Thief! Thief! Thief! A choir chanting rented the air in the streets of Hostel J, meeting a mighty threshold I could not have imagined of. ugly beings erupted from nowhere to defend their territory as I lay down with no guts to recollect myself. Some cursed me of ruining their healthy dreams with the minister of finance who had come to sort out their drying wallets. Others thought I had ended their contract with their sweethearts.
With my tear gas canister language, I will be forced to start feeding on the tail for you to understand how I ended in this and that. It was on a kadunda morning when an agent of mututho, mama pima, had invited me for one gorogoro of yokozuna brew to beat hangover— our worst enemy, since I had taken a canter the previous night. This was despite the fact that I had to rush to Sinai area to siphon oil which was spilling in rivers on a special call from my uncle who coordinates our activities and a CEO with our Kamua Oil Siphoning Limited (KOSL): for your information he is a veteran truck driver.
At the Mabatini joint, one gorogoro led to another until the sun went down the Ngeria forest, with everyone singing the drunkards hymns of “hakuna mwingine kama mututho….” At midnight, we walked out demanding for Al-Mashoka the menace but when we heard the colleagues from Sulpuric Acid Gullopers (SAG) from Frakaz, Chambers, and the latest Trendz who take The Rich In For Greatness ‘A’ brand beer (TRIGA), we had to switch on the silencer in our mouths since they would probably tease us for the yokozuna in us smelt like chlorine gas. Moreover, Mama Pima had housed Onyancha, Ocampo and the most wanted Muhamar Gaddafi. Hence, guess with me, I would be hunted as Al-Mashoka.
When we reached Hostel J where Mama Pima lives, I chewed blackout where she left me after I acted like a Besigye to Museveni. I awoke the other maidens with screams who came and turned against me.
It started with Abigal Abwasi, “huyu anakuwanga pick-pocket, aliniibia phone kwa wakanai bus, tumchome.” Abwasi is my classmate in the School of Rocket Science. I could not believe it!
Another beautiful lady, Tobinataulo, spoke more objectively, “huyu ni lady-guitar and a choir master with ‘tutapewa hata mkizima taa’ at the busaa den in Mabatini. anahitaji maombi.”
This prompted me to think she could make a good wife for my brother who is a minister in our ministry.
I wanted to ask Jusfa to take her number when Hanifa Faulu from Murogoro interrupted, “ni fan wa Arsenal and Gor Mahia, sikia vyenye ananuka kama Fume chamber. Haki woishe! Atatoroka!”
This is where Jusfa my spy agent defended me: “Jorodani is high-ri, hata Mama pima anajua hakunywagi deni, yeye hulipa pap! Tumlipieni fare arudi ‘in the land where the horizon is the end of the earth’.
When I woke up the following morning, I realized I was an hour late for a CAT!!!