I’m not amused; in fact, I’m feeling downright hostile
I’ve had a lousy week and, the way things are going, I won’t be surprised if things get lousier. And the worst part of it is that I had a good feeling that things would be looking up. It’s as if the gods have decided that my relatively, long run of good fortune had gone on a bit too long for their liking.
As I’ve stated previously, I’ve been in Butare, suffering from boredom and lack of female students (they’ve all gone home for holidays) these last few weeks trying to finish my damn dissertation; and flailing about in my attempts as well.
So, when I got an excuse to come back to Kigali last weekend I was tickled pink. I should have known that my joy of being in the big city would be come to naught.
First of all, I missed the Friday Halloween party at Torero Café because I had an engagement that couldn’t be avoided. And then, to make matters worse, I got an international call from a certain young lady who, I thought, was a good future prospect whenever I finally decided to leave my bachelor status.
Before I had the time to start crooning over the phone she dropped a bombshell. “Dearie,” she said, “my boyfriend proposed to me….and I said YES”. What!!!???
I knew that she was dating this guy, but I’d always assumed that she was treading water with that fellow until she came back to Rwanda and I swept her off her feet. Well, I guess I was wrong, BIG TIME.
“So,” I said, “I guess that’s the end of you and me huh”? “Not necessarily,” she replied, “we can still be friends.”
Hmm. I don’t know why people use that ‘we can still be friends nonsense’. Personally, if I wanted to become friends with a girl I’d never attempt to date her…dating and friendship are totally incompatible where I’m concerned. I divide the female world into two parts; the friends (who I’d never date)…and everyone else.
I was still reeling from that piece of news when something even worse happened the next day. My cousin had a wedding that I attended. It’s not as if I had much choice…I was part of wedding delegation. So, I didn’t get to watch Manchester United win but, at least, I got to eat wedding cake.
But I should have known that my accursed bad luck would follow me to this wedding. First of all, there wasn’t a hint of anything alcoholic at the wedding. It was scandalous, I say; people in this country have started getting a bad habit of giving their wedding guests lots of Fanta, all in the name of Christianity.
It’s quite amusing how people go on and on about the evils of drink and, conveniently, forget the Good Lord’s first miracle. If I can recall…it had to do with turning water to good wine. Anyway, it wasn’t my wedding so I couldn’t really complain. And anyway, I had the dinner to look forward to (I was starving).
Dinner wasn’t much to write home about but, as I got up from my seat, I felt a certain lightness in my pocket, where my good ol’ Nokia 3310 (a.k.a. bagore beza) used to be. It was gone! I was robbed!! In a bloody wedding! I hadn’t even been robbed in a bar but a dinner. And I was stone cold sober as well.
I felt like crying. That phone had been my companion for six years (it had outlived more than seven girlfriends) and, the more people laughed at it, the more I loved it. Bloody hell!
How broke do you have to be to steal a 3310? Shameless!