Why can’t Hussein keep shut his loose cannon?

Hussein the Uswaz wag is one man who is prone to anything dangerous – from muggings, getting clobbered by his wife Asha and so forth. Sometimes, I am forced to first peep inside Mzee Shirima’s Bar and guesthouse before sauntering in because I am not particularly keen on causing trouble for anyone, least of all myself. Indeed, hardly a month goes by without something appalling befalling him – he is a man used to missing death by a whisker on the account of his big mouth.

Just imagine for once that after a couple of beers, his pea-size brain becomes woozy and his mouth goes loose and, sometimes he threatens a man who looks like he lives in a gym – the sort of blokes you see in those TV wrestling shows? What follows is that he is beaten to pulp – the offended hunk of man does the TV thing unbridled (TV wrestling is choreographed but this is real). Since I am the cowardly type, I skive through the guesthouse back gate (all guesthouses have back exits for the obvious reasons).

The other day, unknowingly he heckled a senior policeman in plain clothes on the account of Simba and Yanga football teams. He was shaking his fists at the guy, baring his teeth like a rabid dog and frothing in the mouth when a white land rover whisked him away to an unknown destination. He came back a couple of days later, a very humbled man and swearing to avoid confrontations. Previously, I had warned him to do his very best to keep his loose cannon shut but he would hear none of it. As soon as the first beer gets into his brain, he literally goes gaga.

I have now decided to keep away from him like you would a leper for obvious reasons – I don’t want to cool my heels in Segerea or Uswaz police post – never! I also don’t need a Mike Tyson breaking my teeth for me. I always remember the school days when I was clobbered by both girls and boys. I am not the type you can trust to protect you. Bisho Ntongo will tell you that whenever threatened, I shiver like a leaf. That is neither here nor there. A couple of days, Hussein did the unimaginable. He touched in jest the backside of a certain woman I had never seen at Mzee Shirima’s joint before. Unfortunately for him, she was not just any woman. She was in the company of man who looked more like a building block. She raised alarm. Hussein did not stop but continued bragging, saying that he can kill. The man walked stealthily to him, yanked him like a baby and smashed him hard on his ugly face. I walked out fast. I did not need to be a witness to a murder.