It’s a dog eat dog world we live in, literally

THERE are so many sayings in this country, from very famous people we fondly call the ‘Wahenga’, but the one that I am using occasionally these days is ‘Raha jipe mwenyewe’.

For my brothers and sisters who went to those schools where they were taught using the Queen’s language from the word go, that saying literally means you should be responsible for your own happiness….or something close to that.

I have decided to embrace that saying because recently while sitting silently at Zakayo’s Pub I started reflecting on life in general, and I realized that indeed one is responsible for his or her own happiness.

I came to this conclusion after reflecting on several incidences that have happened in my life, and I realized that being nice should be left to the Pope.

I made this decision after I also realized that the world we are living in is the one where only the strong survive, and the weak are eaten along the way.

I thought of the good fight Mama Boyi is waging to make sure her family is safe, which in this case mostly involves putting yours truly in line, to the fellows who can sell you a piece of soap instead of a phone.

I even remembered some years back when I happened to be in Bagamoyo for a one-week seminar and someone told us that there was a very famous witchdoctor who can make your dreams come true.

Being a scribe, I decided just for the fun of it to pay this famous mfumu a visit one evening after we closed the seminar, and the presence of heavy government vehicles was testimony that the reputation of this fellow has spread far and wide.

When my turn to see the witchdoctor came, I was ushered into a dark, smelly room, where a man who was probably in his 40s was sitting on a mat staring at some cowrie shells in his hands.

He did not look up when I entered, he continued staring at his shells as if he expected them to turn into diamonds, before he asked me what had brought me there.

Of course I gave him a phony name, and went ahead and told him that I was a musician but it seems that someone was playing around with my ‘star’, and that it had reached a point when producers were chasing me away before they even saw me.

“Doctor, my life is a mess, I don’t understand why people are distancing themselves from me. Can you imagine someone telling you that they will give you a call while you know very well they don’t have your number?” I told the fellow, who shook the shells in his clenched fist before looking at me with fiery eyes.

He told me that indeed there was someone who was playing around with my star, and he gave me some dried leaves and told me that I should put them in a basin of water and wash my head with the water.

He also gave me some weird stuff to inhale, and assured me that my star had been ‘released’, and that within a very short time I will create waves in the music industry.

What this fellow didn’t know is that the only time when I sing is when I am in the bathroom, which in most cases makes my wife furious because I have to be honest, my voice when it comes to singing is worse than a frog who has a sore throat.

Of course you and I know that I have never been a musician in my life, although after coming from the witchdoctor I tried to see if by some miracle my voice had transformed towards my journey of becoming a music super star, but what came out was enough to send my whole family out of the house.

Those are the things which I am telling you about the strong surviving and the weak being eaten, but sometimes I think some people take these things too far.

I have always told you about my collection of metal which is a sorry excuse of a car which I drive, and how this junk has a myriad of problems which has caused a good number of mechanics some serious nightmares.

I know that we all do things so that we can survive, but the person who siphoned fuel from the jalopy has a special place in hell, where the fire will be the fiercest.

I have always told you about my boss who believes that we can survive on the measly paycheck which cannot even sustain a monk, so when I was called for an interview somewhere in town, I was thrilled.

I fished for my single suit which I usually wear in weddings and funerals, and when I left the house, I passed by the petrol station before taking the junk to the car wash.

I was supposed to be in town by 2 pm, so I had plenty of time to wash the car, and by the time they told me they were through, I knew I had ample time.

My friend, I had just gone only 5 kilometers when the collection of metal gave a loud cough and a serious sneeze before it stopped in the middle of the road.

For those of you who know my car, most of the time this behavior is very normal, but because I am the owner of the car and the one who drives it, I knew directly that this symptom meant that the car had no fuel, that the tank was empty, caput.

I don’t have to tell you what went through my mind at that particular moment, because on a serious note, even if it is survival for the fittest, someone can stoop as low as stealing fuel from such a junk kweli?

It really pained me, standing there in the middle of the road in my cheap suit and a healthy beer tummy, sweating as other drivers hurled insults at me, where someone went as far as calling my car a bottle top.