I remember several years ago when Aggrey tricked me into a complicated relationship! He arranged a blind date for me. He invited a nice looking Kigali dame and informed her that he had hooked a cool Diaspoman all the way from abroad. When she finally met me at Aggrey’s posh house, she was head over heels for me! Apparently, Aggrey had told her that I was a rich investor who spends half of my time shuttling from one continent to another! Wow! Anyways, I decided to play my cards right and avoid an uninvited explosion from Miss Dynamite herself. Such an explosion would have become imminent, if I had decided to reveal my true identity. My true identity would not be the one she would have liked to embrace. I mean, how could I find guts to tell her that I was a man in my thirties, who did not even own a single suit? You know, while in the Diaspora, we used to dress up in Jean trousers and Elvis Presley jackets. We always tried to avoid buying suits due to the nature of our jobs. This is because our jobs in the Diaspora were not the type that you would refer to as an “Office” job. Instead, we used to go for the other types of jobs, which related and were not limited to; washing public toilets, selling meat at the butchery as well as polishing peoples’ shoes. That is why you would never find me dressed up in a suit. The only time I dressed up in a suit is when I received a call from someone who had just arrived at the airport and wanted a ride from me. I had previously created an impression that I was a big shot, working in a bank, and making real money. That day, I had to rush to a friend to borrow a suit and his car. He was kind enough to get me one of his brand new suits from his wardrobe. He tossed the car keys to me and I sped off to the airport. I was feeling on the top of the world as I headed for the airport terminal to meet my old friend from Africa. I gave him the usual high fives and helped him with his luggage. It was when we were seated in the car, that my visitor asked me a curious question. “Do you guys put on suits without plucking off the price tags?” Wow and damn! I had forgotten to remove the price tag. Moreover, the tag portrayed a really cheap price indeed! Anyhow, here I was with miss dynamite at Aggrey’s Nyarutarama balcony, sharing a cup of tea. The breeze swept across as we gazed at the beauty of the thousand Rwandan hills. Aggrey had stabbed me in the back by lying to Miss Dynamite about my intentions towards her. As I told you before, Aggrey had informed Miss Dynamite that I was a big shot all the way from the Diaspora, on a special mission to restructure and reform some junk organizations in Rwanda. I had come over with strategies that would put the IMF to shame. What had eluded me to date was a partner. Miss Dynamite was convinced that she was the right one for me. She looked up at me with the most romantic smile I had ever seen. She then asked me whether I would travel with her on my next official trip abroad. I swallowed hard and found myself nodding in the affirmative. “But first, could you, please, get me a new passport?” she asked. Once again, I swallowed another substantial amount of saliva and nodded in the affirmative. As if she had prepared for this before, she sprung up from her seat and dashed for her handbag. She pulled out some documents and a couple of photographs for her passport application. I promised to get her passport in a jiffy, as the Director was a personal buddy of mine. Deep inside my head, I was wondering where I would get the fifty thousand francs! But there is always a redeemer at that crucial point in one’s life. My redeemer was not in form of a loan from Aggrey. No way! My redeemer was in form of the news that I received from the Immigration officer who scrutinized Miss Dynamite’s passport application forms. “Sorry Lady”, the officer told us, “Your ears are very tiny and are not visible in these photographs. We therefore cannot process your passport.” YEAH! diaspoman@yahoo.com
