CANDID TALK : If you want to buy things, buy at Mzee Shirima’s

Whenever my Chinese made plastic wallet smiles all way to the bank around month-end, I become a totally transformed man all together – like Paul of the Bible on his way to Damascus. Those are blissful moments when my mean boss manages to reluctantly toss some measly alms into my bank account at in the name of a wage.

It is also a short period of the month when I literally sit on cloud nine because I can drill bank walls with my ATM card and come out with something without being arraigned in courts of law.

My gait suddenly changes from that of a defeated man (when broke I walk around with my hands clasped behind me) to that of multi-billionaire somewhere in the bowels of Saud Arabia. My language undergoes a transformation too. I shift from speaking broken Kiswahili to American English laced with a Texan twang and a matching drawl.

Freeloading blokes at Mzee Shirima’s Bar and Guesthouse suddenly adapt to calling me glorious names such as ‘Mheshimiwa’ although I have never seen the inside of the hallowed House in Dodoma. Others call me ‘Lord Muthamia’ or ‘Your Excellency’ even though in the whole life of me I have no intentions of occupying the State House. The most preposterous pseudonym given to me was “Your Grace” and “Your Eminence” (whatever the hell that means). In return, I drawn them all in free beers till my wallet is once again empty, awaiting another pay day!

But that is not what is irksome. Take it this way. I am sited at a dark corner lovingly caressing a beer bottle like one would a woman, with Tatu’s (my favourite barmaid) hands inside my zipper when a vendor pops in. The man is brandishing a pair of “Nike” sports shoes. The title is impressive. Since all along I have been sloshing myself with beer and I am woozy, I jump into haggling and end up with the pair.

Come tomorrow and I will be seething with rage. The damn pair is indeed worn out and even the heels are roughly pasted with glue some smart guy. The glorious label is “Mike” and no longer “Nike” as it had read the previous night. I toss the pair into the nearest garbage damp and swear to use my eyes properly next time.

In another drunken incidence, another vendor showed up with a Sony DVD player selling it for a song. I tested it and it indeed worked. When I got home, the junk kept winking and blinking and then went kaput. The worst is when I purchased a hair clipper.

I had realized that using public clippers at Mtanenge Hair Salon (barber shops are called salons in Uswaz), I might contract deadly diseases. I tested the brand new machine. It worked well. The next day, when I tried to shave my armpits, the bloody thing was so useless. I threw it away. Next time, I would rather buy such items in the sate of sobriety lest I lose all the money on useless gadgets.