The presumably optimistic 2020 will probably prompt you to find better use of your last year’s calendar and diary. Most likely, you will end up tossing any such bitter reminders of the offending year down the bowels of your hungry dustbin or stove. Alternatively, you could also make use of calendar or the diary to wrap mandazis (buns) for your nursery school child. You will certainly be declaring yourself a victor for having crossed to 2020 unscathed.
Last year, prophets of doom answering by the name economists did throw a spine-chilling prank. They said that Mammon, the god of money was in his deathbed suffering from the disease they called ‘vyuma vimekaza’. What this translated to was that my life literally transformed to living in financial hell.
However, 2020 is here and I cannot make any distinction between this or the previous year. All I know is that my rough-in-the-edges python of a landlady will be as usual camping outside my two-roomed shack in this god-forsaken Uswaz. She will be seeking to swallow me whole with my shoes on as real pythons do. The python will be doing this because my employer has already cobbled up a permanent excuse never to toss into my bank account the alms I am worth – alms he calls wages. He has taken his excuse further; he won’t increase my peanuts a farthing more.
The python will not be the only person threatening to send me to the creator. Mtanenge, the local butcher has been demanding to be paid for the four kilos of meat that was borrowed over Christmas and New Year festivities.
I am told that he intends to convert me into minced meat with his sharp butcher’s knife and axe if I don’t pay up soon. That is not to mention the shopkeeper who will be baying for my blood over unpaid bills.
Please don’t forget Mzee Shirima who wants last year’s beer bills paid pronto. In the meantime, pray that the shylocks don’t kill me on my way home from work. In the meantime, stay safe this year and watch what happens. Happy 2020 and don’t over indulge!