There was one time when I encountered a really hot product all the way from India. This product was so hot I started to shed litres of tears.  And since I was in the company of a hot Kigali chick, I had to find an explanation as to why I was crying like a baby….

That was during the mid 90s when Aggrey and I had several priorities to work on. They included: beers, discotheques and greenish crispy US dollars. There was also another priority; and that was to get a full time companion.

That is why Aggrey and I flipped through the Holy Bible to read certain verses. One verse that seemed to suit us well was from the book of Genesis. It said; "That’s why a man will leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife. The two of them will become one.”

The problem is that the ladies around never subscribed to the idea of becoming one. Instead, they subscribed to the idea of milking us until we were as poor as church mice.

During one weekend the chicks guzzled all kinds of liquors from the very top shelves. They gulped until their eyes began to dose in sheer stupor.

Well, it was at such moments that Aggrey and I would grab the mother of all opportunities. We would drop on bended knee and declare our unending desire to be united with them in holy matrimony.

So, our mouths would open and spell out the following words hailing from the holy book itself: "The bible says that a man will leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife. The two of them will become one. Would you therefore care to be the mother of my future kids?”

It was at this point that our ladies would sober up. "Hey guys, what’s up with you? This is time for fun! If you want to bring up religious matters, wait for Sunday!”

Then they would place an order for another dry gin before asking us to take them to Black and White discotheque. By the end of the weekend, our pockets would be crying in real shame. This was not the kind of life we were looking for.

So, Aggrey and I decided that we would follow our hearts. Our hearts told us that the best brides would be the ones who pray and fast for the whole weekend.

I identified a certain candidate who appeared to bear all the qualifications. She was from a rich family and that mattered to me.

She was the type who spent her weekends at the local church where songs of praise and worship tend to chase away demons.

I decided to give it a try. After several visits to this church, we agreed to share dinner in an attempt to escalate our chances of becoming one.  

Come D-day, we headed for a posh, quiet place in Kiyovu. We settled down for a memorable evening. However, it did not take me very long to make my first mistake.

You see, when the waiters brought the steamy rice and fish for us to eat, I forgot to say a word of prayer. As I lifted the folk to eat I realised that my date had raised her hands towards heaven.

She shrilled out a long prayer as she invited our lord to bless our nosh. Her prayer lasted approximately seven minutes. Thereafter we started to attack the food.  

But then it was time for my second mistake. In a bid to show my date that I was a ‘who is who’, I picked the red bottle of tomato sauce.

However, I failed to realise that the red bottle was full of chili sauce all the way from India. I proceeded to spray it all over my rice. Then I took a good mouthful.

Ouch! My whole mouth turned into an oven. Immediately, tears started flowing down my face. My date got concerned; "Brethren, what has happened to you?” I could not respond. It was too hot.

After several minutes, I composed myself and managed to let out these words; "Brethren, whenever I remember how our lord suffered on the cross, I breakdown and cry…”

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