Miss-Delectable
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Candid talk: Uswaz?s two deaf and dumb clowns
Mtoni Kijichi in Dar is location is inhabited by the poor Uswahilinites as well as the rich. In one section you find sprawling shanty-like shacks that bespeak poverty; in another you find plush houses occupied by the well to do. Huge fuel-guzzling shangingis compete with pedestrians going or coming from town.
The most beautiful bit about living in this part of Bongo is that the line separating the mighty and the rat chasers is very thin. Uswahilinites rub shoulders with their mighty brothers and sisters at Mzee Shirima’s pork beer joint.
After a serious imbibing of the forbidden drinks, the mighty ones drive off to their lofty “Mbwa Kali” abodes while Uswahilinites like me troop back to their shacks to continue with their daily fights with zillions of mosquitoes, cockroaches and offending rats.
I live in the shanty part of this God-forsaken part of the Uswaz. Besides Hussein the wag, whose is reputedly the leading Uswaz gossip monger, there happens to be these two other fellows who are peculiar in their ways.
They are both deaf and dumb. I have never known their names but it is amazing how the two communicate for if you see one around, you are sure to see the other. Their camaraderie amazes everyone.
You may wonder why I call them gossips. Using their sign language, they have wreaked havoc in many homes in Uswaz than Tatu the barmaid has.
Last year, I was drinking in the shadows (most Bongo bars are dimly lit), with the hands of this woman I had just met, fiddling with my zippers. What happened next mortified me for I feared that Bisho Ntongo, my one and only woman would get a wind of it.
It happened that the two guys spotted me. They immediately rushed to Mzee Shirima’s joint and brought Tatu, my favourite barmaid, in their tow.
The result is that the fight between the two was reminiscent of World War II, only that the fighters were two aggrieved women fighting for an improvident loafer that is me.
Fortunately, the story never got to Bisho Ntongo, for that would have called for an instant confinement to the sofa instead for her cozy bosom.
Anyway, the two chaps have other reputation. They have sticky hands. They comb the entire Uswaz stealing anything in their path. If, for example, women forget their clothes on the drying line, that would be the end of seeing them.
I am told that they have a soft spot for women’s underwear. They will sneak into an Uswaz bathroom-cum-latrine and slink away with bras and panties. The other day, one of them escaped lynching by a whisker.
A couple of days ago, their thievery graduated a notch higher. They broke into Dr Winchinslauss Rwegoshora’s house and made away with a radio and laptop. Why they needed a laptop, God knows, for they have never been seen toying with a computer in any Uswaz Internet café.
One thing that Uswahilinites are good at, which they carry out with great relish, is that of tracking thieves and meting out justice unto them.
In many instances, the culprits are burnt beyond recognition. A mad Uswahilinite would readily offer to buy several litres of petrol for the purpose of ‘cremating’ a pleading fellow Uswahilinite. I have witnessed such grisly murders, but I wouldn’t like to spoil your mood with the lurid details.
It is not funny, but I was amused to hear that the two thugs, after stealing the radio and the laptop, forgot to switch the damn thing off.
They did not switch it off because they didn’t know it was on in the first place, since they are deaf. As the trackers combed the whole of Uswaz in search for the thieves, they came to a bush several metres from my shack. The radio was blaring with some Lingala music.
Of course, the clowns would not have been caught had it not been for a child who whispered to the vigilantes that there was music playing in the bush.
The duo was yanked out of their hiding and received a thorough beating. Had it not been for Winchinslaus Rwegoshora’s intervention, both clowns would have graced the Muhimbili morgue freezers in charred forms.
Mtoni Kijichi in Dar is location is inhabited by the poor Uswahilinites as well as the rich. In one section you find sprawling shanty-like shacks that bespeak poverty; in another you find plush houses occupied by the well to do. Huge fuel-guzzling shangingis compete with pedestrians going or coming from town.
The most beautiful bit about living in this part of Bongo is that the line separating the mighty and the rat chasers is very thin. Uswahilinites rub shoulders with their mighty brothers and sisters at Mzee Shirima’s pork beer joint.
After a serious imbibing of the forbidden drinks, the mighty ones drive off to their lofty “Mbwa Kali” abodes while Uswahilinites like me troop back to their shacks to continue with their daily fights with zillions of mosquitoes, cockroaches and offending rats.
I live in the shanty part of this God-forsaken part of the Uswaz. Besides Hussein the wag, whose is reputedly the leading Uswaz gossip monger, there happens to be these two other fellows who are peculiar in their ways.
They are both deaf and dumb. I have never known their names but it is amazing how the two communicate for if you see one around, you are sure to see the other. Their camaraderie amazes everyone.
You may wonder why I call them gossips. Using their sign language, they have wreaked havoc in many homes in Uswaz than Tatu the barmaid has.
Last year, I was drinking in the shadows (most Bongo bars are dimly lit), with the hands of this woman I had just met, fiddling with my zippers. What happened next mortified me for I feared that Bisho Ntongo, my one and only woman would get a wind of it.
It happened that the two guys spotted me. They immediately rushed to Mzee Shirima’s joint and brought Tatu, my favourite barmaid, in their tow.
The result is that the fight between the two was reminiscent of World War II, only that the fighters were two aggrieved women fighting for an improvident loafer that is me.
Fortunately, the story never got to Bisho Ntongo, for that would have called for an instant confinement to the sofa instead for her cozy bosom.
Anyway, the two chaps have other reputation. They have sticky hands. They comb the entire Uswaz stealing anything in their path. If, for example, women forget their clothes on the drying line, that would be the end of seeing them.
I am told that they have a soft spot for women’s underwear. They will sneak into an Uswaz bathroom-cum-latrine and slink away with bras and panties. The other day, one of them escaped lynching by a whisker.
A couple of days ago, their thievery graduated a notch higher. They broke into Dr Winchinslauss Rwegoshora’s house and made away with a radio and laptop. Why they needed a laptop, God knows, for they have never been seen toying with a computer in any Uswaz Internet café.
One thing that Uswahilinites are good at, which they carry out with great relish, is that of tracking thieves and meting out justice unto them.
In many instances, the culprits are burnt beyond recognition. A mad Uswahilinite would readily offer to buy several litres of petrol for the purpose of ‘cremating’ a pleading fellow Uswahilinite. I have witnessed such grisly murders, but I wouldn’t like to spoil your mood with the lurid details.
It is not funny, but I was amused to hear that the two thugs, after stealing the radio and the laptop, forgot to switch the damn thing off.
They did not switch it off because they didn’t know it was on in the first place, since they are deaf. As the trackers combed the whole of Uswaz in search for the thieves, they came to a bush several metres from my shack. The radio was blaring with some Lingala music.
Of course, the clowns would not have been caught had it not been for a child who whispered to the vigilantes that there was music playing in the bush.
The duo was yanked out of their hiding and received a thorough beating. Had it not been for Winchinslaus Rwegoshora’s intervention, both clowns would have graced the Muhimbili morgue freezers in charred forms.
