In Front of My Own Client”
I was mid-sentence, holding a deal,
gold forming softly in my hands,
a client listening, trusting, leaning in,
numbers turning into something real,
then my phone began to scream.
I let it ring, just for a moment,
because some moments cannot be paused,
but pressure does not like patience,
it climbed through another line,
and reached me anyway.
“Pea Elias simu,” she said,
not a request, not a pause,
just a command thrown across space,
loud enough to ignore context,
loud enough to ignore me.
The phone reached my ear halfway,
but the room had already heard enough,
her voice didn’t knock—it entered,
sharp, careless, fully exposed,
with no respect for where I stood.
“…kazi yenu ni kuzungusha matako…”
Five words, maybe less,
but they carried weight beyond sound,
they stripped effort from my name,
and laid it bare before a stranger,
who had just begun to believe in me.
My client went quiet.
Not loudly, just enough,
that silence started asking questions,
about who I was,
and what I truly knew.
And me,
I stood there, holding nothing now,
not the deal, not the moment,
just the echo of a voice
that wasn’t meant to be public.
Tears lined up behind my eyes,
but discipline stood at the door,
I swallowed everything that burned,
because breaking there
would cost me even more.
So I paused.
Not because I was done,
but because something inside me was shaken,
and even strength needs a second
to gather its own pieces.
I walked away from the deal,
not in defeat, but in weight,
because some wounds don’t bleed outside,
they settle quietly within,
and rearrange your confidence.
But truth, even when painful, speaks:
Respect is not optional.
Silence is not always strength.
And dignity, once tested,
demands a response—
calm, firm, and unshaken.
Tomorrow will come again.
So will voices, and moments like this.
But next time, I will stand differently—
not louder, not harsher,
just no longer invisible.