THE PUB: Chiku wonders why you leave her ‘just like that’

At the pub, you aren’t just there to drink, unless you’re a unique human being. You’re also there to socialise. Or even to make someone else happy—if your wallet permits, that is.

This could explain why you’re likely to find a man buying a mhudumu a drink—with no strings attached.

His idea being, simply, to make her feel appreciated, treating her like he’d like to see his own sister or daughter treated.

Just because your mother didn’t work in a bar to feed, clothe, and take you through school doesn’t mean she’s a better human being than our wahudumu.

These hospitality industry service providers, without whom you’d be drinking at home in the company of your nagging better half and the little rascals who call you Dad or Grandpa, are, overall, equal to everybody out there.

Some of our wahudumu, however, have been conditioned to believe that when a patron becomes kind to her, then he’s after something; kumbe wapi!

Like it transpires this time around at a bar far flung from my locality.

The weather-beaten son of Muyanza is today feeling good and uncharacteristically charitable.

He tells his mhudumu (call her Chiku) to have one on his bill.

It’s like she doesn’t believe it, so she cross-checks by asking, “Eti nini—did you say I may also have one?”

“Yes,” I say, “Pata moja.”

“Thanks,” she says and dashes to get a Sere Laiti for herself.

There aren’t that many patrons right now, so Chiku asks if she can sit with me.

“Why not?” I say, “Karibu.”

I’m halfwaythrough my beer when I say to myself I could do with a little mbuzi-choma, so I hail a kitchen mhudumu seated nearby.

The meat soon comes, and when I ask Chiku to share it with me, she says she’s not hungry.

I cajole her by saying I’m not hungry either—just eating to make sure there’s something freshly taken to reduce any adverse effects of alcohol on my stomach walls.

After doing justice to the juicy mbuzi, I order us a round.

Soon, it’s time for me to leave—three beers are, as usual, all I need in any single drinking session. I pay my bill and tell Chiku I have to go now, for I have matters to attend to elsewhere.

 “How come you leave without telling me something, even after offering me two beers and nyama-choma?”

“Something like what, Chiku?” I ask.

“Like saying you’ll be back for me later, or asking me when I’ll be off duty so that you and I can meet somewhere better than here?”

“But I’m a married man, or do you think I’m not?”

“You’re an old person, so I obviously can’t be single, but so what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Virtually every man I date is married; the younger ones are of no use….you see…”

I don’t let her finish. I intercept by telling her (read: lying to her), as I start leaving, that I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll arrange something.