Last week I told you what happened when Aggrey and I shifted from Kiyovu during the mid 90s to a place somewhere along the airport road. We were forced out of the house after the original occupants returned to claim it.
The only property that belonged to us were two simple suitcases that we loaded on the big semi-trailer which our girl friends hired from Gikondo Magerwa.
As the driver negotiated the trailer out of the compound, we couldn’t help but feel so sad at seeing our sweet home taken away with all its fond memories.
We tried to convince the driver of the trailer to take us to our new house at Giporoso. But he stubbornly refused to oblige claiming that his fellow drivers would ridicule him for accepting a half-baked kiraka.
He claimed that whereas the other Magerwa trailer drivers were seen loading tones of coffee and steel rolls all the way from Mombasa, he was busy shifting a mere two suitcases from Kiyovu of the poor to Giporoso. So, he just dumped us at the roadside and tossed our bags out of the trailer.
“There take your lousy bags. You may also keep the money,” he proudly told us off.
Obviously, our girlfriends had also vanished.
They had realized that we were just some small fakes around town. Aggrey and I then started walking with our bags begging for lifts.
We walked on until we finally arrived at our Giporoso house.
We were completely worn out.
The house comprised of a sitting room and one bedroom. We had no beds and furniture whatsoever; it was back to square one.
Since the world had turned round, we decided to return and discuss a few issues with the people who had kicked us out of their house.
Top on the agenda was the issue of compensation to us for having guarded their house and property for years.
When we arrived at the house, the owners welcomed us with open arms. We were ushered in and immediately treated to several bottles of cold Heinekens.
They appeared to be so happy to receive us and brought some roasted meat to feast on.
In return, we also continued to harass their beers one by one until the fridge became empty.
After several hours of guzzling, the booze in our heads started to dictate terms. We found ourselves standing up to give speeches.
Aggrey was the first to speak; “Ladies and gentlemen, we are so happy that you could pay us a visit at our modest house here in the Kiyovu of the poor.
May I propose a toast?”
As the owners of the house began to fidget with embarrassment, the Heineken in me also spat out a few words; “Yesh yesh, as Aggrey has just said, we are happy that you have been our guests and since it is becoming a little bit late, we kindly advise that you leave us so that we go to bed.
We can now escort you out of the gate.” We then staggered out to open the gate for our so called visitors.
At this point the owners of the house had become annoyed. They did not care whether we were drunk or not.
All their good manners disappeared as they started to retaliate. “Are you guys mad! You come to our house and try to kick us out? Wait we are calling the police now and in fact we are giving them a list of all the things you spoilt during your stay here!”
Before we could walk three steps, the occupants of the house had all ganged up against us.
They proceeded to throw us out of the compound.
They released their fierce looking dogs to chase us. You should have seen Aggrey and I sprint out faster than Donovan Bailey himself! We jumped over fences and ditches as the terriers hunted from behind us.
In the process, we lost our shoes and ended up with torn trousers. By the time we arrived at the road-side, we were already very sober.
Phew! Off we went to sleep on the floor at our new home…
When our ploy for compensation backfired