Last night I was hosted by the government, in other words, I had the honour of becoming a guest of the state.
Things happened quickly, and before I knew it, I was being welcomed jovially by other guests of the state who happened to be there before me.
I know some of you are trying to think that Baba Boyi’s status in the society has become unmatched for me to be hosted by the state, with meals included, but the sad truth is that I was in a police cell.
The meals in this case can never be described as fit for human consumption, but as a guest of the state, you have no option but to throw it down your throat.
As other good citizens were celebrating 23 years since the death of Mwalimu Nyerere, I was not left behind, as I decided to avoid Zakayo’s Pub and instead went to Sinza.
I went there because I was invited by a diehard swallower of Ilala products whom I knew since my school days, and he promised to drown my sorrow of living without Mwalimu Nyerere.
It was around 4 pm when I pulled up outside the bar where my friend was waiting for me, and as soon as he saw me he ordered four very cold brown bottles for me.
By the time the sun was setting, I had lost count of the number of brown bottles I had swallowed, and there was no sign that we were about to leave that place any time soon.
The music was good, that is why I decided to dance with a certain woman who weighed twice my size, as I tried to prove to her that to me size is not an issue.
The woman tried to avoid me several times, and I was not convinced that she was doing that because I was a terrible dancer, because if you have to know I still hold the record for the best dancer in my village.
Finally, the woman, after having enough of my terrific moves, was about to go back to her table, but I held her back and told her that we should continue dancing.
She told me she was tired and tried to leave once again but again I tried to stop her, before someone tapped me from behind.
I turned around and found a fellow who appeared to be four feet tall looking up at me, and before I could tell him to shove off, he told me over the loud music that I should stop harassing the woman.
I was not ready to be embarrassed by the short fellow, so I told him he should be a good boy and look for his own woman because he was interfering with mine, and my legs were still itching for a dance.
The short fellow continued to talk over the loud music, and I finally gathered that the chap was actually the husband of the massive woman, and that I should feel ashamed for trying to embarrass his wife.
A few minutes after they had gone back to their table, I sauntered over and sat on an empty chair next to the now confused fellow.
“Advice to a fellow man, you know there are different ways of committing suicide, and looking at you and your size, I am sure you want to commit suicide by moving around with this woman, why don’t you look for your own size?” I asked him.
To be honest, I would not have said those words to the fellow if I was sober, but at that particular moment my mind was still furious because the short fellow had taken away the woman while I still wanted to continue dancing with her.
To defend his honour in front of his wife, the fellow stood up and told me to leave, but in my drunken state, I pushed him back to his seat.
It is a good thing that my friend came over and steered me away from the couple, and we continued to swallow as if nothing happened.
What both of us didn’t know at that particular moment was that the fellow, as short as he was, happened to be a very senior person in the police force, that is why I was shocked when about four tough looking police officers stood before me.
Before I could ask them whether the pretty waitress had taken their order, I was pulled from my chair like a rag doll, and to be honest, I swear my feet never touched the ground before I was bundled unceremoniously in a waiting car outside.
As we left, I heard one of the police officers talking on his phone, and it was obvious that he was receiving instructions on what they were supposed to do with me.
I tried to beg those uniformed boys to forget the whole thing and let me go, promising that I was ready to offer a written apology to their boss if necessary.
“Mzee, wewe si unajifanya kidume? Wait until we reach where we are going and then we will find out if you are really a tough guy or just a bully,” said the young police officer who was earlier talking to the phone.
I told them that even my wife knows that there is nothing resembling a kidume in me, and actually I tried to convince them that I was just a fat, overfed cat who was misbehaving, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.
About 30 minutes later, the car came to a stop outside what looked like a police station, and once again my feet never touched the ground when they dragged me inside, and before I could object, I was thrown in a dark cell.
Several hands reached for me in the dark, and before I could call out my mother’s name, the hands in the dark had relieved me of my wallet, watch and shoes, I screamed when a pair of hands reached for my glasses, and somewhere in the dark a rough, ragged voice said “Tulia!”
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