When warriors shiver, it’s time to run

YOU see, most of the time I like to think of myself as a very peaceful fel- low, but as I always tell you, it seems as if trouble is always behind me. Being married to a war like woman from the hilly side of Mbeya, and one who can terrorize fully grown men does not help one bit, because if you ask me, it makes matters worse.

On the other hand, producing a son like the domestic thug who is supposed to be my own biological boy is something that I never like to discuss, because just the thought of it is enough to make my sensitive blood pressure to skyrocket like a damaged North Korean missile.

As I am writing this, I have taken asylum at my friend’s house because the mother of my clan, mama Boyi, threatened to roast me over a slow burning candle if I dared to show my face at the house. There was a time I told you that it seems like trouble is always following me, but I have come to the conclusion that it is mama Boyi who is usually following me around in the company of trouble.

By now l know that most of you know that my boss is a person who does not own a conscious, because he thinks that my family can survive on prayers and eating goat food.

That is why the excuse of a salary that l receive every month is not enough to make me irrigate my throat at respectable joints.

That is why the tiny brain inside my bald head told me that it was a good time to look for other sources of income, and for a brief moment I thought of selling drugs.

But l knew my line of thinking was being affected by serious thirst when the thought of being a boda boda rider crossed my dry brain. I was sitting at Zakayo’s Pub sipping my cold beer on credit when l remembered a certain lady who had floated a business idea to me a few years ago, but because l had acquired a loan a few days back, l just ignored the suggestion.

You see, when you have money in your pocket, serious money that is, you tto start behaving as if you come from a rich family, but when you are broke the way l am always broke, then your brain, tiny as it might be, must switch to overdrive. I searched for the business card of that lady the way you search for a coin which has dropped under the bed, and l finally found it, almost faded, in one of my old wallets. We agreed to meet a few days later so that she can tell me more about the business she wanted to involve me in, and l looked forward in anticipation. We were supposed to meet at a classy hotel on the outskirts of Manzese, and when that day arrived, l was there one hour early, which goes to show the level of desperation l was in.

To be honest, and God is my witness, backed by all the Nyamwezi ancestors, that lady was good to look at, and this was confirmed when a young waiter dropped a tray full of all kinds of drinks when he came face to face with her. Anyway, before you start thinking that l was there on dubious reasons, let me continue telling you how my wife nearly committed several cold blooded murder a few hours later.

We were really digging in on very juicy opportunities that we could partner in, when l heard a commotion and a war cry that made my Nyamwezi warrior blood to freeze in my veins.

On several occasions l have told you about a certain character called Oscar the Hawker, who on numerous occasions has nearly ruined my marriage and home simply because he makes it his point to snoop on other people’s activities.

It was unfortunate that Oscar saw me when l entered the hotel, and because he was hanging around that area, he also saw the lady when she came to my table.

What this fool did was to rush to my house and told her that l was in the process of organizing my wedding with another woman.

“Mama Boyi, you should see your future co-wife, she makes Beyonce look like mama ntilie at the local market. And looking at her it seems like she has real money, that is why baba Boyi is kissing her every few minutes,!” he told her.

For those who know my wife, then they know that when God was creating her, He completely forgot to put something called patience and the ability to inquire in her, that is why before Oscar could tell her how he overhead that we were planning to go to Dubai for our honeymoon, she was already at the hotel. I was about to order for my sixth swallow when l heard a very short but painful scream from somewhere, and the voice of a grown man pleading for mercy followed.

“Mama utaniua!!” are the words which l heard over and over before l heard a loud thud and then complete silence. I saw a waiter going to check what the commotion was all about, but l became more concerned when he bolted past our table as if the devil was right behind him. I could see the manager shivering at the corner, and he looked as if he would lose consciousness any minute when my wife emerged, holding a bloody frying pan.

I knew trying to reason with her was the same as trying to explain to a cat that it is important to wash it’s paws soon after taking a leak. I looked at the nearest exit area and bolted like a veteran 100 meters champion, and l could hear a blood curdling scream as l took a corner on one foot.