Some security guards take off their uniform before they get home. Not because it’s dirty. But because they don’t want the neighbours to know they’re security guards. 

He shakes his head at that. “I’m proud of this job.” There is no shame in honest work, he says. Shame, however, is working for years and believing this is all you’ll ever be. “I don’t see being a guard as something I am but something I have to do to get to another station in life.” 

He credits Securex’s former Chief Trainer, Daniel Kinyanjui, with planting that seed. “He told us on the first day that we don’t have to spend the rest of our lives being guards. We can become more.” And to be more, he does more. After his shift ends at 6:30pm, he goes home. To freshen up, maybe have some tea.  

By seven he’s at the Mlolongo weighbridge where trailer drivers know him by name. He knows them, too. They buy socks. Towels. Small things they need before getting back on the road. The profit isn’t dramatic. But it’s enough to stop him dipping into his savings whenever the month develops unexpected appetites. It’s the difference between borrowing from shylocks and sleeping peacefully. He rather likes his sleep uninterrupted.  

“I used to struggle paying bills before. Now I don’t. This little money I make selling these merchandise goes a long way in taking care of the small bills around the house.” 

By ten he’s back home to be a husband again. And a father. His three children are eight, four and two. The next morning he’ll put the uniform back on and go be a guard before he can be what he wants to be. 

One day he’d like to study criminology. He is working and saving and he will also sell a cow in the village. For now the salary keeps the lights on. The socks make sure they stay on.