Quarry Chronicles: Jack

You’ve managed to get a truck; successfully passed through the weighbridge; driven down to Voi with no incident, it is a great day! Now, the only hurdle that would be remaining was Jack. Jack and his tape measure. We couldn’t take chances with him. We would go to the quarry and insist on getting the right measurements. 6*6. 

Mostly, what people get is never ‘mawe ya six,’ it is something close to it. But our client was categorical.  Anything short (no pun), that would be a donation. The manager (at the quarry) would allow us to get what we wanted because we had been loyal customers. Loaded customers if you may. The only guys who would have three trailers in the quarry at a go. The two boys. We were respected. They would set the machine in a way that we’d get what we wanted and they would give us any extras. No one else wanted them. It was bad for their business.

See, this mawes biashara is a web of deceit. Everyone steals from the other. The boss steals from the quarry owner, the manager steals from the boss, the workers steal form the manager and the clients and mostly, the contractors steal from the clients. But before you get it twisted, we were good people (I would like to believe), Bible wielding Christians. We wanted to do clean business by getting our hands dirty. But not to Jack. He couldn’t trust anybody. Not even himself. He’d take the measurements, then ask, “nimepima poa kweli?”

Jack tall, slender guy with big hands and a very straight face. The no nonsense foreman who would only shake your hand after taking the measurements of the stones. He was so petty that he could measure all the 1200 hundreds pieces if allowed to. He irked me. If there was half an inch off, he would say, ‘sitaki hii mawe.’ I my mind I’d thinking, hii ni mawe sio mkate. Ingekuwa mkate na hutakii hii ya Dj Mo, ungekula supaloaf. Ama natures. We fought all the time. I know to date he still thinks I am an idiot.

Ken-the diplomat- would handle him. When he (Jack) complained, Ken would say something like:

“Boss,hii ni kawaida, hii mawe haijakatwa na kisu ( still throwing light punches) ni msumeno.”

Then Jack would be like, “usiongee mbaya. Mimi nafanya kazi yangu.” From a distance, I’d laugh.

Then he’d say, “toeni, lakini next time mtarudo nazo.”

At that point I would be tempted to tell him, “usijali, tutakuletea mawe saucer tukikam.”

He would never help us offload though. “Hio sio kazi yangu.” And I’d add, “yako ni kupima tu,” just to irk him. It always worked. I wonder how he never dropped stone on my sorry head from the first floor then say sorry.

Jack never smiled. Well, I am exaggerating. But for real though, he looks like the kind of guy who would laugh very hard if you hit your thumb with a hammer when drilling a nail. Or laugh hysterically when you are carrying a stone and it accidentally slips and lands on the small toe. A sadist. You know those guys who wait for you to make a mistake just to tell you, “I told you.”

When he didn’t have is tape measure, Jack was a good guy. You know those guys who people say are very nice people when sober. “I don’t know what alcohol does to him. He is a really nice guy.” Like you didn’t expect alcohol to do something to them. That was jack without his tape measure. He was such cool peeps. Maybe he generally didn’t like the supplies or he simply didn’t like us. Me especially. Ooh, he was very soft spoken. Probably it is my loud mouth he couldn't stand.

Don’t get me wrong. He was (still is) a great professional who knew his work very well. And handled his workers unbelievable well. To be given the project of that magnitude, one must be good at what he does. He was a hard worker. Always the first one on site and mostly the last to leave. I bet he’d even wake up in the middle of the night and think,’hio beam tuliweka ratio poa?” Then he would sleep walk to the site, check out the beams, feel them, then go back to sleep. Smiling. Or laughing. Or cursing Wahinya. He looks like the kinda guy who would laugh at night, alone. Laugh when he crushes a mosquito that had been bothering him the whole night.

When we stayed for long without going to the site, he would be happy to see us. Temporarily. “Nammekaa sana.” He’d say, flashing the dreaded tape measure. Then all over sudden his moods would change. He’d become cold and hostile in a subtle way. To date, I still don’t understand how such a small thing could have such a big impact on a grown man.