Bondo bets

Inside a smoky rural kitchen, Bondo sits frozen in guilt, his mother’s tears still echoing behind the door she left through. The jiko burns low, but the shame burns deeper.

“Lakini kwanini Bondo? Niki?” she says as she wipes her tears with black stained leso. Mama Bondo now stands up and pushes her way through the stack-falling kitchen-hut door. Left behind is Bondo, whose tears are almost crying. Not because of the irritating smoke from the jiko but the guilt he is feeling. Then a heavy flashback hits him.

Bondo is happy standing in front of his stained mirror while tightening the top button of his un-ironed rainbow shirt. He sees and hears her mother is humming outside in their compound while wiping plastic seats. “We Bondo harakisha wageni karibu wanafika,” says his mother. Cling! Bondo’s smartphone rings a notification. There is a big match between Manchester United and Arsenal. The betting app is giving offer odds.

Bondo smiles. “Hii naekelea kichwa niko na pake leo,” he says as he wears his clerks. Bondo is an addict of betting. Actually, the expensive clerks he is wearing were bought using betting money. Bondo dropped out of campus in second year due to “lack” of school fees. Actually, not really—he used school fees in betting and his mom would not afford to keep him in school without money.

Bondo is now leading a fundraising for his school fees to return to university. And not just his former local university but a university sponsorship to the USA to continue with his studies.

The village has come together. Tents borrowed from the local chief line the dusty yard. Plastic chairs are arranged in rows, most of them faded and cracked. There’s a cooking team, loud music, and an MC with a megaphone announcing that Bondo’s future is hanging on their generosity.

Mama Bondo walks among the guests, humbly serving porridge in a large blue thermos. She wears a tired smile. Her son’s dream is her dream.

Later that night, the donations are counted.

"Tulipata laki mbili na kumi na tatu," the treasurer announces.

Mama Bondo cries quietly. That’s enough for the travel documents and deposit. Her boy is going to America. Or so she thinks.

But Bondo’s hands shake as he stares at the balance on his betting app: KSh 213,000. All the funds.

The next match is offering x20 odds. He tells himself, "If I win, I’ll multiply it and pay for more than just fees. Even Mama can get a better house."

He clicks.

He loses.

The silence that follows feels like a black hole. He stares at the zero on the screen. Tries refreshing. Nothing. He throws the phone. Picks it. Refreshes again. Nothing.

Mama Bondo enters the room later that evening with a folded envelope from the embassy.

"Ulifill forms?"

Bondo can't speak. He just nods slowly.

She notices his eyes. His silence. The heaviness.

She places the envelope on the table. Walks out slowly.

Weeks pass.

The village starts asking. "Mbona hatukusikia kuhusu visa ya Bondo?"

Rumors start. Some say the embassy rejected him. Others whisper something worse. Mama Bondo doesn’t speak. She just gets thinner.

One evening, she finally asks him, again, quietly, "Lakini kwanini Bondo? Niki?"

Bondo can't answer. He wants to say it's addiction. That it's guilt. That it's shame. But his throat tightens. He can't speak. Not with the same mouth that lied.

And every time he sees his mother pass by with her worn-out leso and cracked slippers, he hears the echo of her question.

"Lakini kwanini Bondo? Niki?"

LESSON:

Dreams can grow wings, but greed clips them before they fly.

Guilt is heavier than poverty.

Sometimes, it's not the system that breaks us, it's the choices we make in silence.

And sometimes, the people we hurt the most... are the ones who believed in us the deepest.

Don't be a Bondo.