Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

Max Lobe

very good business relationships with them. There was never any fault in my conduct, not towards him, not towards anyone in this admittedly dodgy business with its illegally imported merchandise. I never refused to do any task he gave me. Because I wasn’t just his rep, but also his man Friday. Mwána, could you pick my son up from school? Mwána, could pick up my suit from the dry cleaner? Mwána, could you do this or that? Even, Mwána, don’t you have any beautiful girls you could introduce me to? Then he’d stroke his belly, bigger even than that a woman about to give birth: you know a man can’t eat rice everyday, right? I was loyal and dependable. But he didn’t hesitate to give me the boot. I begged him. I had no choice: it was my bread and butter. With this job, I could pay my tuition, support myself and even send a little gombo to Monga Míngá, my mother, back in Bantuland. Mr. Nkamba paid me off the books and I didn’t contribute anything in taxes either. That was part of our deal. That way all the fresh gombo I earned went straight into my pocket, into my stomach and, recently, into my Ruedi ’s stomach as well. There’s no point insisting, Mr. Nkamba had said, stroking himself with his fat fingers heavy with gold rings. No compassion. Without saying goodbye, I left

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