PART 4 - DIVERT

 A sudden, sharp, squeaking, of the chair, darted into the comfort of my hearing, while squeezed under the desk. The wind was no rival to the gliding and flapping papers that merged with the room's atmosphere, as I heard Nimilani's weight, suffocating the chairs ability to keep anything balanced as well as the sudden drop on the desk, followed by his huge plunge of despair. I swiveled out of my squeezed position, like a soldier out of the trenches, searching to see if the trouble had ended. The flip of my eyelids, went as fast as the cleaning of windshield wipers, when I stretched out my legs to get a look at Nimilani. "Nim...Ni..." I stuttered as I got close to the ruffled up papers and scatter of pens. Nimilani, calmly, lifted his neck, as though, the weight of his head, had, become a building itself. The despair, oozed out like a honey from a beehive, pouring down its surface, as his eyes, were swollen, as the belly of a well fed hippo. "Ahh, aah... Mmmh... Arrgghh!" A sudden burst of anger from Nimilani, exploded the peace and silence of despair into a tension, that clenched my heart, tighter than the grip of a carnivore's claws on its prey. The unrelenting feeling, of suspense, played around with my every movement, as my mind, swirled in a tornado of confusion, growing larger every passing second.

"Makindo" Nimilani said, in a slow and controlled pace, after his boiling water temperature of anger, had slowed down. The air stood still, as a deeply rooted Baobab tree, and the only thing moving was the movement of our lungs, seeking air. "Get out!" Nimilani said, as he pointed his finger, squeezing his eyebrows together,  like the clipping end of a nail cutter in bubbling anger. My feet dragged themselves, like the slithering of a snake on the ground, through the papers on the floor, and the squeaking of the door, followed my steps into the aromas that swung their pleasant embrace into my nostrils. The cloudless sky, gave way for the sun, to scorch the chipped up pavements and nearby farms, and my skin was only another participant that, fell at the low end of the fittest to manage it. I reached a corner, of the restaurant, only to be met by one of the chefs, who I heard slowly speaking about me. Kaminzo, seemed to be slowly getting impatient with what I was bound to do from what I could hear.

I kept walking, slowly and carefully, like a hunter in the woods, towards the group of chefs, who seemed to be taking a break from their working hours. "How long does his family have?" One of the chefs asked the group. "Leave that one, Makinda? Makindi? Whatever his name is, I'm ready to beat him to a pulp! I even needs raise, let boss Kaminzo give the call!" Another chef said. I stood, swallowing the pounds of fear, that clogged my throat, of words to speak, as the city might soon start to know my name in not a very good way.