, impatiently waiting for my shift to end so I could head to Jonte’s with Denno.
A few hours later, I was at my favourite watering hole. I ordered two beers, one for me and another for Denno. Surprised, Denno turned to me laughing, “What has gotten into you? Leo unaniitishia ya kwanza (Today you’re buying me the first one?)” I simply laughed and asked Jonte for the till number as we sat at the counter.
A few minutes later, I felt my phone aggressively vibrate in my pocket. That must be my new house calling, I thought to myself, smiling.
