Rumor mongers in Bongoland are dangerous
Tanzanians are a very funny lot; they have a habit of coming up with very strange explanations when someone seems to be playing around in real money, sometimes I think they are too creative for their own good.
Recently, a friend of mine travelled abroad for three weeks, and because we are good buddies, he decided to leave his car with me for the whole duration. The collection of metal that I drive can never be classified as a car, because when I talk about a car, I don’t mean just any car, it was a sleek, maroon Range Rover Vogue.
Because that friend of mine has a real bank account in his name, he left the car with a full tank of petrol, and to be on the safe side, he also left his fuel card with me, “Just in case mizunguko imekua mingi and you want to re-fuel later on,” the good fellow told me when he handed the keys.
I had fun with that car, I can assure you of that, and for the three weeks that I had the car, I took the liberty of making regular stops in so many bars, and offering lift to curious neighbors who looked for any excuse to enter that maroon machine.
You do not go around telling everyone who cares to listen that the car you are driving is not yours, so I let everyone believe that the flashy car was my property for the time being, but I was testing it for a few weeks to see if I will take it for good or look for another car (to avoid further questions when the real owner repossessed his car!).
It is unfortunate that in this country of Mama Samia, anyone who looks like real money is accused of being a member of a certain cult, and rumor will have it that you have been spotted on several occasions wandering at the local cemetery at ungodly hours.
So I was not surprised when a few days later, the rumor mills started flying around Manzese that Baba Boyi had joined the infamous Free Masons, and that nowadays I was sleeping on real dollars on my bed.
The rumor mongers went as far as telling the whole neighborhood that the secret of my success was the fact that I had ‘offered’ my son as a ‘sacrifice’, not by killing him, but by manipulating his brain for my own good.
“Seriously, if you look at that boy of his, do you see a sane person in him? The boy is behaving like a lunatic simply because his father offered his brain to the dark world so that he can become rich…….. he should be ashamed of himself I tell you!” I heard a local vendor whispering to a nosy customer one day.
A short, fat lady who looks like a barrel and who has a strange habit of whistling at me every time I pass by told the local butcher that in fact I was seen in Nigeria a few months ago at the home of a famous witchdoctor.
“He was in the company of Ginimbi I tell you!” she told the amused butcher.
Anyway, when the owner of the Range Rover finally returned and I had to return the car and go back to my usual junk, the rumor mongers went at it again, saying that the cult leaders in Nigeria were disappointed in me because I had given them the brain of a boy who was already a lunatic even before I offered it to them!
But because God works in mysterious ways, recently I got some few millions after selling a prime plot belonging to my late uncle, and the reason I sold it was because there were some unscrupulous fellows who were eying it the way a hungry hyena eyes a wounded antelope.
Immediately mama Boyi heard that I had sold the plot, she waited for me the way broke employees wait for their salaries, and when I finally came home in the wee hours of morning, she was there to present her case.
“Now listen here baba Boyi, I know you have that money either on you or in your account, and knowing you, once you go to Zakayo’s Pub, the money will become history. Therefore, I was suggesting that you just leave the money with me, because as you know women are wise when it comes to money,”
I knew that if I laughed out aloud, chances were, the greasy frying pan would have appeared out of nowhere, so I just looked at her in a way that suggests I would rather leave the money with mzee Zakayo himself.
When all her efforts and threats failed to convince me, she decided to accuse me of planning to get a new wife.
“Don’t for a minute think that I don’t know your plans, I have my own ways of getting information, and the latest I have got is that you are searching for a new wife……….and in bars!”
Finally, she told me that I should be considerate and buy a small car for her because she usually goes through a hard time when it comes to transport, and the next day I went and got for her a Toyota Vitz.
Because my excuse of a car had been harassing me for years, I decided to move it to a nearby garage and told the mechanics to take their time fixing everything; in the meantime, I got myself a flashy Toyota Mark X.
I even shocked mzee Zakayo when I went to his bar and demanded to see the ‘Black Book’ (this is the book where all the people who drink on credit appear) and cleared my debt, and left a sizeable amount for my future consumption.
ALSO READ: BABA BOYI: Smart phones are not that smart after all
Two days later, I was sitting on my favorite table at Zakayo’s Pub when I overheard the conversation of two fellows sitting three tables from me, and one of the men, a short, stocky fellow who looked like a retired pall bearer, was whispering some seditious information about me.
“Nakwambia kweli kabisa, I heard it from a fellow who works in Ikulu, he told me that mama is planning to jail him because he disappeared with a few billions meant for the SGR project……that is why the project has stalled,” he was saying.
The other fellow glanced furtively at me and I pretended not to hear anything, and the whispering continued with renewed vigor.
“Just the other day I am told he took his whole family to London where they went to see the dentist, and his wife, mama Boyi, created havoc at the airport because she refused to let go of her greasy frying pan,” said the other fellow.
That is why I understood why mzee Zakayo was insisting on serving me himself while the bar maids, including Vaileti, my favorite, were doing all their efforts to catch my attention.
