There was a theory among the notes in Kenya, no note knew how it had started, no note knew if it was true, and no note had ever confirmed it for sure. But note FK3584670, or Tim as he preferred to be called, was on a mission to prove it. Word on the street was that any note that made it back to the Mint, would forever be immortalized in a secret hall somewhere underground. Tim hoped to live long enough and grow old enough to find out if it was true.
His mission was not going as planned. He had been in Monica’s purse for 12 hours now. She probably forgot all about him and would only re-discover him when her green purse was back in rotation. He had been with her long enough to know that it would be a while before this was the case. Monica had about 200 purses. She wasn’t rich, on the contrary. She just had a problem. If Tim could talk, he would have suggested therapy.
Two more hours passed. Tim was growing tired of counting. He sighed, the millionth sigh since he got into this purse. He would be here forever. He was giving up. Before all his hope was lost, the purse was grabbed. He was jolted fully awake, awaiting his new fate. It appeared Monica was broke and had been rampaging through her purses looking for money. She found Tim and her eyes lit up. She quickly stuffed the note in the pocket and ran to the shop located on the ground floor of her apartment building. She bought bread and two eggs, getting back a 20 bob coin for change. The note, Tim, was finally in the possession of a Shopkeeper. It was now 8 pm.
The shopkeeper spoke loudly to the men standing outside his shop smoking menthol flavored cigarettes. Smokers were amusing, especially when they chose to flavor their poison as if it would kill them any less if they did so. However, Tim wasn’t one to judge. He sat patiently waiting for his next owner. A young boy came in with a 500 bob, asking to buy some goods. He got his goods and was owed 300 shillings in changed. The shopkeeper was happy to oblige, all the while still speaking loudly about women and younger men. He was passionate about the subject. Tim gathered his wife or someone he had loved had left him for someone younger. Now that Tim was out of the shopkeepers money-box, he could see that the man had browned teeth. His hands were rough, this made Tim happy.
He was quickly passed to the boy who crumpled him and shoved him in his right pocket before running off. He met a few friends, fellow boys, on his way and stopped to talk about what they were having for supper. The boy was excited. He was going to be having chapatti while his friend, Mike would be having Githeri. The rest of the boys would be having Ugali. It was the boy’s turn to brag. Amidst the laughter, he remembered the time and that his mother would be waiting, picked up a rock, threw it back to the ground, said goodbye to his friends and ran home.
The boy’s mother was waiting at the door for him. He was dragged in with a pinch of the ears and yelled at for taking too long at the shops at such an hour. Apologies were made quickly and as soon as his ear was free, he ran to the kitchen demanding a chapati as payment for his journey. One was served to him on a plate by the nanny who then quickly kicked him out of the kitchen, her territory.
“Leta change Boyi.” His mother yelled from her bedroom. He took out the crumpled notes with his left hand seeing as his right was busy and took them to his mother. She smoothed them before putting them in her wallet.
This day had been slow for Tim. He had not been used nearly enough to make a big enough dent. However, he was one day closer to the Mint and his dream retirement. He sat quietly in the wallet with the rest of the notes and hoped that tomorrow would be busier.