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FROM TABORA WITH LOVE: If it was possible, I would open a school for thieves

FROM TABORA WITH LOVE: If it was possible, I would open a school for thieves

DEAR nephew Milambo Greetings from Dar es Salaam My dear boy, I hope that by the power of Limatunda you and your small family are okay, and that the power of the ancestors has been watching over you.

I hope too that all the people of my beloved Ukumbisiganga are also okay, and that Liwelelo has been good to all of them. Here in the city things are not bad, but for the fact that nowadays the dust is becoming extreme by the day, and sometimes it becomes unbearable.

I have a feeling the gods of rain have taken a vacation and left us to suffer on our own, because there is no sign that the gods are going to bless us with the precious liquid any time soon.

You know that I am a hardened old fellow, so I take the situation in my stride, but it is your aunt that I pity, because with her delicate health, it is becoming unbearable for her. Just the other day we had to go to town, and it is unfortunate that the air condition in the car was faulty, so we had to pull down the windows to get fresh air, and the dust that blew in the car at a particular section left her coughing seriously, which got me worried.

That same evening when we went back home she started coughing and sneezing, and before we knew it she got a serious cold, which forced me to take her to the doctor that same night.

But as I am writing this, she is much better, and I guess by tomorrow she will be back to her usual cheery self, because when she is not feeling well it also affects me somehow. You see son, when you live with the same woman for all the years that I have been living with your aunt, you practically become the same thing, and you find that little things like that affect you too.

I hope to Limatunda and the ancestors that they will grant you the privilege of living with your wife for more years than I have lived with your aunt, because my dear boy, let no one lie to you, living with a woman that you love and who loves you back is a blessing denied to many.

I remember there was a time she became very sick, and it reached a point that I started to believe that maybe the ancestors wanted to call her in their presence, and I told myself that if it happened, I would have begged them to summon me too, because to tell you the truth, I don’t think I can last long if your aunt departs from me.

All I can tell you my dear boy is that you should work very hard to make your wife happy, because that is the woman who will be by your side when old age comes knocking, and I can’t imagine being old with no one to look and care after you.

You told me that your wife was not feeling well recently, and I hope by now she is back to her normal, cheery self, because I understand the pregnancy is really working on her. I hope and pray that Limatunda will protect her and the unborn baby in these few months that are remaining, because I can’t wait to hold another grandchild in my arms.

I wish that your late father Suleiman and your lovely mother the late Salma (may their lovely souls continue to rest in peace) were here to see how their child has grown and has started his own family, I know they would have been very proud of you my son, just the way I am proud of you. You see son, it is the prayer of every parent to see their child succeeding, and I know for sure you would have made them proud, but I am comforted with the thought that as they rest with the ancestors, they are watching over all of us.

I know sometimes I bore you stiff with my yakking on how you always make me proud, so enough of that, and instead let me tell you how just the other day I caught a young fellow who tried to be smart with me. You see, that day I told your aunt that I was going to that neighbouring bar to watch my favorite team, Young Africans play, and I left her resting comfortably in the living room. The match was progressing well for those boys in green and yellow, and when we scored the first goal, the place erupted in wild jubilation.

My phone was lying next to my beer on the table, so when I shot up to celebrate the goal, a stupid boy who was standing behind me took advantage of the situation and grabbed the phone.

When I went back to my seat, the phone was nowhere to be seen, and I searched my pockets frantically, but I did not see it. I even removed my shoes to see if maybe it had accidentally dropped in one of them, but the exercise was futile. All this time the stupid boy was watching as if he knew nothing of what was going on, and when I was satisfied that indeed someone had stolen my phone, the spirit of the dreaded Rugaruga descended on me, and I knew that if it was not returned soon, then fresh blood was going to be spilled.

I ordered the manager to close the doors and switch off the TV, and looking at the state that I was in, he had no option but to obey my directive. I announced that whoever thought he was smart enough to steal from me should be wise enough and return my property, because I was ready to break a few legs and arms if I did not see that phone.

The good thing is that most of the people in that bar know me, so they took it upon themselves to search for the phone, and one of the young men told me that he was going to call the number.

You see son, because of my age, my ringtone in my phone is very loud, so when the young man called my number, everyone present heard it calling, and the sound was coming from the pocket of that stupid young fellow who was standing behind me. I think the young fellow was an amateur thief, because a veteran would have switched it off immediately and depart from the scene.

My dear son, it took great convincing from me and a few fellows to stop a serious mob justice on the young fellow, because most of them were angry because the TV had to be switched off because of him, and when the game came back on, their anger increased because the boys in green and yellow had scored another goal.

How TGNP transformed people  into gender-centred development

A PROJECT to encourage citizens to participate ...

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Author: ANTHONY TAMBWE

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