As the economic crisis effects continue to be felt in our pockets, I am planning another visit to Kira dodora land. You may recall that several years ago, I crossed the border in search for extra francs. When I crossed the Akanyaru boarder a few years back, I carried my belongings in a briefcase.
As the economic crisis effects continue to be felt in our pockets, I am planning another visit to Kira dodora land.
You may recall that several years ago, I crossed the border in search for extra francs. When I crossed the Akanyaru boarder a few years back, I carried my belongings in a briefcase.
One of the items included in this case was a mission statement. It read in part: "…to deliver the best payroll tools by using super powers from Microsoft Excel…”
What I really wanted to tell my clients in Kira dodora land is that Diaspoman had set foot all the way from Kigali to come and train payroll clerks on how to use Excel to compute salaries.
I was told that the most used tool here was Microsoft Word. Others call it WordPerfect. They tell me that this is what the clerks use in order to prepare payrolls. That they first type out all the names of the people and then afterwards type out the corresponding salaries.
That is when they pull out their ancient looking calculators so as to add up the figures. That’s when I decided to visit this land equipped with a small flash disk that I had borrowed from Aggrey.
I told myself that this flash disk would produce miracles. I convinced myself that if I used the flash disk as a cell phone, then my hosts would take me more seriously.
So, with this very carefully drafted mission statement, I was on course to transform this beautiful land into a real IT nation. That is what I truly believed until I arrived in Bujumbura.
My host Claude met me at the Hotel de l’amitié where I had already downed 2 tall bottles of Amstels. He cruised into the parking area in his cool BMW. He was in a party mood as we drove around the City.
It looked great! And as I quickly discovered, this is not an area for bird hunters. Instead, it is a place where bird hunters become hunted by the chicks.
I turned to Claude and declared to him the following words: "Please take me back to the hotel right now!” What’s wrong my dear Diaspoman? Why go back to the hotel when we are heading to Havana night club?
"This is because I have to change my Mission statement!” Claude agreed and we headed back to my hotel. I quickly dashed to my room and removed my written mission statement from the drawer. I picked up a pen and crossed out the words. I then replaced them with this new mission statement: "…to get myself hooked to a future bride who would be the future mother of my future Diaspo children…”
After changing my mission statement, I re-joined Claude for what would be a truly memorable weekend. Our first stop was at the Havana night club. Wow!
The whole place was jam packed. Music was booming out of the huge loudspeakers. Crazy dancing was going around. Kira dodora was playing and everyone was at it! Claude guided me through the noisy crowd where we managed to reach the counter. My new mission statement was now at work indeed. The counter was full of very nice looking future brides.
I started to practice out some opening statements that I would use in proposing to the unlucky future bride. The only problem was that I had to make a choice. I had to select one person.
As the ladies approached me one by one, I scrutinized carefully so that I could make the proposal to the right person. My mind told me that I should ignore the ones who were advancing to me and instead concentrate on the lonely looking people. I told myself that a lonely looking girl would suit a lonely looking Diaspoman!
I scanned around and finally spotted a prospective candidate sitting alone in a corner. She had braids on her head. She was a well built heavyweight person dressed in an Arsenal FC jersey. She was dressed in tight Levis jean trousers.
I immediately thought that she would be my kind of candidate because I happen to be an Arsenal diehard fan. I also thought that a bride of that kind of weight would come in handy in terms of security. I guess we men would benefit if our wives were able to chase away thieves as we snored drunk in our beds.
Anyways, I cleared my throat before taking in a huge gulp from my huge Amstel glass. I then majestically marched onwards in order to put my Mission statement into practice. I reached out to Miss dynamite and cooed out the following words: "Honey, you seem to be the answer to my prayers.
I thank Jesus for having revealed you to me after a long, long search. Would you kindly be my wife?” As I prepared to receive a positive response, Miss Dynamite gave me the most painful punch that you have ever seen. It was a real Mike Tyson kind of strike!
It was when I was picked up from the floor that the truth sank in! Miss Dynamite was not a lady. No way! It was a Man in dreadlocks who must have fed on bread and butter all his life. He was not like you and I who have grown up on dry cassava accompanied by water. For him, he had fed on several liters of milk all his days since birth.
That is why his physical appearance resembled that one of a nice looking Kigali chick. As I was led away, his booming voice kept barking after me with threatening words.
That was more than 4 years ago! But now, I have to pick up the courage and prepare for a fresh mission in a bid to teach Microsoft excel for payroll clerks. Things are becoming monkey and that is why we need to make extra francs!