A letter to my Dear friend

The other day I wrote an E-mail to my dear friend Joe. I mean the old fashion e-mail, it’s the only social network that I am connected to. 

Honestly, it’s because I am too scared of the new cybercrime law to join any other platform.

 As you know bro, I love gossiping and that can land you in jail these JPM eras. 

So I wrote………… 

Hi Joe, 

Greetings,

From my bedroom window I watch the day break outside, the dark grey of the night giving way to bluish, white morning clouds.

 A couple of birds sing some rhythmic melodies from the mango tree that stands a few meters from the bungalow. 

Here I am, my friend under the care of a person you know quite well, my wife. You know her Thatcherism, (these days it’s known as Aksonism) and oh how I long to get my freedom once more. In short I am under her iron fist rule around the clock.

 My ankle pains as if it was just yesterday. I am still wondering if things that happen to us when drunk should be classified as accidents or negligence on part of the victim like me.

I sometimes question myself, why it is that you so successfully left booze and left me in this jam.

 Maybe it’s something to do with my DNA to seek intoxicating pleasures of this world that end up in such calamities.

With my bruised limb extended on a cushion I have taken to watching movies and I am through with Prison Break, 24 and half way in Desperate Wives. I tell you this movie watching is the only thing that keeps me sane.

I miss the folks at Mama B’s, Chiku the barmaid and her endless tales of superstitions on almost everything she sees. 

No one dies of natural courses or accidents; it’s someone’s hand somewhere! 

 That man Matata Mafuru Magafu, from Ukara islands who cannot keep politics out of his conversations. To him the government is to blame on all societal ills. I wonder how he is taking the catastrophic news from Dodoma, “More taxes on the drink!”

Mama B herself, always lamenting of dwindling profits. Last time I left her thinking of introducing those packeted spirits from the land of Mzee Museveni as means to boost profits. She said she does not give a damn that the stuff is illicit in Bongo. She will sell, come what may.  

Joe, you know how crazy she sometimes is.

The new guy, who calls himself Fisadi; it seems he is a true fan of ‘the spirit of the nation,’ banging quite a dose. 

The guy claims JPM was his chemistry tutor at Sengerema, those days when schools were schools and not youth displacement camps.

I miss you all.  I miss the loud music. I miss the endless arguments, the nyama choma and fried kiti moto. 

You know that wild atmosphere that lightens the drinker’s soul, deleting the worries and pain for the day. 

 But what I really miss the most is the drink. I find it hard to deal with Mama Watoto here without my usual dose. Oh how I hate the nagging.  

She is even threatening to giving me the boot if I do not drop my attendance at places I enjoy being most.

Hope to see you soon, Bye.