CANDID TALK : Mugged after the ‘Lite’ beer launch function
What you need to know:
The latter group, the likes of Hussein the Uswaz wag often need the services of a psychiatrist. I also get to meet diplomats, stars and starlets and of course the folks who run this country.
Folks, my job as a professional keyboard hammerer (a scribe if care to know) brings me into contact with all sorts of people – some brilliant, others stone-thick, while some look to me as Mirembe madhouse escapees seeking asylum in the world of the sane.
The latter group, the likes of Hussein the Uswaz wag often need the services of a psychiatrist. I also get to meet diplomats, stars and starlets and of course the folks who run this country.
As you read this third-rate column, I am reeling from shame over what I did a couple of weeks ago during the launch of special beer brand at a 5-star hotel. Come to think of it, I sometimes wonder if I have porridge instead of the precious grey matter inside my skull.
My take is that although I am purported to be one of the most glorified journalists, I have something amiss - somewhere I cannot pin point. The good Lord was however kind to me for He bestowed me with some little proficiency in English learnt not through formal education but by working for a mzungu as a caretaker.
As I said earlier, my being a scribbler who can doodle well in Queen’s language makes me to be invited to functions that often end up wrongly. A couple of weeks ago, when my pockets were doing rounds in the corridors of financial ICU – that meant that I did not have a dime on me, meaning that my throat felt like someone had been scrubbing it with a pumice stone. Why? I hadn’t had a drink for eons.
Fortunately, the beer company chose to invite me to sample their tasty new breed and write about it. What better time to provide some frothy liquids with which to wet my Kalahari-dry throat?
How many beers I guzzled that night, it’s only the devil can tell. Anyway I sloshed myself with real frothy drinks until somewhere around midnight, I was at brink of death (happens with free beers). I also blame the porridge that is my brain for goading me to drink until devil hours of the night when I well knew that muggers lurked in Uswaz alleys.
As I trudged back home, the worst happened – muggers dressed like ghosts emerged from behind the tombstones at the Uswaz cemetery. Of course I tried to run because just everybody else, I am scared to death of ghosts. When I couldn’t outrun the “ghosts” fell down and went into a semi-comatose. When I came to, the muggers had made away with my weather beaten wallet with all its contents, my shoes and clothes.
