Big pity that my chalk dust-eating friend is gone!

Folks, I am mourning the untimely death of one teacher at the Uswaz International Primary School where my one-and-only eats chalk dust teaching Uswaz kids. You see, each one of us will some day find a temporary abode in one of those mortuary freezers whether we like it or not – of course at different times.

Teacher Gratiatustus Kobole was so unlucky to lead the way. Since there is no humour in death, I will limit myself to what transpired a couple weeks ago.

He was not a bad guy though, but he had this weakness. He was allergic to paying his debts in whatever form, be it in cash or in kind. He would come to Bisho Ntongo or any of his colleagues almost in tears, giving all sorts of excuses such as feigning the death of his father, mother, uncle or a relative.

Next time he came on a borrowing spree, he would forget that his long dead relative could not have died twice or thrice (he has managed to ‘kill’ his father more than three times).

Anyway, it was his time to go and he surely did. After an intake of cheap liquor combined with poor diet, he succumbed to death at a local hospital in Dar es Salaam.

I am told that after missing class for three days while his phone was on air, his colleagues went looking him in his shack only to find him sprawled on the floor with empty sachets almost burying him.

There is no offence intended but as far as I can remember, anyone I know who has been taken ill at that hospital has lived to tell the story. That is what happened. He never lived to tell the story.

Yes, I saw him lying in that casket and remembered how people talked ill of the poor man. If he borrowed some coin from someone, as it is customary in Uswaz, they would spread the word. Of course, the school management is not spared of this hypocrisy. They offered a free coffin and footed funeral expenses albeit reluctantly. Deep inside I have been wondering why human beings spend so much emotions and money when a bloke like me finally kicks the bucket. Even those blokes who wish me dead will be crying reptile, I mean crocodile tears. The hypocrites usually sing your praises as if you were a god of some sort during your lifetime. Your employer will be glad that the payroll has shrunk.

Come to think about it, the only human beings who genuinely miss you when the inevitable happens is your wife and the kids but in some cases, your woman will be glad that you have finally stopped beating the hell out of her.

I say this because African funerals are more of feasts than funerals. Not so long ago, I saw Uswaz blokes fighting for food during a funeral.