So, my holiday in Bujumbura was great especially after all those Amstels that Jean Claude was buying for me! However, on the last night of my stay, my rather expensive phone was stolen by a sleek thief!

Yes, you guessed right – the sleek thief was none other than a major new catch that I had intended to migrate with all the way from the land of Kiradodora to Mutara! I was hoping that I could get engaged to this strikingly beautiful lady who I had landed upon in the land of Kiradodora!

It all started Jean Claude’s friends invited me for several rounds of booze. They were at the popular Havana joint doing justice to chicken wings and Amstels.

The previous night had seen us guzzle more liters of booze than we could handle when we fluked someone’s wedding ceremony at the shores of Lake Tanganyika.

That meant that my head was feeling as heavy as a rock. The hangover stuck to me until around 4pm when I struggled to get out of bed. As I was preparing myself for a sound rest, my phone rang. It was Jean Claude who had convened at Havana.

They told me that they had found a cure for the hangover. "Hey Diaspoman, come for the cure man! Don’t you know that a hangover can only be cured by an ice cold Amstel?”

How right they were! So I rushed over to Havana. They were in a great mood as they crushed chicken after chicken. I joined in and clobbered as many as possible. As we continued to enjoy the drinks, our group started to increase in numbers.

No! Not fellow guys! Instead it was the amazingly attractive Buja ladies that joined us at our table.

Apparently as the booze climbed into our heads, our eyes started to convince us that any passerby who was dressed in a skirt had to join us. So we pulled more chairs and ordered for more drinks for our new acquaintances.

In the process we began to get quite close and personal. We started to ask each other questions such as; "Will you marry me?” Anyways, we drank on for many more hours. Havana was abuzz at midnight.

The lady who was seated next to me continued to cajole me throughout the evening. She then asked me for a "Unité”. For those who do not know what a unité means let me clarify a bit.
A unité refers to telephone airtime.

Whenever someone asks you for a unité, it means he or she is borrowing a phone from you in order to place a telephone call to someone else.

So when this chick requested me for 1 unité, I found myself pulling my expensive Nokia phone from my pocket. I gave it to her and told her "Please feel free. Call anywhere you want. Even if it is Canada!” But the truth of the matter is that I was on Per second billing otherwise known as PSB.

And I think the balance on my phone was about 200 francs only. I then gave her the phone and since the environment at Havana was noisy with music blasting out of the loudspeakers, she had to get out in order to place her phone calls.  

The moment she walked out of the Havana Gates was the moment I said goodbye and farewell to my new handset. I waited and waited but my chick never returned. By the time I realized that I had been duped, it was too late.

We tried to quiz the other remaining ladies but it was of no use.
The girls were total strangers amongst themselves. In fact each one thought we had come with the others.

"We do not know that person at all!” I was cooked! I felt like a real jerk. This 1 unité had cost me much more than I had anticipated…
   
diaspoman@yahoo.com