Everybody in Mombasa, where he was born and raised, calls him Jack Bin. Bin, meaning son of. They always knew him as a Muslim. He went to the mosque, fasted and did what the faith required. But his parents didn’t like it, so eventually he returned to the Anglican faith. 

He always wanted to be a teacher and a businessman, even while working at the Port of Mombasa. When he was laid off, his wife, who lived in Nairobi, summoned him. 

“She didn’t tell me there was a job waiting for me.” 

He took the night bus and arrived at first light. Before he could take a bath, his wife told him, “Look, I didn’t want to tell you earlier but you have to report to a job this morning.” 

He looked at her. 

The job was as a security guard at Securex. He didn’t want to be a security guard. “Just until you get something that you like,” she convinced him. He agreed. But in his mind, three months was the absolute limit. 

It’s been five years. 

“It’s not that bad. It has grown on me,” he admits. 

He has a farm in his village of Alego, where he farms with his mother and intends, one day, to move back and farm full-time. 

Meanwhile, life has happened. He has had two children since that bus ride from Mombasa. He has shaved off his beard and big hair. He can’t wear his hats at work, but the moment he knocks off, he puts one on. He has ten. 

And when he walks through his old neighbourhood in Mombasa, his friends still call out, “Jack Bin!” 

Only he isn’t quite the same Jack Bin anymore. He has no beard. And he is Anglican. And a farmer.