Bill is Uncle Kich’s, but watch who ends up paying!

I had a busy Sunday at home, attending to visitors who still harbour the good old habit of kutembeleana.

Paying a visit to relatives or close friends, just to check on their welfare. Kujuliana hali.

In the smart new world we live in today, surprise visits are rare, for anybody intending to drop in at yours would make a call first and say they’d be coming…

If you don’t mind, that is.

However, we still have a few Wabongo, more so those of the “old school”, like this ageing son of Muyanza, who consider it unsociable to tell someone, “I am calling you to inform you I’ll be coming to your place to greet you.”

But we’re a rare breed indeed.

Back to our Sunday story. So, there were all these people of good will—announced and unannounced—who dropped in, including your good old Uncle Kich, who visited to say to check out if you and your mini-tribe are fine, more so after learning a family member had just been discharged from an extended hospital stay fighting dengue fever.

Luckily, all the visitors, except Uncle Kich, were gone ahead of 4pm, which enabled us to be at the right drinking joint where we could “cut thirst” while watching an NBC Premier League match.

We walked to a neighbourhood bar where Uncle said I shouldn’t spend a penny from my wallet because he was financially more than okay that day.

Uncle Kich prefers Safari lager, the brand whose promoters tout it as a winner of numerous international excellence awards for its quality.

Indeed, I’ve shared company with drinkers besides Uncle who praise Safari for its “strength”.

Son of Muyanza prefers the softer brands that come in 330 ml, and he’s normally fine with three bottles.

Uncle knows that, which is why upon settling down, he orders three for me and four for himself.

His usual number is also three, but since he’s well loaded today, he’ll take four.

Once we’re done and ready to leave, we hail the barmaid who’s handling us and demand our bill.

We jointly look at it. It reads Sh16k: 10k for Uncle's four Safaris and 6k for my three Castro Laitis.

“Let’s have your Lipa Namba, please; I want to pay through my mobile,” says Uncle as he brandishes his handset.

“We don’t have Lipa Namba here… But don’t worry; there’s a mobile cash outlet just across the road… You can go and withdraw money there and pay me in cash,” says the barmaid very casually.

Of course, I won’t let Uncle, complete with four Safaris in his head, cross the busy road lest he get killed by a speeding motorist.

“Worry not, Uncle I’ve got something in my wallet; I’ll fix the bill,” I say.

“But I’ve something in mine too,” he says.

He produces his wallet and hands over to me 5k.

I tell him that’ll be enough. I fix the total bill, and we leave, each to his own section of the Dar City outskirts.