Just the other day it hit me; I can’t possibly be the nicest of guys… humans if I must add, I’m not even trying. Plus I crave things that only a few indulge in, like extreme violence, like bodog fighting. Not as a participant of course. No, I er… ahem. I’m what you might call a spirited spectator? Eased back into the sofa in the comfort of my own home with a consistent supply of beer, friends, and good vibes that’s what it is. The beer thing is actually crucial. Also, throw in a bunch of girls. I don’t care who’s reading this, I’m single. Shout out to my day one niggas; Ty, Po, the Dakos, Tin-Tin, Chambers, Taata Michelle, Ndi, Capitalz, French, Red, Tony, the ervs… damn, is that all?
So I had one of the girls question me about my alcohol intake not more than a month ago. I believe the question was a staggering attempt to get me to open up about certain things in my life. God knows she cares. She’s friends with my ex, you know… the one. And on occasion I feel like the pressure of keeping us both is tearing her apart, ripping right open her unblemished heart while leaving bitter afterthoughts. I know a thing or two about that. Certain people shouldn’t have to go through the harsh realities of life to get a grip on thongs. *Read things. And if my continual life in the screw up has taught me anything it’s that sometimes it’s better not to get involved. I love this girl. I really do… I know I do. But I also like, love these three other girls from work and I think the little one knows. Anyhoo, looking at what her friend and I have become, I choose not to act upon such feelings. And isn’t that love at it’s peak… in it’s purest form? Forget Romeo & Juliet, I say; if you love somebody, and in your heart you know they’ll hurt from it, then don’t let it be. It’s that simple. The world could use one less heartbreak. Make that two. I’ll be the constant. You see, I don’t even hold the belief that perhaps somewhere out there, in the vastness of this universe and beyond, there drifts a version of me that hasn’t been hurt. I’m at peace with what I am.
I tell myself that perhaps I don’t deserve normal, good beings… like I’m evil or something. I ask myself; “…if I couldn’t keep her, (or any other for that matter) nice and all kind hearted, how or most importantly why should I keep trying?” Funny thing is, I’m too weak to act. Or more specifically… to not act. I’m a coy, lonely screwup that cares about nothing but his gigidys. There, I had to say it. Quagmire did, why can’t I? *Peter_Griffin
Now back to the matter at hand. Have you ever flunked that one test or interview which you know with every nerve in your body you should have aced, partly because you needed it? How did that make you feel… dejected perhaps? I know, it’s highly disconcerting. Even when you try to kick it with a bunch of friends later on in the program you feel beat, like totally. Now, you know how sometimes you just have to pick on a random character to make your real friends proud and yourself even better? Well this… this is “One Of Those Times” #OOTT
So here I was in the most random place on earth- Mbarara. It’s actually a pretty decent town but who cares with everyone else demanding city status. It was at a fair hour I must admit, lining outside Standard bank when my buddy Andre tapped me by the arm, pulling on my (label undefined) shirt, prompting me to give up my spot in the queue. He wouldn’t rest his lips so I had to ask; “Buddy, hey?”
Andre: Hey Marvo Man* kawabuzire?
Me: Ahh, guy kandimu?
Andre: Tompa ha Ssente shi?
Me: Kandi zirahe?
Me: Blah, blah.
Andre: Haza BTW omukazi wawe ariyo nazakuswerwa.
NOTE: Don’t hope to get google to translate any of this crap. You know that big slap of zero results found? Yeah you better. Cause that’s what you’ll get.
Completely thrown by Andre’s allegations, I had to be certain I wasn’t reading his lips wrong. To this date I doubt he ever realized I was wearing earphones that entire time. I kind of stitched them to my skin you see. So I asked him to be a little bit specific, as I unplugged both phones. Well of course not that directly. Here;
Me: Oha shi guy? *as I pretended to scratch my lobes. (Ingenious, I know)
Andre looking equally surprised replied; “Tokumumanya sh’iwe?”
Me: Hahaha, nyine bingyi guy (I don’t. I don’t though).
It was at that point that he pulled out his cellular device (poor thing) and unbundled the rubber bands that held it together, showing me a blurry picture of someone I knew from my more juvenile years. I could have sworn I saw a toddler in there too but that’s just me. You shouldn’t believe everything I put up here.
Speechless, well not entirely of course… I sent him off with a sweet; “Oh, I have this thing with the guys later, we’ll talk” when we were done.
Meanwhile, my mind must have been screaming nuts and pie all the way home. My Boda guy says I lost it for a while when we parked/landed (or whatever it is Boda-Bodas do nowadays- long story) by hotel Kash, emotions and shit. But I was like; “That tends to happen when I forget the ATM card at home.” And even though I don’t own one of those, I spanned the lie rather skillfully. The truth is, I had but one thought the entire time. Thought being; “I knew the prospects were bleak but really..? He thought it’d be alright to let me know… that mother f…” *Everything else is pretty much hush hush. I couldn’t put it up here, you understand. Plus, I fancy myself a gentleman of sorts.
To not be continued.