As I am writing this, I am in the process of seeking for a friendly house which can take me as I seek political…..sorry, domestic asylum after my wife, that warlike woman called Mama Boyi, threatened to dispatch me to my maker without a valid visa.
For those of you who are conversant with international things and not Kiu or Sani will know that when a fellow leaks sensitive information about his or her country is considered as a spy, and when they catch up with you the only thing for you is to prepare to meet your maker, and that is why when they know that they have been found out they are forced to seek for asylum.
That man is not seeking domestic asylum like yours truly, he is seeking political asylum, but the sad thing is, no one is interested in taking him in.
My case is not very different from the aforementioned spy, because right now my friends are giving me the cold treatment simply because they fear getting in the bad books of Mama Boyi, who has a reputation of wielding the frying pan with such precision that can put a veteran tennis player to shame.
Jatello, that fellow from the Lake Zone and who has been boasting in my local watering hole that his cat sleeps in its own master bedroom in Masaki, flatly told me that he is hosting Biden’s delegation in his mansion.
“Omera, you know that since Obama who is my cousin left office, he introduced me to Biden, and he called me last week and told me to host part of an entourage sent by Biden, and I could not refuse him, and I cannot let you share the room with my cat because it is afraid of strangers,” he told me when I called him.
My woes started last week, when I went to Zakayo’s Pub to irrigate my dry throat which was threatening to crack. Mzee Zakayo made sure that my table was free, and told me that the bar maid will soon bring my cold brown bottle at the required temperature.
One thing I like about mzee Zakayo is that he knows how to treat his regular customers (unless you mess up with him of course), and one way he ensures he maintains them is by recruiting new bar maids after every three months.
“Nothing brings in business like a new pretty face in a pub,” he always says, and that day as I sat there waiting for my beer, a pretty girl sashayed her way to me, and in a smooth voice, asked me what I was taking. I looked at her and she batted her long eyelashes, and for a moment my mouth froze.
I told her that mzee knows my usual stuff, and as she left, I noticed all the men staring at her. The way she walked would have put any veteran model on the catwalk to shame.
After swallowing several cold ones, I knew that it was time for me to head back home and confront the mother of my clan, who had been giving me the cold treatment for refusing to buy a new blender for her.
When the pretty girl came over, I told her to prepare my bill, and with drooling eyes, she asked me if I wanted to leave, and I nodded in affirmation.
“What a coincidence, because I have asked mzee for an early day off, I have to go and take care of my sick infant. If you will not mind I will appreciate it if you can drop me, it is along your way,” she purred, and the warrior in me responded quickly that there was no problem.
With angry stares behind me, I went out with the girl, who requested me to stop by the shop so that she could buy a few necessities for her home, and I told her no problem.
After buying her things, I drove to her place, which happened to be a few blocks from my house, and I was surprised when she asked me if I could go in and say hallo to her sick baby. Once a gentleman always a gentleman.
I agreed, and we went in, and I noticed that she was living in a single but well furnished room, but the funny thing is that I did not see any signs of a baby, sick or otherwise. Before I could pose any queries, the lady told me to feel at home and she stepped out.
The only sofa in the room was piled high with laundry, and the only option was to sit on the bed. I few minutes later, she came back in the room, and being a gentleman that I am, I was forced to close my eyes as she stepped out of her clothes and put on a flimsy night dress.
I was still figuring out what was happening when there was a loud knock, and my heart did a very major somersault. I looked at my host, and she appeared calm as she went to open the door.
The guy who appeared at the door was built like a telephone booth, and the biceps oh his arms looked like ripe water melons. He glared at me, and I stared back, a silly grin plastered on my face.
“So this is the man who has been giving me sleepless nights huh?,” he barked, and before I could calm him down and explain the situation, he came over to me and practically lifted me off the ground.
He shook me the way a bull terrier shakes a rejected doll until all my teeth rattled in my head, and when he finally threw me down, my heart was singing to the good Lord to open his arms and welcome me home.
He saw the things which the lady had bought a short while ago, and looking at the ape, I believed that he thought I was the one who brought them.
“Uliambiwa tuna njaa? You think that I cannot afford a loaf of bread and a packet of milk? Today I will show you what I do to people who try to mess up with me!” he said and removed his shirt.
I was expecting the woman to explain to the guy that there has been a mistake, but she just sat there, shivering like a leaf in a storm. He took the things which were lying on the floor and brought them to me.
There was a kilogram of sugar, a packet of milk, salt and tea leaves, and a bottle of cooking oil.
He placed them before me, and in a voice that could freeze a veteran soldier, he commanded me to start eating.
The lunatic was beyond any reason, and as he towered over me, I tried to figure out what to start with, whether I should begin with the loaf, wash it down with milk, swallow the oil, cover the taste with the sugar, or start with the tea leaves and finish off the exercise with milk.
I looked pleadingly at the man, but I noticed murder behind his glare, and I slowly started eating the loaf of bread, with the packet of sugar lying next in line on my lap. I don’t know what the guy was looking for under the bed, but I took that opportunity to run for my life.
My beer belly was forgotten and my spiky legs did me proud, because I shot out like a bat from hell, and before the ape could grab me, I was going at a very dangerous speed which could have turned Usain Bolt green with envy.
The reason I am desperately looking for a domestic asylum right now is because I don’t know how, but Mama Boyi got the story from a nosy neighbor, and I can assure you, I would rather face that ape of a man a thousand times rather than face that Nyakiusa woman with her frying pan!