To be run over by Kigoma-bound train after Valentines
I wish I knew where the man called St Valentine lives because he is one who ought to face a firing squad or be hanged at a public place – preferably at National Stadium down in Kurasini, with all Yanga and Simba football hooligans hollering themselves hoarse.
This bum is my definition of the devil’s agent. He is one who must have ordained Valentine Day, the day we show our puppy-like affections, putting up a silly roadshows.
It is the day when we slosh our women with “love” at least once in a year before our bedrooms reverting back to World War III. On that day, even professional wife beaters like Hussein the Uswaz wag will be caught clad in red and brandishing flowers.
On the 14th of this month, I joined the bandwagon of Valentines celebration. My wallet had undergone a metamorphosis – it was not doing rounds in the corridors of financial ICU – it had something in this time around. As I have always told you, I was in the most romantic mood. Didn’t Valentine Day warrant spending on my one-and-only Bisho Ntongo? Of course it did. I wanted her to feel loved.
For starters, our marriage is unusual – there were no trumpets and roadshows people call weddings - we simply eloped many year back. This brought the heaven caving in until I paid some real breathing cows to Bisho Ntongo’s father.
Anyway, that is a story for another day. We arrived at Mzee Shirima’s drinking joint both clad in red and brandishing plastic flowers made in China (the Chinese have made things easier these days). Since Bisho Ntongo does after joining one of those Pentecostal churches does not touch alcohol, she swallowed enough sodas to drown a baby. I wetted my throat with the mother of all alcoholic stuff – a stiff whiskey.
The next day, I woke up feeling like I had been run over down by a speeding Kigoma-bound SGR railway. Now I know how eggs frying in a pan feel. I woke up with fuzzy eyes with bells of hell doing dingalingalingaling inside my skull.
I tried shaking my head to clear it but I realized it was a bad idea – my head nearly hell off. In the meantime, I am looking for St Valentine so that I can wring his neck until a qualified doctor from Muhimbili pronounces him cold dead!
