Last weekend I was busy serving customers who have continued to stream into our new business venture Asali Asili.
As I had said earlier, despite efforts by enemies of development to derail us, I can say with absolute authority that we are doing just fine.
I had just served a teacher from a neighbouring school, who is diabetic and only takes tea laced with honey, when I saw a black Prado parking outside.
At first, I thought it was another honey customer and I began pursing my lips for a welcoming smile.
However, it turned out that the new customer was none other than Katumani, one of my old classmates in primary school I haven’t seen for more than three decades.
Apparently, he had been looking for me all over town after failing to find me in school.
From the look of things, he was doing well, his bulging tummy the testimony to wellbeing, so to speak.
To refresh your memory, let me remind you that Katumani’s father and mine had a frosty relationship after the two fell out over integrity issues.
Katumani’s father, who we had nicknamed Kibofu, was a meat inspector in the village who relished reaping where he had not sown.
Kibofu had the annoying habit of carrying away the choicest parts of the animal he had just inspected. He had grown very fat on the free meat and walked with a slight limp.
Then my father protested one day, reminding him that he was being paid for his services.
Stunned, Kibofu pulled out his dog-eared record book and declared the goat unfit for human consumption.
The rest that followed was vendetta after my father reported the matter to the authorities.
Anyhow, Katumani was very excited to meet me.
“I’ve been reading your articles. You write well. You should be considering buying a car,” he said, throwing an enticing look at his Prado glistening in the sun.
I told him I would sell tonnes of honey before affording a car.
He laughed off my suggestion.
“I’ve also being doing a number of businesses in the city, including clearing and forwarding. I have my own company,” his excitement was growing.
I was about to complement him for that achievement when he cut in with “I need you to write an article about my political ambitions and be at my beck and call during the forthcoming elections.”
Long and short, he was aspiring to be our next governor.
Since it doesn’t cost me anything to listen, I followed through his ranting about his being the best suited to bring change in the county and turn it into Silicon Valley, whatever valley that is.
However it should not be lost on anybody that Katumani’s education background cannot be described as sterling by any measure.
“I understand there is a law requiring those aspiring for governor to have a degree from a recognized institution of higher learning,” I ventured.
Katumani gave me a sharp look and said; “my good friend, I have already acquired a Bachelor of Arts degree in leadership and integrity. What is left is getting to the grassroots to sell my vision and political aspirations.”
Leadership and integrity? That is a cool one. It sounded too real for a not too brilliant a student like Katumani.
But then I looked at his Prado again and guessed how much it might have cost him to acquire the degree.
Without further ado, we drove to Makuti for nyama choma and beer, waiting for the next elections.
By Pascal Mwandambo
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