My revered car might be useful only as scrap metal

When I bought my car — the shiny, state of the art wine red Nissan Unny — I was buying it for myself, to help me and my little lovely family move around easily and conveniently.

We just wanted to say farewell to Route 11. And, if opportunities arose, like they did in December, why not, I would make some money transporting those in need.

At no point was buying to sell it my intention. In fact, when Ali — at the time he was repairing it — asked to buy it at a fairly good price, I turned down the offer. As many of you my know, the car developed problems and has been grounded at home since early January — awaiting when I finish paying the multiple loans I have so that I can take another loan to resuscitate it.

SELL THE CAR

When I heard that two people were looking to buy the car I refused to meet them, until I spoke to two people about it.

“Why don’t you want to sell the car?” wondered Saphire. “If the price is good, take it immediately. Uchumi ni mbaya sana,” he added. Saphire clearly wanted me to sell so that we can drink the money. I spoke to Pius, an expert on cars.

“The more it continues to be grounded the more things get spoilt,” he said. He was right, as I have lost count of the parts that Branton removed from the car to go play with.

“Some of my rich friends are car dealers. They buy cars cheaply, repair them, and then sell for a profit. It’s good business,” Saphire revealed. On hearing this, I felt convinced that perhaps it would be a good idea to sell the car and make some quick money. After all, even maintaining the car was already a difficult thing.

“Also remember that there are people who just love old cars like that one of yours. They will pay anything just to own the car. They call them vintage cars,” said Pius.

CONTACTS

I asked Ali to get me the contacts of the people who were interested in the car. A day later, he gave me contacts of one of them.

“Ulichelewa bro, pesa niliweka kwa gari ingine,” he said when I called him. His name was Kimani. “Lakini nikipata pesa nitakupigia.” I told him that I would be waiting for his call. He then asked me how much I wanted for the car.

I was tongue-tied for I did not expect such a question. I asked for some time to think about it. Truth be told, I did not know. I asked Ali how much I should sell the car for.

“Kama gari inatembea unaweza piga bei upate pesa mzuri,” he said. “Lakini hio yako sasa ni mkebe.” He had a point, but I had no money to repair the car to sell it at a better price. In the meantime, Kimani kept calling me, asking me if I had made a decision.

We both agreed that he needs to come see the car first. He picked me from school last Monday. He was driving an old, rickety, small lorry written Canter. With him were two boys. All of them were wearing, dirty aprons that had seen better days.

TAKING NOTES

Once home, I open the car for him. He had this big black book and he spent some time with the car taking notes. He was so engrossed you would think there would be an examination.

After what seemed like an eternity he said. “Good, nimeona mali. Sio Mbaya. How much?” he asked me. I told him that I wanted to dispose it for Sh260,000.

He laughed so loudly, I could not understand. If you remember, I had paid Sh 120,000 for the car, (although Bensouda still dreams that I will add her more money), and spent another Sh40,000 repairing it. I was just asking for a modest profit of Sh100,000.

“Wacha jokes,” he said. “Gari inatembea?” he asked me. I told him it needed just a little money to repair it.

“Kimani, hii ni chuma ya zamani sio plastics zenye watu hanunua siku hizi,” I said.

JOKES

He seemed not convinced, so I asked him to name his price. “Nimeona mali na nimefanya hesabu yangu,” he started. “Ukinifinya sana, nitakupea Sh25,000.”

I could not believe my ears. This was less than 10 per cent of my first price. I also told him to ‘wacha jokes.’

“I am not joking,” he said in good English. “Hapa ni mabati tu nitauza, vitu zingine zote hazina kazi,” he said. I asked him why anyone would by such a car to go sell the mabati.

“Ali hakukuambia?” he asked.

“Mimi ni mtu wa scrap; haja yangu ni mabati na chuma kidogo.”

“Hata kama ni mabati, it can’t be Sh25,000,” I said.

“Kubali Sh26,500 nikupee saa hii vijana wabomoe hii mkebe tubebe leo,” he said, getting into his pocket and showing me a wad of notes. I had not touched even Sh1,500 in a long time so that was very tempting, but I said no. He asked his boys to enter his lorry and came near me and held my hands.

“You have lost an opportunity to make money. In three months you will pay me to come and clear the scrap from your compound,” he said. He entered the lorry, and then drove off. He left me in deep thought. I am considering giving him for Sh40,000, counting my losses and moving on with life. What do you think?