Married men can become single on social media

Married men can become single on social media

THERE is someone who said that when you see a cat lying with its feet up, then hurry up and ask for permission from the office, because there is a problem somewhere.

And if you see a hardened criminal complaining of hard times, then you know for sure that this world is coming to an end, because as far as I know, this group of people wait for you to look for things and then they help you to carry them, and this mostly includes money.

I think before I go any further, I should here and now let you know that for years I have been harbouring political ambitions, and I think it is the right time to let you know that come 2025, you will see the name of yours truly on the list of parliamentary candidates.

That is why in my home area of Manzese, when you mention Baba Boyi it is like mentioning the name of Bakhresa to Tanzanians, because they know that if you stick with me, you will never go hungry again.

Anyway, in my efforts of clearing my name for the elections, I have made a point of sitting with my future voters and listen to what they have to say, and some of these prospective voters include a group of people we call “Mateja”.

When you talk about this group, then you come to realise that it encompasses a wide range of social delinquents, including another fearsome group called the “Vibakas”.

The reason why no kibaka, veteran or amateur in Manzese can dare go for my neck even when they see me stagger home in the Nicodemus hours is because I have a feeling that the social misfit who is supposed to be my son is a member of this group.

Anyway, I was sitting with some of my future voters in the form of mateja and vibakas, and one of the veteran kibaka, a man who has a voice that can freeze a veteran commando, was complaining bitterly about the changing living trends. “Mzee, our lives are becoming miserable by the day!” he told me, and when I told him to elaborate, he said that going for a victim’s neck and shaking out his or her possessions from the pockets is becoming a boring job.

He told me that unlike the yesteryears when he could stumble on a fat wallet from some of his victims, nowadays the only valuable thing they end up with is a mere mobile phone.

“Baba Boyi, I have to be open with you. I respect you, but if I happen to go after your neck and take your wallet, I am sure I will find out that it is full of business cards, and very little money,” he said, and my hand reached protectively for my neck.

One of the other vibaka who has a face that resembles hard granite and bloodshot eyes told me that this business of using M-Pesa or Tigo-Pesa is slowly killing their talents.

He complained that unlike before when people used to walk with wads of real money, nowadays you can waste your time tracking your victim, only to find out they have a few thousands in their pocket, with the bulk of their money in their phones.

“Sijui wanataka tufe na njaa? Because how do you expect me to grab a phone from my victim and go with it to any M-Pesa or Tigo Pesa for the money? I think when they pass the new constitution, this should also be brought up, we can never live like this!” he said bitterly.

It is unfortunate, but that same night, one of those boys, after blowing on the herb that is popular with Jamaicans, forgot my shiny bald head and jumped on me as I staggered home from Zakayo’s pub, and disappeared with my old Tecno phone. I got it back three days later, but the next day because of anger, I went and bought a new phone which they call a “Smart Phone”, and the smart thing I found about this phone is something called Whats App.

A young man from the office helped me to connect to very many things, including something called Facebook, and I have to admit that for years I kept away from that thing called Social Network.

I got busy learning the tricks of the white man, and what I discovered is that while I was busy irrigating my throat at Zakayo’s, my entire family minus my last born, the Natural Disaster, have been busy keeping up with the rest of the world. That is when I discovered that my daughter, the Junior Investment, a. k. a the Queen Bee, has been very busy on the social network.

And looking at the profile picture made me realise that whether I like it or not, I am going to be a grandfather very soon. She posts things like “Pipoz, I am bored to death; the old bald man is on my case again”.

I did not have to possess the brain of a rocket scientist to know that the “old bald man” is me. I even found the domestic thug on Facebook, with his trademark name of Papa Dog Killa, but apart from discussing women (milupo) and how to smoke grass instead of stepping on it, the boy was okay, although he refers to his buddies as Mwamba, majembe, and kichaa wangu, which got me worried a little bit.

But if I was surprised with the presence of my children on Facebook, then I was utterly shocked to come across the mother of my clan, Mama Boyi herself.

The profile picture she put was taken 22 years ago, when she still possessed a face that could halt traffic, and the name she was using was Sister Dread! The thing which got my brain which was swirling in beer to do a serious spin was the fact that her status read ‘Single’, and judging by the number of male friends on her list, I knew these guys were trying all means to change that status.

The blood of Chief Mirambo which runs in my veins threatened to go 90 degrees, and the spirit of the “Waruga ruga” suddenly took over my body, and with war songs coming from my mouth, I charged home.

You might be bright, but a brighter fellow exists

DEAR nephew Milambo Greetings from this confused ...


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