This time around I will not address our dear ladies but my vulnerable fellow gentlemen who face all sorts of injustice and abuse mostly with bare knuckles from these sisters. In this not so long and not so short “dating career” of mine, I have gained enormous experience that I will not only look at a woman and tell her age but will also tell if she is a liar or not (just from her face). I was 18 years old when my father was transferred to the Indian Ocean island of Zanzibar in the early 60s to calm down the situation after that country’s revolution. Zanzibar is a country with lots of beautiful features such as the waters that surround it, beaches and need I say the beautiful Arab women? We landed on the island on a hot midmorning and we were greeted by resilient beautiful smiles at the airport (resilience despite the political turbulence). And we were ushered in into our hotel. Arriving midmorning gave me the opportunity to venture out to the deserted beaches and streets under strict precautions. Zanzibaris are cheerful and receptive people who are nice to strangers. I met Zulfa in er mother’s shop when I went to buy a bottle of mineral water that afternoon. I could not speak a word in Kiswahili but she spoke something similar to English so we got along. That would become a place of my daily shopping given the friendship we had struck and of course her beauty. One morning passed by under the pretext of buying “unga” for lunch and we ended up pulling off a long conversation. She was only 16 though she looked much older than that. She told me she had never had a boyfriend and her single mum would not allow her to move out with non-Muslim boys, and I was one. For the two months we stayed on the island, I managed to make her succumb to my charm and she always found herself with me every evening in our house (it was done secretly). As the magic grew from one step to another, the more we found ourselves closer to seeing each other in the…yeah, nude. I am an honest chap and I will tell you the truth that this Arab teenager never succumbed to my tricks. Every time we came close to seeing each other’s nudity, she insisted that she suffered from “ulcers” yes, I would let go since I was a naïve shooter at that age and it’s only many years later when she called me and said “Shooter, I always lied.” She got married in the 70s to an Arab in mainland Tanzania though I could not attend the wedding, she had nonetheless invited me. Many years later when I was in Tanzania for a private visit, I was in a bar with Richard Lugoe who was my host enjoying the Kilimanjaro beer when somebody from behind patted me on the shoulder. “Hey shooter, you are in TZ and you didn’t inform me?” a soft female voice asked in surprise. Turning to see the inquirer, it was this mother of two whom I had last seen in Zanzibar as a girl in the 60s. We exchange pleasantries and contacts as well. “Shooter, we can’t catch up on history because I am leaving. I had come here with my husband that is when I saw you and decided to say hello,” she said with a sense of honesty. “Will you call me? Am in here for two days,” I begged her receiving a yes for my efforts. The following day she called me promising to spend the whole day with me. People, I am not a home breaker so I was not going to ask for the tithe like pastors do. But we felt so nostalgic about the past that we found ourselves in each other’s embrace and she thought I was going to do what I was capable of doing 24 years ago. She quickly chipped in “shooter, I have ulcers” I laughed so loud to her surprise. What are you laughing abut she asked?“You have had ulcers for ages,” I provoked her…“and remember when you called me you said you were lying,” I reminded her. We all laughed saying goodbye for what could be eternity since I may never return there. angarambe2@gmail.com
