Sharing is simply not caring...

OK this is the deal, I'm actually quite fed up of the typical Kenyan habit of sharing newspapers. While I was raised to believe that sharing is caring, "there come a time" when the thin line between sharing and invading becomes blurred. I will illustrate. Every time when I walk into work, I will read my newspaper cover to cover and then my colleague who gets paid exactly as much as I do, leans over and says "B'ana si you let me read your Nation?" The damn paper costs 35/- and given the dregs of Tusker clouds that linger on his fetid breath, I know the guy downed a coupla bottles last night and could very well have purchased the paper for himself today, and yesterday and the day before as he staggered back home from the pub. So with clear memories of my mother's high pitched shriek of admonishment against selfish acts reverbrating through my mind, I cave in every morning after swearing never to give in again, and lend the guy my paper.
But it doesn't end there. Because his thick fingers - with tips whittled to a smooth hide by the constant pounding on the computer keyboard - cannot turn the pages, he has to constantly lick his middle finger, slavering it with the viscous extract from his mouth in order to lubricate the page turning process. I often have to remind myself that if all else fails, at least I can produce a DNA sample for the police were it ever needed. Ten minutes into the silent reading, I always hear a pen scratching over my newspaper as the jamaa fills out my Sudoku puzzle, the ultimate sign of invasion, nay, acquisition of my property. More often than not, I always tell him to keep the damn paper, it's just not worth the trouble.