I had been working at a furniture factory in Addis Ababa for nearly three years. I was renting a single room in an old block of flats on the outskirts of town. The room was small, with a narrow bed, a wooden chair, and a table where I kept a kettle and a few cooking utensils. After working long hours at the factory, I usually bought my meals from the small food stalls near my workplace because it was easy.
My landlord, Mr. Nugusu, was fair. He expected his tenants to pay their rent on time and didn’t accept excuses. Two months earlier, I had paid my rent late because I had spent too much money on unnecessary things. Mr. Nugusu had accepted the late payment, but warned me not to let it happen again.
“I don’t like chasing people to pay their rent,” he had said. “If you want people to trust you, you have to be reliable.”
I had nodded my head.
As the end of the month got closer, I remembered Mr. Nugusu’s warning. The previous month, I had paid my rent on time, and I wanted to keep it that way. I had promised myself that I would always pay the rent before I spent money on anything else.
On Friday afternoon, we queued outside the accounts office to get our pay. When it was my turn, I signed my name, took the envelope, and put it carefully in my pocket. I smiled to myself. As I left the factory gate, my phone rang. It was Willy, one of my best friends.
“Where are you?” he asked, sounding happy.
“I’ve just finished work.”
“Good. Come and meet us at Bambis Bar. Patrick is celebrating his promotion. Some of the guys from the factory are already here.”
I slowed down. “I should go home first.”
Willy laughed. “You say that every month. It’s only one evening. Also, Patrick won’t forgive you if you don’t come.”
I hesitated. I knew myself. Every payday ended the same way whenever I went to Bambis. Still, I didn’t want my friends to think I was selfish or proud.
“I’ll only stay for one drink,” I replied.
“That’s the David we know.”
When I arrived, Patrick and several of our coworkers were already seated around a large table. Willy waved me over.
“There he is!” Willy shouted.
Patrick stood up and shook my hand. “I’m glad you came.”
At first, everything was fine. We congratulated Patrick on his promotion and asked about his new job. We laughed as we shared stories about mistakes we had made at the factory and teased one another about who worked the hardest.
A waiter came over. “What would you like?”
“Just a bottle of St. George beer,” I said. The others also ordered bottles of St. George. Patrick asked for a bucket of ice and several more drinks to celebrate.
The evening was going well until a group of young women came into the bar and sat at the next table. Willy greeted them as if they were old friends and invited them to join the celebration. They smiled, picked up their drinks and came to our table. One of them asked Patrick about his new job. Another joked that he should remember his old friends once he became a manager. Patrick laughed and promised he wouldn’t change. The conversation got more lively. Someone suggested ordering more drinks.
Patrick quietly leaned over to me. “You don’t have to spend money tonight. Save yours.”
I smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
A few minutes later, Willy raised his glass. “David, today is payday! Show us you’re happy for Patrick.”
Everyone looked at me. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t like disappointing people. I put my hand in my pocket and paid for another round of St. George beers. The women thanked me with warm smiles.
As time went on, the music got louder and the conversation became livelier. Patrick paid for one round, and Willy bought the next. When the bottles were nearly empty again, Willy looked at me with a grin.
“Your turn, David.”
I hesitated, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was cheap or unwilling to celebrate. I reached for my wallet. Later, whenever the drinks ran low, someone would smile and say, “David, it’s your turn again.” Each time, I paid without protesting.
When I finally left the bar, the streets were almost empty. I was tired. “I hadn’t spent much,” I told myself.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache. The memory of the previous night came back slowly. I reached for my wallet. It felt unusually light. I opened it and counted the money. There were only a few small notes left. My heart started beating faster. I counted the notes again, hoping I had made a mistake, but the result was the same. I had spent almost all of my salary.
I sat there quietly, looking at the floor. The rent was due in three days. I opened every drawer in the room, hoping I had left some money there after the previous month. But nothing was there. I looked in my jacket pockets. Nothing. The money that had been in the envelope the previous afternoon was now gone. I hid my face in my hands.
“I’ve done it again,” I whispered.
I sat there for a few minutes without moving. I knew the problem was not bad luck because I had not been forced into the bar. I had not been made to feel like I had to keep paying for drinks. The decision was entirely mine. When I finally stood up, I picked up my phone and called Willy.
“Willy, I need your help.”
“I’m sorry,” Willy answered after listening patiently. “I have already spent most of my salary.”
I thanked him and ended the call. Next, I phoned John, but he had already used most of his salary to support his family. Then I called Peter, who apologised and said he was saving for his children’s school fees. Neither of them could lend me enough money to cover the rent.
On Monday morning, I went straight to Mr. Tsahaye’s office before starting work. He looked up from the papers on his desk.
“Yes, David?”
“I would like to know if I can get some of my wages in advance.”
The manager looked unhappy. “You were paid on Friday.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I looked down. “I spent the money carelessly.”
The manager didn’t say anything for a moment. “I appreciate your honesty,” he finally said. “But if I let you off, everyone will expect me to do it every time. I’m afraid I can’t approve your request.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
As I walked back to sit down at a desk, I felt really disappointed. That morning, after thinking about it for a few hours, I decided to go and see Mr. Nugusu. He listened carefully as I explained everything. When I finished, the room was silent.
Finally, he spoke. “Do you remember what I told you two months ago?”
“Yes.”
“But you made the same mistake.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I know.”
He sighed. “I have managed rental houses for many years. I’ve seen young men lose their jobs, their families, and their homes because they couldn’t control themselves on payday.”
I listened quietly. “Money is not your biggest problem,” he continued. “You always want people to like you. You find it hard to say no.” I lowered my eyes. I had never thought about myself that way, but he was right.
After a long pause, he spoke again. “I’ll give you one week.” I felt much better. “But listen carefully,” he resumed. “This is the last time. If you fail to pay again, you’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”
“I’m not going to waste this opportunity.”
The following week was the busiest I had had in years. I said yes to every extra shift at the factory. I stopped spending money on things I didn’t need. I bought a small charcoal stove and started preparing simple meals for myself at home: rice, beans, and whatever else I could afford. I started taking my own food to work instead of buying meals at food stalls. Every evening, I took a different street home so I would not have to walk past Bambis Bar.
Willy called me several times. “Come and relax with us.”
“Not this week,” I answered.
“You’re boring.”
I laughed and said, “Maybe.”
It was the first time I found it easy to say no. At the end of the week, I counted the money I had earned. Before buying anything else, I put the notes in the same salary envelope that had been empty. Then I went straight to Mr. Nugusu’s house.
He counted the money. “You’ve done what you said you would,” he said.
“I almost lost more than my room.”
He smiled. “I hope you’ve learned something.”
A month went by, and it was payday again. I got my pay and put the envelope in my pocket. I left the factory, and two hours later, as if my friends were watching me, my phone rang. It was Willy.
“We’re all waiting at Bambis.”
I stopped walking. For a moment, I thought about the laughter, the music and the excitement that always seemed harmless at the start of the evening. Then I thought about the many times I had left hours later with almost no money in my pocket. I thought about the mornings I had woken up tired after drinking too much, missed work, and searched my room for coins. I thought about how embarrassing it would be to have to ask for help again because of the things I had done.
Without answering the invitation, I went to Mr. Nugusu’s house. A few minutes later, I paid the rent, and after that I went home.
