I am not adulterous. I am not even a home breaker. But with Marita, I thought I had a right or to put it rightly we still had a right to each other.

People, it pains me to the bones to tell you that this is the last narration of a true story in the long life I have lived on this planet and the short time I spent in Dar-el-salaam.

Not because the story has come to an end but because tears stroll down my cheeks whenever I remember the nasty experience I had while in Tanzania (TZ) and cant contain it any more. Not with the premature departure from Marita’s kingdom of love.  

"Good morning kapiteni?” a female voice that would send Adolf Hitler dosing came through my phone inquiring about my health that morning.

"Are you not supposed to pick me up at this time?” We had arranged what was going to be our first date. Remember in the 1960s we could not afford the finances and convenience to eat fish like we did at the coast.

7: 00a.m on the dot I was driving through Dar’s streets to pick up my ‘new catch’ and we had only one day to enjoy. We did not want to throw away any minute or else John, her hubby who looked more of a wrestler than a caring father of two beautiful daughters, would interrupt.

Our choice was the coastal beaches of the Indian Ocean but we did not spend much time there because of the high school wanabes who were enjoying their holiday vacation. We hit the road to a posh and quiet hotel where we straight away went to the bathrooms. Er…together.

From there we enjoyed breakfast in bed where she said how much she had missed me all these decades, how she didn’t love the husband and how she would elope with me if it were not for the kids. I was very affirmative in everything she said.

We talked a lot from pointless to nonsense but we enjoyed all of it anyway. The moment came at about 3:00p.m when Police came knocking at our room. It had been tipped by the waiter who had been serving us the whole day.

John was with the police baying for this foreigner’s blood. Remember Marita and I, are off springs of military servicemen. We stealthily slipped away and in the next few minutes I was at the airport.

I don’t know where Marita is or how she is but hopefully dear we shall meet again. After how long, I don’t know. Remember we are ageing. I swear I will never go back to that Swahili speaking country. But above all, I will never let my feelings put Marita in any danger again.

Ends