JUMP

From the top of the building I looked down. It was a Friday, the one day of the week when I avoided Lusaka’s Central Business District because of all the congestion but it was the month end, I had payments to collect and books to balance.

7^th floor, Room 12, Findeco House. The text read. Mrs Moonga, our first grade teacher told us that Findeco House was the tallest building in Zambia.  Twenty years later and it still is. It has some rust here and there, the upholstery probably hasn’t been changed since it was opened in 1974 but it is there and the elevator still works well enough to take people as far up as its 23^rd floor. I looked up at the ominous building and walked in.  There were many people lined up waiting their turn on the elevator, just looking at them exhausted me.

I don’t know which voice told me to avoid the queue and take the stairs instead. By the time I reached the 7^th floor I was gasping and my calves were on fire. I went straight to room 12 and knocked, I thought I heard someone say come in and I turned the knob and walked in.

“Eh! Who told you to come in?!” The woman said, pointing an accusatory finger at me, the very same finger that felt the quality of my fabrics and got them on credit. “This is the problem with you sales people, once we get your products you lose respect. Go outside and wait for me there.”

As I walked out I could hear her shrill voice telling her office mates all the grievances she had about sales people. When I first brought my fabrics and designs to her, I was a fashion designer, month end had arrived and I was somehow transformed to a sales person. Shame choked me and I stood in the hallway, feeling more aimless than I looked. I didn’t deserve it. People who finished school at the same time as I did with bad grades were relaxing in their air conditioned offices and there I was, sweating into my shirt. She was as right as she was wrong. Starting my own business had transformed me into a delivery person, marketer, sales person, graphic designer, telemarketer and anything else I needed to be to keep the vision alive. I had worn many hats, played many roles but the one thing I was and always will be is a dreamer. 

I found a spot near a large window that faced the city and looked down. Hundreds of people were buzzing in all directions. The sight was reminiscent of ants on a lump of sugar, invading it, breaking it apart and transporting it; each ant with its own capacity and destination. I spotted an albino man, a blind lady emptying her begging can into her purse and a curvy woman whose sandal strap snapped immediately my eyes met her. I imagined that they all had lives, lovers, challenges and aspirations that gave them a reason to wake up and move every single day. Town isn’t luxurious, nobody was walking around because they liked it; they were walking around because of purpose. Purpose was the only thing keeping me from jumping out of the window. What is ironic is that every day felt like I was jumping out of an airplane with no exact idea what would be awaiting my descent.

‘An entrepreneur is a person who jumps out of a plane and builds a parachute on the way down.’  That is what they say about my kind. Maybe it is true, maybe it is not, maybe entrepreneurs are still building the definition for what we are.

“Err... Come in.” The woman’s voice is really shrill, it manages to cut through my reverie and I walk towards it like I am in a trance. At this point I am ready for anything that she will say.

“Here you go.” She says as she hands me crisp notes. “The women at the brunch were jealous of my outfit, I have added an extra hundred for the exact dress in pink.”

“Thank you for your business.”