CHAPTER 5
Osman
Mama takes me to the workshop on the first day. It’s not a tidy place, just a small yard, I guess about 40 paces long by 20 paces wide, that is if you could find a straight path to pace it out. It’s packed tight with private cars, taxis, pickups and tro-tros. I count them: forty-five four-wheelers and a motorbike. There is an old blue Land Rover with a white roof and a Peugeot “one pound, one pound,” but most of the vehicles are Japanese. One Honda has four flat tires and looks like an abandoned orphan. Maybe the owner brought it for repair and found the estimate beyond his means. One of the yellow taxis has the words “Dirty Enviness” painted on the dirty back window. I wonder what made the owner choose that name.
Master Zarifou hasn’t come to work yet, but his senior ap
