If you’re the sociable type, you may also find the right company comprising a person or persons with whom you engage in important—and not-so-important—topics.
A man needs to unwind after a hard day’s work, and therein comes the need for a beer or two at the right place.
If you’re the sociable type, you may also find the right company comprising a person or persons with whom you engage in important—and not-so-important—topics.
A man might also need to venture into bars to allow his better (!) half to run the affairs of the house more freely, even as she busily and endlessly chats on her mobile like he’s not there. Poor soul!
Of course, some men also spend time in bars to stay away from their mama watoto, who seem to enjoy making a man’s life difficult by way of making enquiries or accusations regarding non-existent or irrelevant things. Nagging, it’s called.
Available information, which, however, this columnist has not independently verified, has it that more men die before their wives because of being incessantly nagged.
It’s said men who stay in bars until they are certain their mama watoto have gone to bed—and dead asleep—have a higher chance of living to be a hundred than the stuck-at-home nice hubbies. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Trouble is, there’re some guys who visit bars without money in their pockets, while they know the least a beer will cost you today is a whopping two thou.
Granted, that ours is an Ujamaa nation, in which case what’s mine is yours also, but that should be limited to basics like land, water, and food—cooked at home, that is!
Walking into a bar when you don’t have cash even for a kianzio (i.e., the drink you buy yourself and drink slooowly as you wait for that accidental offer from some kindly soul) is overstretching our Ujamaa philosophy.
Like the incident when this youngish fellow, who has become somewhat familiar with me since we support the same local team, walks in to our local and comes straight to the counter where I’m seated—as usual. He says hi, and I say hi back.
I put away the newspaper I’ve been reading so as not to appear rude. He talks a lot of things about what’s wrong with “our” team and what should be done.
“We need strikers—our team has no strikers, wallah!” He castigates the couch and even suggests “we” should fire him. The guy is doing most of the talking, sounding like he’s a football expert—typical of virtually all Wa’Bongo soccer fans.
However, he’s not ordering anything for himself and I wonder why he’s not.
Well, since I’m not as unsociable as I may look, I “beg” the akaunta to give him one on my bill. She does and the guy gives profuse thanks.
The guy takes a sip or two straight from the table. You’re looking forward to more analytical insights from him about our team, but that doesn’t happen.
He soon excuses himself and dashes off, joining a table of noisemakers a table away from the counter, his beer in hand!
