It was an easy Sunday afternoon. I was at home in my bedroom, had just had lunch and I was just laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I did not have much to do that day, it was going to be a boring afternoon at any rate, and to add insult to injury there was a blackout. Idle minds are the devils playground they say, and so to avoid falling into the temptation of browsing porn and jerking off afterwards, I decided to take a walk to pass the time. It was a Sunday anyway, I did not want to begrime the Lord’s Day with such type of venial sin. Besides I wanted to enjoy the pleasant sun of the humid afternoon, to take in puffs of fresh air, away from the stifling confines of my house. Being the rainy season one was 100 percent guaranteed of scenery of greenery of all nature. Absolutely beautiful and breathtaking. My house is located on the side of a busy neighborhood road. As soon as I stepped outside, it was bustling with an array of activities, couples walking leisurely obviously relishing in their romantic banter, children blissfully playing around the muddy puddles of rain water, it had rained heavily earlier that morning, motorists drove on by and cyclists pedaled away, small groups of teenagers here and there, probably sharing favorite moments from episodes of popular TV shows. I walked on by, taking care not to walk too quick or too slow, skipping and hopping over the muddy puddles if necessary.
As I walked on, there happened to be two women walking in the same direction as I was, they were only a few paces ahead of me. From how they looked, they must have been at least 30 years old or less, no more. I was within their audible distance but initially I was preoccupied in my own cogitations so much that I did not give any thought to whatever they were babbling about. After a while something one of them said roused me from my lackluster day dreams and made me follow their line of conversation. Apparently, one of the women was having marital quandaries. She revealed to her colleague that her dear husband was developing into an unrepentant philanderer. She grumbled that her husband had not touched her in a month. He always came home late and too drunk to properly function. She continued that she had been finding what appeared like semen stains on his underwear as she is doing laundry, yet he had not lain with her in recent times suggesting that he had been getting it someplace else. She complained that his mobile phone was always locked and he would not disclose to her his passcode either willfully or forcefully, which made her suspect that he was hiding something nonconforming in there. She said she was contemplating on getting a beau of her own, she was at a breaking-point as her tenderloins were burning with a raging fire of desire after a month of coital deprivation. Her friend, who in my opinion was the wiser of the two did not encourage her. Instead she advised her to talk to her husband of her concerns. She pointed out how men are not very emotional beings that’s why they are comfortable with unattached sex to the point that they have no problems buying the service if needed. It could just be a communication problem that needs to be addressed. She added that she shouldn’t always wait for her husband to initiate coitus. At that moment the women broke off from the main path and took a smaller path to wherever they were going… for a second I was tempted to follow them and continue with my eavesdropping but I figured it was not worth it, lest I be discovered and be thought a weirdo so I decided to continue with my path. After I had parted ways with the women, I began regurgitating what these women had just unknowingly divulged to me. I fell into a contemplative trance over the idea of marriage. They say in marriage the two become one. I guessed this meant one becomes unselfish to the other or perhaps it meant giving up your dreams and aspirations just to please your significant other? Or did it mean making drastic sacrifices for your spouse? The more I thought about it the more I realized the conundrum that was marriage, where exactly is the oneness? We have heard of couples choosing favourite sides of bed or having a preferred pillow so much that they can’t even switch pillows with their significant other even for one night. It’s a false romantic concept that once people get married they become one. What most married people do not realize is that they are two different people with completely different backgrounds and different life journeys. The best thing to do is to get married to someone who is on a similar life journey as yourself. I thought to myself that by any measure, marriage has to be the pinnacle of selflessness and commitment. I shuddered at the thought of marriage.
As I walked on I noticed there was a man laying by the road side, he had no shirt on. From a distance one would have thought he was lifeless but as you got closer you could see the periodic heave of his thin rib cage, an indication that he was sentient. He laid there with his mouth open. Flies had made themselves at home in his mouth and around it. He had a shoe on one foot, the other shoe was in a small pool of muddy water just a few inches away. On closer inspection his face was revealed to have sustained a horrible cut, most likely from fall. There were also other scars on his face that suggested similar calamities had befallen him in a not so distant past. His face was swollen and vastly deformed. Apparently he had blacked out from excessive intake of cheap plastic bottle spirits. There was an unchecked proliferation of these on the markets. Again and again these spirits had proven to be hazardous when taken without the necessary precautions. The regulatory body had tried to ban the production and sale of the same but the producer had obtained an injunction against the ban. And so in the time the injunction was being upheld, the liquor continued claiming the lives of the young and old alike. I myself had lost a few friends from excessive imbibing of these spirits. As I passed him by I noticed he had wet his slacks and I wondered to myself, where the fun was in all this? How can a man allow his own dignity to be demeaned like this? How can a man render himself to such disgrace? Did he not know his limits? I sighed with disbelief and walked on from the sorry sight recollecting in my mind the old adage that “Tokoma sitikuti leke” (Sweet things never desist from being unduly devoured) only one has to have control and know their limits. After all, all human beings are carnal creatures that are always in a relentless pursuit of pleasure.
I moved on from this sorry scene, my thoughts wandered off to other things. My chain of thoughts was disturbed by the vibration coming from my smart phone which was stuffed in my back pocket. It was a probably a flash, or a message. I dug into the pocket and fished out the phone. It was a message. I opened the application to read the message. It was from one of my friends Thomas. I owed him money. It had been sometime since I borrowed this money and he wanted his money back. To be honest I didn’t have the money. Of course I had borrowed the money in good faith and I knew I was going to pay back. I wanted to start a business, in fact I had, but the business never picked up, and I was left neck deep in debt. It was a downward spiral from then onwards, the economy in general had deteriorated. Prices of goods and services were increasing day in and day out, but the salaries had stagnated. The Government, a corrupt organisation which I worked for, had ceased the annual increments that we used to get some few years back. It was hard for me to cope in this hostile economy. In the end of it all I blamed myself for not being innovative enough. Being an alumna of one the top colleges in the land, it was no-one’s fault but mine that I was wallowing in pecuniary predicaments like this month in month out. Most of my friends were doing well in life, they were living comfortable lives, they were developing forward, while I was developing backwards, sinking deeper in debt every year. I was so desperate I had even tried to make some money to pay out my debts through gambling. Particularly sports betting. The country had just been introduced to a new form of gambling in sports betting. It was taking over the townships. Well, I thought I would try my luck and maybe I would hit a jackpot someday. I realized two things, either sports is unpredictable or I was officially the unluckiest person in the country. I saw punters win huge sums of money but I never did win anything substantial. I had to give it up before I could get hooked. Life is not a game of chance you have to work the skin of your fingers to make it. I wish I had daddy money or an inheritance of some sort, set for life as it was, but those were just fantasies, a waste of brain power at any rate. I looked at the text message on my smart phone and felt shame. I had given excuses for long enough, but I had no better response but to ask for more time. Typing a reply took long enough, it was hard to find the right words. Pushing the send button was even harder. This wasn’t right, I wasn’t raised a dishonest person, betraying people’s trust was not one of my traits. I felt bad at these ostensibly insincere apologies I was giving every month. I gave a deep sigh of despair and plunged the phone back into my pocket. I reminded myself to be strong and to not gauge my success of others’. One could become CEO at 25 and can die at 45. One can become CEO at 45 and live to be 90. Though sometimes it felt like time was not on my side, I could find solace in that notion that sometimes all we have to do is try our level best and wait for things to fall in place.
Suddenly there alighted a huge crowd coming from the opposite direction. There were middle aged men in front of the crowd. They were carrying tree branches and one of them was periodically blowing a whistle. It obviously was a funeral procession and these men were clearing the way. If there is a funeral procession coming your way it is customary to give it its due respect before you fall prey to blood thirsty funeral discipline enforcers. Motorists have to stop, park their vehicles and get out until the procession has passed. Likewise pedestrian have to stop and stand aside, hats removed, heads bowed low and all. Usually in such a procession there are somber songs being sang, aggravating the sadness of the mourners and passersby alike. In the Christian circles these funeral songs are sang only when the deceased was a practicing Christian. If he had been squaring his tithes and was showing other diligences associated with his church, he will be accorded a “proper” rite when his time finally comes. Muslims on the other hand do not care, they will still accord you proper rites regardless of your relationship with the religion for they leave judgement to Allah. However there was something different about this procession. There were no somber songs, the singers were actually singing happy songs seasoned with drums and dancing and jubilating. It was quite a strange spectacle, something we are not used to seeing. I learnt later that they were Zionists. That’s how they roll when they have a funeral.
I trotted on and I came to a primary school, one of several primary schools that catered for the kids of the area. The classrooms were filled with groups of people, probably having religious or wedding preparation or friends of some place meetings as is common place. There was loud music coming from a powerful sound system somewhere behind the classrooms where they have the schools’ football ground. I decided to investigate. There was a Christian revival crusade. It had been going on since the previous Friday, it was scheduled for the whole of the week. During the day they were just playing gospel music, the sermons, deliverances and miracles would start late in the evening and progress up to midnight. There was a small crowd gathered in front of the elected metal and tent stage. Most were children and teenagers. I stopped for a while to enjoy one or two of the uplifting songs blaring from the public address system. Close by were two boys, by their looks they must have been in their mid-teens. One of them said to his friend, “Dude last night I had sex with Diana!” to which the friend exclaimed with a patina disbelief and awe, “No way! How did that happen? Where? That girl rarely comes out of her parents’ house. I hear they are strict disciplinarians”. The one who claimed to have had sex with Diana gave a small smirk of satisfaction and replied, “Right here at the Crusade. We made a program to meet here. This is the only way our parents would let us out of the house after dark.” He paused for a bit to let his ingenuity find a place to settle in his friend’s cranium. Then he continued, “We were on a dark corner behind those classrooms, one thing led to another and finally we did it man. Then I escorted her back home, she had a 10 p.m. curfew. We are meeting again tonight and for the rest of the week until the crusade concludes.”
“Damn!! Really? Well, you will be having some good old time dude. I envy you. I am still a virgin man.” The friend complimented with some level of admiration for his friend who had just got laid the previous night and was most likely to get laid for the few more nights to come. Well, that was interesting. The boys looked inexperienced. I wondered if he had used protection at all. I doubted he would know how to use a condom. He looked like the type that would unroll the condom first and attempt to put on in the unrolled state. I gave a little malevolent grin when I thought of all the trouble the small boy might have gotten himself into if he had not used protection. Though Diana had a curfew it was obvious that, if there was any damage it had already been done.
I also realized that these night prayer sessions attracted all manner of people. Some who were genuinely coming for the good word and the wonders associated with it and other cynics who come for their own sinister agenda, quite contrary to the teachings of the crusade. Some were pick pockets, come to make away with phones and other valuable personal accessories while some were adulterers, fornicators, drug dealers and many other hell bound motherfuckers.
After enjoying a few songs I continued on my voyage, and I came to the local marketplace. Throngs of people were in the market, going about their business, others selling, others buying and others just passing through. In the middle of the main road passing through the market was a carcass of a dog. It had been dead for a day at least, probably a victim of a hit and run in the night. Nobody had cared to remove the carcass, motorists swerved to avoid crushing the carcass and creating a bloody mess on the road. I guessed market authorities were waiting for it to start rotting before they could mobilize to remove it, in the meantime they must have been busy collecting market fees from shop owners and other vendors. I was careful enough not to take a long look at the carcass, as I have a hyperactive gag reflex, one of the reasons I had foregone my childhood ambition of becoming a medical practitioner, a nurse or a doctor. I came to a roast corn vendor. The corn smelled delicious and fresh. That prompted me to buy one cob to nibble at as I was walking along. I approached his braai stand styled stove. “Yes boss, this side it’s K80 per cob, the middle it’s K100 per cob, the rest of the cobs are K150 each” the vendor welcomed me as such. I chose a tender looking cob from the K150 group of cobs, it was not done yet so I stood aside as I watched the vendor carefully turn the cobs over the amber charcoal, taking care not to burn the corn eyes. A man approached the stove at which point the vendor welcomed him by pointing out that only one cob was taken, the one I had chosen, the man could choose from the rest. The man touched a cob at the far end of the stove and asked, “How much is this cob?” The vendor replied “K150.” The man touched the next cob, and then the next and then the next, asking for price every time. Halfway through I got annoyed and I could not take it anymore, so I said to the man, “Would you please just point at the cobs? You do not have to touch them, we do not know where your hands have been.” The man froze and stood there seemingly embarrassed at his lack of a sense of hygiene. He stood there for a few more seconds before turning around and leaving without buying any cob though he had touched half of the cobs on the stand. Yeah! Run along you disgusting man. A few minutes later my cob was done, I paid and left. Sadly, the corn was not as sweet as it smelled. Fucking GMO. I cursed to myself. Prioritizing yield over quality. Who could blame the MOSANTOs and the SEEDCOs of this world, human population had exponentially increased over the past few decades. Food production needed to increase as well to match this alarming growth. I ate half of the cob and threw the rest away.
By this time the sun had begun sinking into the western horizon or according to flat Earthers, the sun was getting too far away to be seen since the sun is always above the flat earth. I decided to turn back and retrace my route back home. I passed by the crusade and people had begun gathering ready for intense sessions of prayer and miracles. The drunken man was no longer where he I left him, he had probably regained consciousness and had staggered to wherever, so I hoped. I got home, I was too tired to cook. Luckily, I stock instant noodles by the dozen and the electricity was back on. In less than 5 minutes I had a plate full of delicious noodle soup in my hand. I quickly devoured it, then I showered, laid on my bed and put on a movie to watch until I fell asleep.
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