There’s no better feeling than that which a man gets when he calls a mhudumu and orders, loudly: “Wape mbili-mbili wale wazee watano pale.”
You must’ve heard the expression, “Kutunza heshima baa.” Any drinker worth his salt, like the total man that you are, feels even more total when he’s capable of buying a drink, not just for himself, but for fellow drinkers now and then.
There’s no better feeling than that which a man gets when he calls a mhudumu and orders, loudly: “Wape mbili-mbili wale wazee watano pale.”
And, as the mhudumu starts her journey to the counter to collect the drinks, she turns around and looks you in the eye and says,
“Na miye nipate kamoja mzee wangu?” “Could I have one also, my dear mzee?
It’s like the mhudumu would be saying in her mind.
“If this old bugger can afford a round of two-two for five fellows who did not even beg him, what’s a mere one beer for me?”
You’ve to maintain your respect, tunza heshima baa, so, you say it’s okay, even as you gnash your teeth silently.
There’s no way she can know that you ordered that massive round as a gesture of appreciation to those who had helped in bride price negotiations for your son, managing to lower the mahari from Sh5m to Sh1.5m.
He made our prospective in-laws understand that your son, who plays for our neighbourhood’s soccer “club”, First Eleven, doesn’t earn anything close to what Yanga’s Clement Mzize pockets.
That it’s actually your son who pays the team!
At this other time, you asked a barmaid to take a beer to a young woman you had waved to as you entered the bar.
She happens to date one of your crooked buddies, for which reason you call each other 'shemeji'.
A few minutes after she received my offer, Savanna, the mhudumu, had rushed back to you and said, “Your shemeji says thank you, but she has told me to tell you that you’ve not realised she’s seated with two friends.”
You asked the mhudumu what the friends take. Her answer: One takes a Heineken and the other, a Windhoek.
Even as your heart bleeds, you succumb to the unfair demand whose bill comes to over Sh10k! That’s kutunza heshima baa for you.
During another incident, a dalali who spends virtually all his life at your favourite local approached you holding Sh3k and said, “Mzee wangu, as you can see, I’ve three thou…”I need just two to get a Kasichana.”
Some drinkers nearby can notice what’s going on, and you don’t want to risk diminishing your heshima by denying this sponger 2k. You succumb.
And the other day, I was feeling good and ready to offer somebody something.
Then, this young mhudumu who calls you “husband” since you once made the mistake of telling her (read: lying) that if you were younger, you’d have definitely asked her to be your something.
Her response was, “Kwani, what’s the problem? Wazee like you are the best!”
When you tell the “wife” to get her a soda on your bill, she says, “Okay, I’ll take the soda, but I’ve not eaten yet, and I’m quite hungry… So, I’ll order some food too, au siyo baby?”
Kutunza heshima baa is a foolish drinker’s curse in Bongo, if you were to ask me.
