Humour: The Villager: “Saved by the legs”

In the olden days, when money was flowing into the pockets of those who were in the employment of the numerous “NGOs” that littered this country as if they were mushrooms in a forest, that was the moment I arrived in Kigali. To be frank with you, though my name is not Frank, Fridays were days to reckon with, not in the bad sense but in the sense that, many persons got. This meant going on a spending spree as if saying that, if there is too much cash in one’s pockets, he may suffer the “mwako” of not getting another lot until the current lot is completely exhausted! The spenders were applying the real accounting or is it stock control method of “FIFIO” (first in, first out). We worked and lived like “fishermen”(and fisherwomen alike”), to members of the fishing fraternity, as long as there is a lake, fish will be caught every day, hence, the fishermen cum fisherwomen will always work and live for today. In this perspective, people worked, earned, ate and drank week by week. Before I got the job of manoeuvring, a HINO truch from Kigali to the southern shores of Lake Kivu, I was a typical “mushomerie” (jobless) and had to leave off other people’s sweat. It was at one of these moments that a certain “friend” of mine, yes, friend in quotes because, I had just known him, not so well to call him a real friend. This guy was called Charles though we preferred calling him Kalooli. This is a vernacular for of the name Charles and because of his enormous height and thinness, he resembled a particular bird popular for its scavenging tactics. In all forms, he was like that bird, the bird is normally called “Kalooli”in Kiganda, in English, it should be a member of the stalk family. Now, the Kalooli guy invited me out for a drink. As we were living in the upper Kiyovu, those days, getting transport in and out of that place was a real nightmare even during the day. We decided to take the popular air-conditioned” transport (motos), because that was the easiest mode then or even today. For sure, I cannot remember the exact spot where we went to, but it was somewhere in Remera, in front of the Stade Amahoro. We settled in for the “zungu” tribes of beers; Castle, Holstein, Heineken etc, of course, the read brochettes were in plenty. In English, they normally say that, “little knowledge is worse than no knowledge at all”, the guy (Kalooli), kept shutting down all the revellers so that he was the only one doing the talking as the others did the listening. I felt very uncomfortable with this modus operandus, where I had come from, we all talked and all listened, there was nothing like this “ümva sha” being uttered at everybody every time. He told them of how he had fought many wars, blah, blah, blah. I do not remember the actual hour when someone lost his patience and spoke out against the dictatorship of the so called “Afande”. In his drunken stupor, he decided to show the guys what kind of substance he was made of; he pulled a guy by the collars and I had to intervene and beg him “Afande, please don’t hurt the poor fellow”, he just pushed me so hard back into my seat that I almost broke the poor seat. I decided to keep mum. He tossed the guy a real good slap (typical of Afandes” and the poor fellow slumped to the floor. “That is what I will do to all of you, if you don’t listen”, he boasted. The guy rose from the floor and quietly left. Deep inside me, something told me that, something was amiss, a man gets hit, he falls onto the floor, wakes up and leaves without protesting, as if he was a kid, no way! I went and asked “Afande” to allow me leave but he would not have any of that nonsense, he was my host, he would take me back home, he boasted. When we had almost forgotten about the whole incident, a group of men walked in, each was carrying a whip. They positioned themselves in such a way that, the whole bar was covered, as if commanded, they began raining their whips on any one who happened to be in their path. The whole bar was being punished for the sins of one man; the guy who had earlier on been slapped kept calling out, “Afande uri hehe”(Afande, where are you)? Guess what? No body knows where “Afande” Kalooli disappeared to. I managed to sneak out amidst the rain of “kibokos”, I ran till “Gisimenti”, stopped and looked behind, some guys were running towards me, I thought they were the “canners”, I decided to run on, till Gishyushu (Nyarutarama junction), some people were running towards me still, I ran on until the now MTN Road Point. By this time, all the booze had evaporated. Since I did not have any money on me, I decided to walk all the way back to Kiyovu. E-mail: Mfashumwana@fastmail.fm