UNEMPLOYMENT can bite hard. Especially when you have been sacked from your workplace! I remember when Aggrey and I were once sacked by our very selfish boss. This was after an evening party that was held in honour of a certain VIP who happened to visit Rwanda at the time. That was during the mid-90s when Aggrey and I couldn’t kick away our bad habits of gate-crashing parties. We used to sniff around for mega parties in and around town in search for free booze. Our mission was so successful that every weekend, we would be assured of serious boozing and munching of delicious nosh.
However, on this fateful day, things went totally against us. We had left our offices a little bit earlier so that we could rush home to dress up in our best suits. This was going to be a mother of all parties. During those days, there were no mobile phones. That is why our lady boss became so frustrated when she couldn’t trace us. Apparently her vehicle had run out of fuel and she urgently wanted the storekeeper to provide her with her weekend fuel vouchers.
The storekeeper was none other than yours truly – Mr. Diaspoman! I was the one who kept the key for the logistics store. Somehow, I had forgotten to leave her portion of fuel vouchers at her desk. So when she had failed to get hold of me, she started to search for the vehicle and maintenance fleet officer. That of course was none other than Aggrey himself. Aggrey is the one who kept all the keys of the vehicles which were parked at the compound. Now since she had run out of fuel, the next most sensible thing she wanted to do was to identify another vehicle for the weekend. However, Bwana Aggrey was with me preparing for a certain mega bash at the heart of Kimihurura. Therefore our boss could not get herself another vehicle. She was livid!
For us, we hit the road and climbed up the hill towards Kimihurura. As usual, we were dressed to kill and this was effective enough as the bouncers ushered us in with a smile. That was after Aggrey and I spoke in a language that had a mixture of English and broken French. We had been practicing so much and had perfected our art. We spoke with a foreign accent and used to pose as expatriates from Switzerland.
As it approached midnight, the party became so vibrant. We joined the crowds at the brightly lit garden to dance to the tunes of dombolo. Due to the high levels of booze, our eyes had started to squint a little bit.
That is why we totally failed to spot our lady boss in a far corner where she was exchanging some pleasantries with other guests. For us, our eyes began to ogle at this wonderful looking chick conversing with the guests. In a flash, Aggrey and I had decided that we would swing over to her corner and invite her for a serious dance. Little did we know that it was our very own mean boss!
Before she knew it, Aggrey and I had swept her across the dancing ground where we managed to pull a crowd of eager and anxious onlookers. They appeared to be enjoying our dance strokes. They clapped and cheered us on. Of course, our unfortunate boss was so embarrassed. She tried to run away from us but we insisted that she had to stay. It was when a certain sober guy came and whispered into our ears “Hey guys, the lady you are dancing with is your boss!” Ooops! What a mess. Slowly but surely we began to retreat. And the next day, it was not entirely surprising for us when we saw our suspension letters at our desks. Thanks to the booze infested squints…