How Uswahilinites coax money out of your wallet with praises

Man, don’t we love free things? Those of us considered to be “rich” in this part of the world are on the giving end while the rest are on the receiving end.

I swear by the gods of Uswaz that these blokes are causing me to grow more grey hair for my comfort, driving me to an early grave by their whining and moaning about their problems as if I do not have truckloads of problems myself.

Sample this: you have just arrived in the office from the bank. This means that your wallet is singing hallelujah, loaded with real red ‘msimbazis’ (Tanzanian acrobatic-performing currency). You will immediately see a Uswahilinite at the door asking for loan he will never pay.

I have often wondered whether Uswahilinites have x-ray eyes, or is it that their noses, like the police Alsatians down at Kurasini, can smell new banknotes? What really betrays my wallet I really do not know.

Is it that my swagger changes from that a weather beaten Uswaz dweller to that of an Arabian Oil Sheikh after clinching a big oil deal? Is it that my language changes from Uswaz insult-laden Kiswaz to Texas-twanged English though I have never been out the Bongo boundaries? Again, I do not know, for somehow, these blokes can tell that I am loaded to death.

A fellow will approach you with all sorts of praises. “Man, you write so well that even Oscar Wilde or even George Orwell (though they very well know that I am a fumbler in writing).

The last piece you wrote sent me into serious throes of laughter.

Indeed, I could read it over and over again and every time I read it sounds like new. My sister is a keen follower of your column (though he probably has no sister)” the son of the devil will say.

Like a stupid fat Cheshire cat, I will be nodding, satisfied with the new complements. I obviously know what he wants.

Uswahilinites whether in the place of work or in Uswaz just don’t call you “Mheshimiwa” for nothing – there has to be a price tag.

At the end of the conversation, the fellow will tell you all sorts stories to court you to part with your msimbazi. You will reluctantly part with it, knowing very well it will end up at Sugar Ray bar urinals and not as school fees as he told you.

You very well know that that is last time you see the guy for he will be avoiding you like poison. I can bet that in your office you have such a bloke who is ever broke, borrowing from your boss and everyone who cares to part with their coins and never paying.