When you are in London, do as Tanzanians do

I DON’T know whether it is the effects of a serious brain damage or the frothy liquids I usually swallow at Zakayo’s Pub, but in recent days I must admit that my mind has been a mess.

It reached a point that I started believing that Mzee Zakayo, the proprietor of our local watering hole Zakayo’s Pub was on a mission of making sure that all his old customers become lunatics.

I was sure of this because in more than ten occasions the old man swore that if he got a perfect opportunity to poison us or turn us into lunatics he would not think twice, and this he said is because we are responsible for making his life a living misery because we refuse to pay after swallowing on credit.

In the list of the diehard credit swallowers, I am sad to say, my name is on top of the list, followed by a fellow called Oscar the Hawker, who has a reputation of knowing all the juicy, secret stuff on all my neighbours (including yours truly, sadly) and my friend from the lake side, Jatello.

I began to be worried that the old proprietor had decided to accomplish his mission by lacing our drinks with lunatic drugs, because yesterday I met with Oscar the Hawker and he told me that he has been having very strange dreams.

He said in one of the dreams, he found himself chasing robbers who were escaping on a pickup loaded with a whole ATM machine which they had just stolen from a busy shopping mall.

He told me that after chasing the robbers for about one hour, they realised that they were on the brink of being arrested, that is why they did the smartest thing according to their daft heads, they abandoned the car and ran on foot.

Oscar the Hawker told me that after he made sure that the robbers had disappeared, he went to the pickup and decided to leave with the heavy ATM machine which he was sure was full of money.

He told me that after he succeeded in lifting the machine on his back and was running like a stolen Altezza, he was surprised when the ATM machine started struggling on his back. To cut a long, weird dream short, the fellow told me that he woke up and found himself outside with his struggling wife on his back.

Three days before, I met with Jatello in town, and the fellow who says the blood of kings and chiefs flows in his veins had a worried look on his face, and he told me that the night before he had a very strange and weird dream.

“Omera, I am starting to believe that I am slowly heading to the looney bin, because when I woke up I had to call my cousin Barack Obama and told him about the dream, and he assured me that if he was still the president, he would have invited me to Camp David so that I can relax my mind,” he told me.

The ‘cousin’ of Obama told me that in his strange dream, he found himself addressing thousands of supporters who were carrying banners and placards and waving them around, but in the confusion he was able to read one of the banners, which was written in bold letters ‘Vote Jatello for US President’.

He told me that while he was busy releasing point after point, convincing his supporters that he was God’s choice for the United States, suddenly chaos erupted, and his bodyguards who consisted of the Secret Service jumped into action.

“Jaduong, one of the bodyguards practically lifted me and started running towards the bullet proof limousine, but before we could reach it, there was the sound of a gunshot and my bodyguard dropped me in a swimming pool, omera, that is how I found myself headfirst in a bucket of water in my bathroom,” he told me.

I told him about the strange dream of Oscar the Hawker, and he told me that it is weird that only the notorious credit swallowers had these dreams, but told me that it might be a coincidence because I did not have a weird dream.

We spoke too soon, because last night it was my turn to have one of those weird dreams, and this one almost got me electrocuted.

In this stupid and weird dream, I found myself in London, where I had gone for the coronation of King Charles, and saw myself at a bus stop somewhere in the streets of London.

But one thing which really puzzled me was their bus system, because for those who have been in Mbagala and have seen the antics and acrobatics employed when a bus approaches, they know the hustle of getting into a bus.

I saw the bus that would get me one step closer to my destiny. No one was standing in my way, and I was determined that come what may, I should get a seat.

As the bus approached slowly, my posture changed, my psychology changed, and I practically changed into attack mode!

I began by adjusting myself to the rhythm of the bus. Its slow pace irritated me as I was used to the breakneck speed of our noisy, rickety and smoky buses that roam the roads of Dar.

I ploughed through the crowd of white people, through obstacle after obstacle until I was eventually nestled firmly in the embrace of the bus.

I had been taught well, because I was the first passenger in the bus. I was about to sit when a shapeless white woman shoved me and I landed on my butt.

I was not ready to accept defeat, specially from a woman, so I lifted myself and went after the woman. I pulled her from the seat and to show I was serious, I stood on top of the seat while holding firmly to the holding rail.

The woman came back furiously, grabbed my hand and tried to pull me from the seat, but I was not about to accept defeat, until the woman smacked me right in the noise.

When I called Jatello and told him that in that dream my wife smacked me after she found me hanging on top of my freezer while clinging to an electric cable, we all agreed that the hand of mzee Zakayo was involved in this whole episode.