Tuesday, May 26, 2009
It's all over my love
IT’S ALL OVER MY LOVE
Patrick Achitabwino
Men, it has never pricked my embattled soul that one other moment shall dawn over my life when I will have to hate my home and seek solace in nearly the same environment that wrecked havoc over my soul: bottlestore.
Barman, give me a cold one and a round for these drunkards. Aaaah, mayiwathu, a plate of nyamayankhumba please. Just cut a K500 peace.
It is these mayiwathu guys, these beer carriers who keep our eyes busy with their tantalizing walks, balancing nyamayankhumba in one hand and bottles of beer in another, that have thrown spanners in the wheels of my love. They smile, yes the smiles that tease intoxicated minds of drunkards.
Men, I certainly believe that had you been in my shoes you could have totally agreed that what I am doing is sane. Just imagine, Towera, a sweet angel I have been dating for four years, all having been set to grace the altar in matrimony, has decided to abandon me.
Holy Christ, my zip has no discipline, Towera concluded deep in the marrows of her heart. I have no morals, no respect for love, and no thought over my future, Towera told me straight in the eye. Men, she boiled me in the hot pot of her anger. I tried to plead with her to give me a moment to explain but she was noncommittal. Immediately she called ankhoswe, bringing to a halt wedding preparations.
I have to clear the mist, lest you be deceived. I am mad guys because Towera is that type of ladies that can make guys crack their necks to breaking all just to cast a glimpse at her: dark in complexion, long-legged, hilly-hipped, after all what do you need in a beautiful woman.
So it is just a few minutes after 5am. How time flies, we have been imprisoning ourselves in this bottlestore since 10pm last night. Men, I have been trying to drink my sorrows down my stomach but they can sink no more. The more I try to forget them, the more Towera’s beaming visage ricochets in the walls of my brain.
Fellows, Towera has been my everything. There was a time my employers suspended me for two months. Reason? My bad habit of reporting for duties while drunk, and even sneaking out of office at times to guzzle a few bottles down the esophagus. During the period of my suspension on no pay, I survived because of Towera. She would bring to my house her pay slip and the whole pay itself then gave me the privilege of being the lord and master over her money.
Least your minds deceive you; Towera is not such a cheap monkey who roams on the street hunting for any drunkard. No, she is a respectable lady who drives her own Rav 4, daughter to a retired diplomat who resides in one of the posh flats in Namiwawa.
You see, this is the paradox of love. Despite all her well being she used to call me darling, one and only, sweet heart, you name it. She used to love me like I have never been loved before. I just recall that the first time we met was in the coachline on the way to Lilongwe. We shared seats. I stole a quick glance at her. She realized I was shy, then smiled.
You have never seen me stammering guys, no matter how drunk I am, but on that hour of grace I even stammered to mention my name. Towera loved calling me by my full name: Zondwayo Chiwalo. The way my name would dance at the tip of her tongue and scratch my eardrum, I can never tell.
Mayiwathu, yibwere nkhumba. Guys, I just think we are having a pork breakfast, isn’t it. Pork meat means no hangover. You can’t go wrong with pork meat and a few cold bottles. It is just like a strong wind that chases clouds away to provide a clear space through which the sun can light the earth.
Oh, thanks for driving me back to the right lane. Back to the issue, yes the issue at hand. This stupid Zondwayo told Towera Mulandu that he is a procurement clerk and was heading for Lilongwe to sort out arrangements for a board meeting scheduled to be held the next day.
Surprise men, surprise. Towera fished out a business card and handed it over to me. The card told me she was a brands manager for one of the car selling companies in the country. The designations written after her name were so many, call them. I…I…anyway, they are not relevant at this point in time. I just dipped my hand into my hip pocket, fish out a scrap paper then caricatured on it my phone number. She inserted it into her golden laced pace.
Men, this was the shortest journey I have ever traveled to Lilongwe. We finally said goodbye. We said we would meet again but little was I dreaming that we would ever meet again.
You should have seen how amazed I was a week later to see Towera snaking into my office. I nearly fainted. Actually, she said she had come to take me out for lunch at the hotel. Oh men, I took part in those so called business lunches at the hotel. I ate and ate and ate eeee. The way my tongue was licking the lips was more of a salivating dog. After all, I had earlier on escaped from the office to kill hangover with two bottles. Hunger was beating drums in my belly and the hotel food had to dance to the tunes.
The good thing I like with Towera is that she drinks a little. The moment that led to the beginning of our journey in love was the one that she took me to the sportsman’s bar for a few whisky glasses. It was right there, while whisky had knocked our brains down, that Towera told me that she was desperate for love. Actually she told me that she was ready to do anything to any man who would commit to live his life with her.
Men, who could not dream kutola nkhwangwa ndi mpini womwe. Call me a gold digger guys, call me what you want, but that was a once in a lifetime opportunity that poor Zondwayo, a resident of a rickety, roof-caving-in more of a toilet size bed-sitter in the impoverished Ntopwa in Bangwe, could not afford to slip through his fingers. You see guys, by then I had this other girlfriend, first born daughter to my landlord. Your guess is as well as mine; the following morning I lambasted the landlord’s daughter that she was not my type. After all, I had nothing to lose as Towera had to rent me a descent house in Nkolokosa a week later.
Men, what has made me mad, I say and please listen attentively, Towera told me that she wanted to have a feel of life at any of the bottlestores where I quench my beer thirst. I grabbed that an opportunity to take her to Mayi Nabanda pub down the stream down there. You see, I wanted those lunatics of girls who look you into the pocket with envy to see that I am not their type. You know them well guys, these worst robbers, mbava zoba powopseza ndi ntchafu.
That was a mistake guys, and I repeat, a worst mistake. No sooner had I alighted from the vehicle, hand in hand with Towera, than this other slim to the bone bitch pelted insults on me. Oh, guys, oh guys, she just yelled: Lero mwabwera ndi ena. Amwali alipiriretu ameneyo, kukonda ulele. I saw my heart flying out, my soul, my humanity, even my very self.
You should have thought it was a dream, another bitch bullied her buttocks in my front, yelling: lero ndipanga zainu. Ndikufuna zanga.
I looked at Towera. I looked at these night queens. I looked at myself then got lost into a sea of desperation. You see guys, Towera fished out K1000 from her purse, threw it at the …. forgive my tongue I am very angry, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to the car. With anger written all over her face she told me that it was all over. Actually, with tears she told me: it’s all over my love.
I am lost guys as I am talking to you. Call me a fool; call me whatever you want, but that is what my stupidity has paid me. I just don’t know what I will tell my parents. I don’t know who is to pay my rent; I live in a house that is beyond my salary. Barman, beers please, more beers. I will just drink and die for I see no reason to remain alive in the absence of Towera.
Patrick Achitabwino
Men, it has never pricked my embattled soul that one other moment shall dawn over my life when I will have to hate my home and seek solace in nearly the same environment that wrecked havoc over my soul: bottlestore.
Barman, give me a cold one and a round for these drunkards. Aaaah, mayiwathu, a plate of nyamayankhumba please. Just cut a K500 peace.
It is these mayiwathu guys, these beer carriers who keep our eyes busy with their tantalizing walks, balancing nyamayankhumba in one hand and bottles of beer in another, that have thrown spanners in the wheels of my love. They smile, yes the smiles that tease intoxicated minds of drunkards.
Men, I certainly believe that had you been in my shoes you could have totally agreed that what I am doing is sane. Just imagine, Towera, a sweet angel I have been dating for four years, all having been set to grace the altar in matrimony, has decided to abandon me.
Holy Christ, my zip has no discipline, Towera concluded deep in the marrows of her heart. I have no morals, no respect for love, and no thought over my future, Towera told me straight in the eye. Men, she boiled me in the hot pot of her anger. I tried to plead with her to give me a moment to explain but she was noncommittal. Immediately she called ankhoswe, bringing to a halt wedding preparations.
I have to clear the mist, lest you be deceived. I am mad guys because Towera is that type of ladies that can make guys crack their necks to breaking all just to cast a glimpse at her: dark in complexion, long-legged, hilly-hipped, after all what do you need in a beautiful woman.
So it is just a few minutes after 5am. How time flies, we have been imprisoning ourselves in this bottlestore since 10pm last night. Men, I have been trying to drink my sorrows down my stomach but they can sink no more. The more I try to forget them, the more Towera’s beaming visage ricochets in the walls of my brain.
Fellows, Towera has been my everything. There was a time my employers suspended me for two months. Reason? My bad habit of reporting for duties while drunk, and even sneaking out of office at times to guzzle a few bottles down the esophagus. During the period of my suspension on no pay, I survived because of Towera. She would bring to my house her pay slip and the whole pay itself then gave me the privilege of being the lord and master over her money.
Least your minds deceive you; Towera is not such a cheap monkey who roams on the street hunting for any drunkard. No, she is a respectable lady who drives her own Rav 4, daughter to a retired diplomat who resides in one of the posh flats in Namiwawa.
You see, this is the paradox of love. Despite all her well being she used to call me darling, one and only, sweet heart, you name it. She used to love me like I have never been loved before. I just recall that the first time we met was in the coachline on the way to Lilongwe. We shared seats. I stole a quick glance at her. She realized I was shy, then smiled.
You have never seen me stammering guys, no matter how drunk I am, but on that hour of grace I even stammered to mention my name. Towera loved calling me by my full name: Zondwayo Chiwalo. The way my name would dance at the tip of her tongue and scratch my eardrum, I can never tell.
Mayiwathu, yibwere nkhumba. Guys, I just think we are having a pork breakfast, isn’t it. Pork meat means no hangover. You can’t go wrong with pork meat and a few cold bottles. It is just like a strong wind that chases clouds away to provide a clear space through which the sun can light the earth.
Oh, thanks for driving me back to the right lane. Back to the issue, yes the issue at hand. This stupid Zondwayo told Towera Mulandu that he is a procurement clerk and was heading for Lilongwe to sort out arrangements for a board meeting scheduled to be held the next day.
Surprise men, surprise. Towera fished out a business card and handed it over to me. The card told me she was a brands manager for one of the car selling companies in the country. The designations written after her name were so many, call them. I…I…anyway, they are not relevant at this point in time. I just dipped my hand into my hip pocket, fish out a scrap paper then caricatured on it my phone number. She inserted it into her golden laced pace.
Men, this was the shortest journey I have ever traveled to Lilongwe. We finally said goodbye. We said we would meet again but little was I dreaming that we would ever meet again.
You should have seen how amazed I was a week later to see Towera snaking into my office. I nearly fainted. Actually, she said she had come to take me out for lunch at the hotel. Oh men, I took part in those so called business lunches at the hotel. I ate and ate and ate eeee. The way my tongue was licking the lips was more of a salivating dog. After all, I had earlier on escaped from the office to kill hangover with two bottles. Hunger was beating drums in my belly and the hotel food had to dance to the tunes.
The good thing I like with Towera is that she drinks a little. The moment that led to the beginning of our journey in love was the one that she took me to the sportsman’s bar for a few whisky glasses. It was right there, while whisky had knocked our brains down, that Towera told me that she was desperate for love. Actually she told me that she was ready to do anything to any man who would commit to live his life with her.
Men, who could not dream kutola nkhwangwa ndi mpini womwe. Call me a gold digger guys, call me what you want, but that was a once in a lifetime opportunity that poor Zondwayo, a resident of a rickety, roof-caving-in more of a toilet size bed-sitter in the impoverished Ntopwa in Bangwe, could not afford to slip through his fingers. You see guys, by then I had this other girlfriend, first born daughter to my landlord. Your guess is as well as mine; the following morning I lambasted the landlord’s daughter that she was not my type. After all, I had nothing to lose as Towera had to rent me a descent house in Nkolokosa a week later.
Men, what has made me mad, I say and please listen attentively, Towera told me that she wanted to have a feel of life at any of the bottlestores where I quench my beer thirst. I grabbed that an opportunity to take her to Mayi Nabanda pub down the stream down there. You see, I wanted those lunatics of girls who look you into the pocket with envy to see that I am not their type. You know them well guys, these worst robbers, mbava zoba powopseza ndi ntchafu.
That was a mistake guys, and I repeat, a worst mistake. No sooner had I alighted from the vehicle, hand in hand with Towera, than this other slim to the bone bitch pelted insults on me. Oh, guys, oh guys, she just yelled: Lero mwabwera ndi ena. Amwali alipiriretu ameneyo, kukonda ulele. I saw my heart flying out, my soul, my humanity, even my very self.
You should have thought it was a dream, another bitch bullied her buttocks in my front, yelling: lero ndipanga zainu. Ndikufuna zanga.
I looked at Towera. I looked at these night queens. I looked at myself then got lost into a sea of desperation. You see guys, Towera fished out K1000 from her purse, threw it at the …. forgive my tongue I am very angry, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to the car. With anger written all over her face she told me that it was all over. Actually, with tears she told me: it’s all over my love.
I am lost guys as I am talking to you. Call me a fool; call me whatever you want, but that is what my stupidity has paid me. I just don’t know what I will tell my parents. I don’t know who is to pay my rent; I live in a house that is beyond my salary. Barman, beers please, more beers. I will just drink and die for I see no reason to remain alive in the absence of Towera.
