Word Around Hair in the Nostril

by MazubaMwiinga

I didn’t hear that;

Very surely so I didn’t hear it; It was a reverie from last night’s winery taste. The beams of light flashed my face so much that I couldn’t see clearly what stood before me. I wanted to sit but my bottom was so hot, standing and jogging were the only remedies, so said my friend who has already packed bag and baggage en-route Ngabwe.

Couldn’t it be that the sensations of last night’s social merry-making injected the better of me? But how could it be when the whole of my life I have been the king of the hall; the master mimic and cherry babe dancer, but never in a day did I walk home zig-zag like a running stitch patching the bottom side of my Sunday best shots? Worse still failing to find my stool!

Like Eshu the Confunser of Men, from Imprisonment of Obatala, I started to mistake shopping malls to mountains and tarmac roads to rivers swollen to the banks with water. At one point I almost dived in, in my effort to swim across – thank goodness for the beaming light of oncoming vehicle – It could have been twakalinabo. I now realised why my friend was so anxious to move to Ngabwe before plots are all taken up. My step was in such muddle! I crave for Nega-Nega instead, at least the odour of soup ya Mbuzi can quench my ravenous appetite that come with this ooze of the effects of wining and dining.

But what I failed to understand him is the malicious ignominy he so often likes taking me for walks. For once I thought he thought I didn’t know this place so well enough for me to sit and relax. But last night, I was stammering like one whose left brain side was pinched with garlic powder. Then he whispered the word – I almost puked!

How on earth can that be? For the sake of the majesty innovation of ancient times, the son of a beer brewer must sojourn henceforth to his abode and leave me alone! Is there no article in the holy book that demands that one of his kinds must be para-trooped by the belt to their habitat?

The monkey feeder must not stick his shoe where his fingers must go. Who is there to relieve me of this nagging hair in my nostril…!  

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