Humour: The villager out of the village

The other day, I met Diaspoman and he addressed me by my name. “Hi Mfashumwana!” he began. A heated debate followed as to whether I was the actual and original Mfashumwana. Many were arguing that, I was an impostor, trying to pass off as Mfashumwana, blah, blah, blah. In the end, I had to produce my indangamuntu and when they were convinced that, they were talking to the real man that many love and yet many love to hate, you could not mistake the joy or anger in their eyes. There was an air of joy for my ardent fans but anger on the side of detractors was also up. The next stop was “Car Wash” (formerly Roasters) located at one end of the “Poids Lourd” (pwarulu), just a few metres before the Kanogo Rond Point. Many people always failed to tell the difference between Mfashumwana, the place and Mfashumwana the person. I am two in one, the man and the place. This is the reason why my column is called “the villager”. The place and the man are one, then, the two are the same…sorry if I appear to be confusing you. I will not dwell much on the ABCD of why I came to have the same name as my village of birth, but what I want to tell you is that, you can take a villager out of the village, but, you may not take the village out of him. I am not saying or even trying to imply that the local beer tribes of the land, the likes of Mutzig, Primus and Amstel are bad, no, they are great brands; but because old habits die hard, I cannot learn to be left handed at this old age and hence I got a stick to my proverbial tribe of beer, the great Bello. I sometimes guzzle the Amstels because they are close “cousins” to the Bellos (not that they are born of the same parentage but due to their close similarity). As the Kinyarwanda saying goes, “nta nzoga zitagira ijambo” (no drinks without a word) or rather, “Nta ijambo ritagira nzoga” (no word without drinks), how on earth would I talk on a dry throat? I suppose that is why we descended upon what by day is Car Wash but at night becomes “Throat Wash”. As the beers began to hit me, my tongue loosened and I could narrate the whole story of my life; but, would there be enough time for such an enormous task? Of course, I told them of how my name became to be what it is and how I grew up, the likes of Matiyasi and his Salon de Coiffure, situated under the muvumo tree (an abominable tree), how I met the “Chain keeper”, life in Mfashumwana (village), Kampala and now Kigali. The story was too long for this page as it could easily fill the whole newspaper. I suppose, if you wish to know more, why don’t you drop me a line and we can meet at the Car Wash aka Roasters. Contact: Mfashumwana@fastmail.fm