Peeping into 2014, I don’t see anything to excite me
What you need to know:
January, through February, I will be smarting in the eyes from the pains inflicted by last year’s inflation and unreasonable expenditure during the festive season. My resolution list is as long as the list of those who “earned” a division five (eerrr, division four in their O-level exams last year.
Staring at my calendar I wish that the floor would split open and swallow the whole of me – 2013 is gone and another year just started, a grim reminder that I am one year closer to the grave – some kind of annus horribilis ( a year of disasters). I have this notion that anything with number 13 is an omen including 2013. The damn calendar has been putting me into a reflective mood, contemplating on my woes this year, hoping that 2014 will be a better year.
2014 came and everyone was so excited and optimistic as if they know what lies ahead of them. To me, the poor son of the rat and roach-infested Uswaz it is only a digit on my calendar that has jumped a step up. Much of my miserable life will probably be a repetition of the last year. I will still be a proud owner of Chinese plastic wallet that never leaves the corridors of financial ICU bank account at Dr Charlie’s CBRD Bank will be retaining overdrawn balances. Probably, I will still be an avowed patron at Mzee Shirima’s Bar and Guesthouse whenever my wallet has reprieve or Mama Mwakilambo’s (drinking local brews) whenever it has taken the opposite direction.
January, through February, I will be smarting in the eyes from the pains inflicted by last year’s inflation and unreasonable expenditure during the festive season. My resolution list is as long as the list of those who “earned” a division five (eerrr, division four in their O-level exams last year. I will be, as all Bongo people cursing the MP Hon Dr Tanjiri Tubo Kubwa for my financial and other imagined woes. Even after wearing off my fingers for years writing this weekly tirade, my mean “bossman” will not be inclined to add a penny to the wages he proudly calls a salary. I will be dreading going to the bank to queue for peanuts every month.
In the meantime, my spoilt twerp will be threatening to unleash an Al Shabaab-type of terror if I do not send her off to fancy boarding school in Arusha. My landlady who I already owe six months’ rent arrears will be frothing in the mouth, threatening to throw me out of her leaky house (oh…I mean shack). I cannot forget that I spent a day under Jenny’s urine drenched mattress as she walked back and forth on my corridors, waiting for me to show up to pay up the rent.
Over December, I did borrow heavily to facilitate several weddings, funerals, Christmas and New Year celebrations. It therefore means that I will have to keep off the main roads lest I bump into people I owe money. One such man is Mtanenge the butcher. He has on some occasion threatened to slit my throat with his sharp tools of death over unpaid meat bills. In the meantime, I wish you trouble-free year.
