The work-life balance of Simon Makonde
Simon Makonde feels his body isn't right, but he can't tell his family
Simon Makonde is an ordinary middle-aged Kenyan man. And like all ordinary folks in this bracket, work-life balance is a concept that's alien to this mwananchi wa kawaida.
It's not that Simon Makonde doesn't know the importance of balancing his focus and time between working, family and leisure pursuits; it's just that life and societal pressures pushed his bent back against a wall eons ago. He lost his balance a long time ago. And, by the looks of things, he won't regain it.
This brother's got it twisted. He thinks he's living for his family, but he's working himself to death.
Simon Makonde forces himself to go to work every January, forfeiting his annual leave month. This has been his routine since he joined the job market.
Simon Makonde doesn't take annual leave. He can't afford to. “My family's pleasure is my leisure,” Simon Makonde tells his boss, pawning his leave - and life - to his employer so he can bring in extra income to foot January bills.
Simon Makonde does double shifts every February. His wife wants to feel like other women in the month of love. And he must be the man.
With money from Feb’s double shifts, Simon Makonde gives his wife a Valentine's Day to remember. “My wife's pleasure is my leisure,” he posts on social media.
Simon Makonde crawls into March. He feels his body isn't right, but he can't tell his family. Nope. He doesn't want to distress them. “My stress isn't their problem,” he sighs.
Simon Makonde knows his body is telling him to rest. His body is imploring him to indulge in leisurely pursuits. But he says, “My leisure comes last. A real man puts his family first.”
Come April, Simon Makonde starts a side hustle. Bills are long, and money is short. Besides, there's that 50-by-100 in Kamulu he'd promised his wife he'll buy this year.
Simon Makonde’s birthday falls in May. But he has never celebrated his big day. It has passed unnoticed for so long that it resembles an unmarked grave in a cemetery, which has been turned into a downtrodden footpath.
“My birthday isn't a big deal,” Simon Makonde says, “but I'll give my children anything they want for their birthdays.”
Come June, Simon Makonde is operating on fumes, but he doesn't know. He hasn't been trained to know when his tank is empty. Which is why he keeps pushing the pedal to the metal. And ignoring the obvious signs that he needs help. “Our fathers never needed Men's Mental Health Month, and neither do I,” he boasts. “And why would a man need a whole month to take care of his mental health? That's some massive overtime that will go to waste.”
Simon Makonde has been invited to a July nyama choma get-together by his boys. He wants to attend, but he believes he will be doing his family a great injustice.
“I'll take a rain check,” he excuses himself. “I can't eat nyama choma and have a good time while my family is eating sukuma wiki.”
Every year, for the past 20 years, Simon Makonde dies in August, yet he doesn't know it. Why, because he has the thing which lies to many men that they are living; a pulse. A pulse denotes that a man's alive, whereas purpose shows that a man's living.
Simon Makonde falls in that category of men of whom Benjamin Franklin said “die at 25 and aren't buried until they are 75”.
“I will enjoy my stupendous mansion when I go to heaven,” Simon Makonde retorts whenever that still, small voice counsels him to love himself and live in the moment.
“But it's not a sin to have heaven on earth,” the still, small voice says.
And for the next four months, Simon Makonde is buried. Buried under mounds of bills and debt, whereas he's only a leisure pursuit away from living - really and fully living - as his Creator intended him to.