What a costly welcome as WM resumes drinking!

I’m at one of my favourite neighbourhood bars, enjoying a drink after a long break, having been on my doctor’s orders to keep away from beer for close to a month.

Reason…? Well, that’s none of the reader’s business, for even my mama watoto, who rejoiced at the ban, wasn’t fully informed on why her better half became a “good boy”.

Now I’m back and once again a bad boy, according to her majesty.

When Lucy, the barmaid who claims I’m her husband, asks how come I vanished for so long, my answer is, “I was away upcountry kikazi, doing what I do for a living.”

“That’s a lie, my love; I always saw you as you passed by this bar, like I was non-existent… You’ve been right here and simply didn’t care about me,” says Lucy as she opens my beer.

 “My apologies, dear! … It’s true I was around, but I was on a dose,” I say.

“Kwani, is it a must that you must take beer whenever you visit a bar?” she asks.

I ignore her question since, you know, she knows men don’t come to bars to take sodas. Then, you tell her to get a soda on your bill.

“You can’t be serious, husband; yaani, you disappear for a year, and when you eventually return, you want me to drink soda?”

She says wearing a poker face, that I was actually a legally wedded father of her child living in the village under the care of her mother!

I succumb to her pressure.

As readers of this crap I call “my column” know by now, this son of Muyanza (pronounced muia-nza) isn’t as stingy as his name may suggest.

I’m simply budget-conscious, being a typical Mwasu.

She grabs “her” beer from the counter and moves to another table that’s nearer to her more serious and noisier customers, even as she says to me, “Tuko pamoja mume wangu.”

That’s okay by me, because I can now have beer peacefully while surfing on my handset to update myself with what’s happening around in Bongo and the world—truths, half-truths and lies.

Oh, yeah; we’re now living in a brand new world!

Typical of a drinker who skipped drinking for too long, my speed is slow.

By the time I finish the second bottle, I feel I’ve had enough. I turn my stiff neck to where Lucy should be seated with her youthful and noisy crowd, but she isn’t there.

However, by the time I turn my head around, she’s standing right beside me.

“Baby, you must be looking for me… Well, I’m here… another beer for you?”

“No, let me have my bill… I’ve to go now,” I say.

She quickly brings me the bill that reads '2 Sere Laiti; 3 Kili.

When I protest, she caresses my shoulder and coos, “Yaani, husband, you abandoned me for so long; now you’re back, and you consider three beers too many for me, your wife?”

Ah, I say to myself, grudgingly pay up and leave.