Give Me Feedback

David sat on his sofa, the dense mattress cushions feeling as hard as plain hardwood beneath him. For several days now, he had been trapped in the same routine—waking up early each morning, anxiously checking his phone and email inbox. The interview from days ago had filled him with hope that this might finally be the breakthrough he needed to escape his life of constant struggle. He was tired of surviving on scraps. He desperately needed change.

The interview had gone well—at least in his estimation. He believed he had impressed the panel with his extensive knowledge of writing, media, and literature, making him an ideal candidate for any writer or editor position. Yet the expected call never came.

Each day, he tried calling the interviewer, only to be blocked by the receptionist's repeated assurances that the HR manager would call him back. David desperately wanted to speak directly to the hiring manager, but some unspoken rule—whether the receptionist's own policy or a directive from above—prevented this connection.

David's life had come to a standstill. The organization's silence created an unbearable weight of expectation. "Normally, interview feedback comes within hours," he thought. "If they urgently needed to fill this position, they would have contacted the successful candidate by now." The prolonged waiting felt like torture.

Opportunities like this were rare, and David wasn't one to waste them. When the call had come that Tuesday evening while he was cleaning his house, it had caught him unprepared—both financially and emotionally. The short one-day notice presented immediate challenges. His request for postponement was denied, forcing him to scramble for instant loans from friends and relatives just to afford the trip.

Miraculously, David raised the necessary funds. That night, he boarded the Easy Coach bus at ten o'clock for the long journey to Nairobi. Seven hours of uncomfortable sitting, fidgeting, and stretching through the cold night brought them to the Easy Coach lounge in Nairobi's misty morning air. His breath visible in the chill, David cursed himself for forgetting warmer clothing—his Kisumu lifestyle had made him unaccustomed to hoods and jumpers.

The hour spent waiting at the lounge felt interminable. Watching the boring television channel and observing sleeping passengers around him gave the place the dismal atmosphere of a refugee camp. When Pauline finally arrived at six to collect him, it came as a relief.

The interview itself went smoothly, leaving David hopeful. That evening passed without word from the interviewers, which he understood—the session had run late, and results would take time. He slept peacefully that night.

The next morning, David planned to visit his sister in Machakos—he hadn't seen her since their grandmother's funeral in Migori over a year ago. Such family visits were important, a way to show love and maintain connections. He scheduled the trip for midday.

When he woke at seven that Thursday morning, he saw two missed calls from his wife. David knew what this meant. Returning her call confirmed his suspicion—her first question was, "When are you coming back?"

He hated this question after interviews. It carried an implicit pessimism, suggesting that interviews were mere formalities destined to end in rejection. David suspected Caro believed his time in Nairobi was just another failed attempt.

Sitting on his aunt's couch, David stared blankly at the African gospel music playing on Pauline's YouTube channel. The lyrics—"Sitabaki kama nilivyoooo" (I will never be the same)—played on loop in his mind. He reflected on how much hopeful music had been created in recent years, how prosperity gospel had taken center stage in churches as people turned to faith for better lives.

Tears welled in David's eyes as he whispered, "God, I am a sinner, but why punish me so much? There are greater sinners who live comfortably without knowing trouble. Why me, Lord? Why me?"

The morning passed with him checking his phone obsessively. Only one call came—from his father, repeating Caro's question about when he would return to Kisumu. His hopes dwindled by the hour. Eventually, he packed his bags and left for Machakos.

After an overnight stay, David returned to Kisumu early Friday morning. His wife and ailing daughter welcomed him warmly—their love and smiles briefly reviving his weary heart. He kissed them both softly and promised to regain his strength tomorrow.

But keeping this promise proved difficult. Days passed without any response from the interviewers. David grew increasingly anxious and agitated. He needed to know the outcome so he could move forward with his life.

He remembered a line from the 2018 Indian movie Padmaavati, where a guru asks, "What is the hardest moment in a person's life?" and receives the answer: "Waiting for results after a test." David now understood this truth profoundly.

His mind drifted back seven years to his internship at Ugunja Sub-county Public Health office. His supervisor had once told him, "Feedback is the breakfast of champions," when he failed to report back one evening. Now he truly appreciated the importance of timely feedback and vowed never to delay giving it himself.