Yesterday I had to visit my doctor and laid everything on the table, and told him that I was suffering from a problem which might be life threatening.
This doctor looked at me with concern in his eyes and inquired whether I was on the verge of kicking the bucket, and I could see in his eyes that he was hoping I will not become past tense before I paid his bill. He asked me the nature of my ailment, and I pointed at my head and told him that everything is in there, and that the cause of the problem dwells in my brain.
You see, on several occasions I have been having very funny dreams, and of late these dreams have increased, causing me to start believing that maybe I am becoming crazy. For those of you who follow me on this space, then you can bear witness that my brain belongs in Milembe Hospital where people who have lost their nuts are locked in.
Sometimes they are not very bad dreams if I may say so, apart from a few which have made me to wake up in a cold sweat, like the one where I dreamed that I made God angry and He decided to turn me into a woman. It is a very scary dream if you are a man, and it becomes scarier if in that same dream, apart from being a very ugly woman walking on spindly legs, you are also spotting a very large tummy which announces to the society that you are pregnant.
The dream which I had two weeks ago was not bad, because in that dream I took over from mama Samia as the main prefect of this lovely country, with flashy cars and muscular bodyguards included. I have to confess that it is not the first time this crazy head of mine has transported me to the State House where I ended up transforming the whole place by including a very serious bar with beautiful waitresses on my beck and call.
Unfortunately, in this weird dream the first lady was the same mother of my clan, mama Boyi, who moved into the State House with her belongings from Manzese, and the greasy frying pan was not left behind, because she found a nice spot on the wall and hanged it as if it is the portrait of Jesus.
The dreams continued to be wilder several days later, and one of the dreams saw me as the Speaker of the National Assembly, where I created havoc by rejecting the budget which hiked the price of beer and whisky. I had to go to the doctor and confer with him because with the soccer season on its first leg, I found myself in the land of Ronaldinho and wicked beaches.
In my dream, I did not go to Brazil to admire the stadiums, but went there as the coach of the national team Taifa Stars, and I was leading the boys who looked scared before the competition started. In my dream, Tanzania was put in the same group as the hosts Brazil, and the group included Argentina and Italy, and we were the underdogs of the competition.
When my boys entered the pitch for their first game with the hosts, I saw myself sitting with my technical bench on the sidelines, and beside me there was a crate of very cold beers which were inviting me to have a taste.
The hosts terrorised us from the word go, and my striking option of Samatta and Denis Kibu met with a solid wall of Brazilian defence, who danced to a little samba every time they frustrated our attacks. And then the dream got bitter when Neymar, that boy who looks like a veteran konda slotted the ball past Aishi Manula, and the stadium went wild with celebrations.
“Coach, if I do not have a drink fast I will not continue playing, because my throat is parched and dry, please do something!” said George Mpole who came to the sideline, and I quickly offered him a cold bottle of beer, which he tilted to his mouth and when he put it down it was empty.
When the first half came to a close, I dragged my remaining crate of beer to the dressing room followed by my boys and technical bench, and when we were there I had to admonish them for their weak attacks. “Kibu, you see what happens if you keep on eating chips mayai all the time instead of ugali wa dona?
Those boys are terrorising you like a small kid, and Manula, instead of reading magazeti ya udaku between the posts, you should concentrate on keeping those guys away,” I told them. I turned to John Bocco and assured him that if he continues to stare at the women in the stadium instead of playing football, I will substitute him and send him back to Tanzania.
My trusted defender, Mwamnyeto looked moody as he stared on the floor, and when I asked him why he was playing as if he had jiggers in his feet, he looked at me with teary eyes and told me that he missed his girlfriend. I made a point of kicking him out of my team when we returned home as on the other side of the dressing room Feisal Salum was busy playing a game on his phone.
When the second half kicked off, it took only five minutes for my boys to find the back of the Brazilian net, and in my joy I ran to the VIP podium and tried to kiss the Brazilian president, who happened to be a woman.
But one of the bodyguards, a fellow who resembles a Brazilian cow, aimed a perfect blow to my head, and the world started to spin, and when the second one landed, it was so noisy that I was forced to wake up, only to find mama Boyi towering over my head, and the frying pan was in her hands of course!!