(A Poet's Notebook)



Posts : 92
Join date : 2017-03-07
Age : 32
Location : Mwanza
Job/hobbies Job/hobbies : Teacher, Musician, Novelist


Post by Admin on Tue Jan 30, 2018 8:13 am


Kong! Kong! Kong...Ngong! Ngong! Ngong... Tung! Tung! Tung... the noisy metallic sound continued to disturb millions of eardrums in the neighborhood. Nkong! Nkong! Nkong! The residents were growing impatient as one harlot walked out of a brothel naked followed by a giant cock from the back, roaring like a Lioness in labor shouting…what the hell is wrong with you motherfucker? Nkong! Nkong! Nkong! To what end? We need peace you little pussy…
     You need peace? And how is that my business you worthless scumbag? A metal worker responded. Fuck you…, fuck you too! For anyone walking across the New Bridge Street early in the morning, he would be probably welcomed and greeted in such a way that his entire day would smell raw shit. The town was a destination for distinguished prostitutes, bandits, pirates and businessmen who escaped paying taxes to the revenue authorities. The Tattoos and filthy paintings on the walls decorated the civilization of the inhabitants; guns, explosives and knives in each house symbolized the height of their hospitality. The Sword on the table during meals represented the level of their kindness.
     Life in that town was very simple, all you need to do is to wake up from your under bridge rag room; organize a mob, find some guns and machetes, go and rob a bank, easy money. But things changed later when financial firms modified their security systems. Banks employed soldiers from the other world; the “Invisibles”. During the hottest seasons of the year, life turned bitter for many; Textile Industries were closed, boutiques received no customers, and to go naked was the fashion of the season and sex was declared human right.
     For those who nicknamed themselves as sons and daughters of God branded the place as Hell on Earth Town, but they never quit the place until the wrath of God fell upon it. To find a job in that town was very hard; in one office, you could find a husband the general manager, his wife the accountant, his son the marketing director, his niece the secretary, his old friend’s neighbor a gate man and a cleaner from his home village. For the new comers in town, they were advised to take an advantage of the present and seize any opportunity whenever it presented itself. Since the only people who never fail are those who never try, children and strangers were told that life in town was never a journey but a race in which you have to kill each day to live each day, being number one is everything, no second places, no second sucks. Someone could find a key to success and somebody else could just simply change the lock; so the government formulated lots of slogan to encourage citizens to work hard and to be creative and competitive in the labor market even though subjects and classroom lessons never prepared students to be with such qualities.
     An African student born in the arid home where they only see fish in books learning fishing in Japan and Timber Industry in Canada was really a waste of time and mental raping. But their little gods kept on proposing slogans; one of them read “No Competition, No Development”, the other one stated “Strength lies in differences not similarities”. But the most celebrated one was “The shadow has no place in the darkness”.
     The jobless ones were regarded as lazy and San Python was the darkness itself. In factories and workshops all over the town, the message on the gates read “Good things are not meant for the Lazy”. So there was never easy job, never easy money; you dare rob a bank, your ass got kicked by the Invisibles. They were the Mercenary Jinn from the Persian Gulf, Syndicates and Tycoons imported them to protect their businesses, some Evil Champagne Politicians employed them as their personal guards; others went further and married them and as usual pregnant Jinn delivers after three months, so the town was not a place for ordinary people as those jinxes brought nothing but tension and hypertensions though they really looked sexy.
     That early morning I reached at New Bridge Street and rented a room; it’s said that when in Rome, do as Romans do, so in San Python if you don’t have some money to pay your Landlord or Landlady, then you pay by sex. So if you are a man then you do better find an apartment owned by a woman, you make love to her in two days, you live free in two weeks. So I got a room and spent the whole night with her, she almost paralyzed my manhood, very rough. That morning I woke up from the heap of broken mirrors; my back was itching seriously, my entire spinal cord was in great pain. No one even the Devil himself could stand such time and live, but I survived. I really tried to wake up but it was just like reality, with all the consciousness with me, there was nothing fictional, no dreams, it was really happening. I was in San Python for sure, the land of the whores, no jealousy, you can have sex even to the wife of your brother in his presence and no war. But everyone was sick, mostly from sexually transmitted infections like syphilis, gonorrhea, fungus, HIV and the likes.
     There was no shop selling Condoms, even the hospitals provided no contraceptives. This was because the church, with its lunatic dogma insisted that people multiply and fill the earth, and so people using condoms or any other form of contraceptive or family planning measures were condemned sinners and they were banned from the societies. The church auxiliaries stopped sponsoring orphanages, education and threatened cursing the nation when the government intervened into the matter. What a stupid religion, what a shame? I was really sick that I found myself speaking things no one can understand...
     That morning my little face was full of shame, life was very bitter and that time it pushed me to swallow my pride for new things to happen. I was really sad, really sad when I saw a young married woman leaving her husband only because money was no longer part of their family. She took the kids with her and left the man with his poor scrotum as a possession. Pity! The man begged and begged, but the woman never uttered even a single word of mercy.
     Sometimes falling in love while you have got holes in your pocket is not a good thing to do. Sometimes I wish marriage could be just like any other job where people write application letters, attaching their curriculum vitae and get paid for the job well done and if they mess up, they get fired. My entire body was growing weaker and weaker, my legs were developing pins and needles, my stomach was roaring like thunder. I crawled like a snake trying to get into that stupid room of mine; seeing that I cannot stand again as I use to be, I cried like a little baby asking for help. The man left alone with his poor scrotum as a possession came and lifted me up like an empty bucket, he told me; “when my wife left me you didn’t do anything you little fool, now that you are between my fingers begging for help, what has come over you huh? Now that you look slim like a toothpick does it mean you slept carelessly with some fat bums?” Let the pain take control, he added. I remained speechless, what could I do? Just allowing the laws of the universe to take its course; he dropped me on the floor like a Charcoal bag and abandoned me there.
     As he was leaving the room, he twisted his spring neck and said; “next time use condom, it’s much safer than the warmth of some contaminated genitals. This is San Python, not Romata, don’t trust women easily, most of them are members of the deadly Angela Roy Milking Society”. He left… Hey Mr. Man of God, close that fucking door, I shouted. He pushed the wooden door and disappeared. Though nobody told him to tell me the truth, I knew he was hurrying to take his daily bread, the ARVs. Thank goodness I was alone in that house, at least nobody heard what was happening with my bowels; coughing like an Elephant with Tuberculosis, stretching myself like Naja naja on fire, sweating like fish; it was really a stinging moment.
     At that time of pain and worries, I remembered the God of the Colonists, in their religious Novel “Bible” written by a bunch of creative authors, I read one of the legendary character called Jesus who used extra-ordinary powers to heal people. Whether magic or divine, he saved men, women and children. They said that the man from the book will one day come back to punish his own creation, the universe. Such a story threatened many and people sacrificed everything including their wives to Pastors and self acclaimed Prophets who in turn developed into a wealthy class in the name of the gospel. I remembered Brian Deacon and how the world worshiped that English Jesus, what a shame. Hanging his pictures on the walls of every home deified the culture of the Middle East and the supremacy of the Western world.
     Since when did Brian Deacon become Jesus of Nazareth? Anyway, it can be the way of spreading the word of God, but now he has branded himself as God, or else the stupid Christians are working tirelessly to justify their stupidity by printing the portrait of Deacon or some other white guys, making money out of their sales. To me, that is more than SIN. Remembering such a portrait of Divinity was the funniest of its kind, but if really the Bible is telling the truth, why did such a holy scripture allow itself to be abused in the hands of Colonists and letting the Whites go unpunished? Taking with them all the resources in the name of a stupid Civilization Mission? Did the God of Europe and America created Africa as both their Wealth Pot and a Dust Bin? I wanted to pray for the heavenly intervention, but I remembered that even the stories of Heavens and the Hell were all fabrications of the Colonists.
     Where is hell anyway? Is it down there? Can someone dig the ground and reach there? And why did the Romans had Galileo assassinated? Where was that God when Missionaries delivered our souls into the hands of Europeans? Was that also written in the Bible? I asked myself, why don’t people pray then before having sex? I wish I could have done so before bumping myself on top of that heap of viruses, maybe I could have been a champion of some Olympic games this year.
     But look at me now, slim like an Acupuncture needle; so what can I call this mess? I asked myself. But hold on, there are things that are happening in this world and we can’t find the answers, things such as the universe, the sun, the moon and the stars; where do these things come from? The origin of life, why are living things dying? And if they are dead, where do they go? Is the grave their last resting place? Even if the colonists negatively spread the gospel, the outcome has been very positive, and by the way, is there any other God who is so true and just other than this one? Is there any? Can somebody answer me?
     At nightfall I heard some footsteps marching towards my yard, heavy like those of Loxodonta africana, big one like those of Satan walking straight towards my wooden door, I worried about my ramshackle health for I could not be able to stand such a bulldozing march. I tried to find where my soul was so that I could exile it but it was too late. I stood up firmly like Centurion though I was weak like a sperm tail; walking towards the door to see with my own eyes what was going on out there. The deserted seat of the spirit in the lonely house, a knock at the door…Tum! Tum! Tum! Nicholas...Nicholas, open the door? The voice of a woman called. From the pose of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon; my one and only sick cock rose to sky high and lifted my pants like a crane, I opened the door slowly with my chest forward.
---bienvenido a casa [welcome home]
---Oh Nicholas, Wow! (She hugged me).
That was Senorita, a girl from Mexico, she was the best friend of Sophia Herman Tungi, when she heard that Sophia died, she automatically became my woman because we loved each other even before meeting Sophia.
---How is Mexico?
---So who told you that I am here?
---Oh! Your Landlady is my Mom.
---What? (I fainted.) When I woke up, behold!
A beautiful hill of pleasure at the back
Bewitching round spots on her breast
Shining eyes like fireflies in the dark
Calling lips that can quench my thirst
Spongy thighs that invite heart attack
Yummy cheeks that refreshes my chest
She was there, on the bed, waiting for lucky me. Let me tell you something my grand children, some girls are beautiful, really they are, even myself do appreciate that. But Maria Rodriguez was above all, with her Spanish accent, when she calls you, as if there’s a festival in heaven and you are attending there. If she kisses you, as if there’s someone telling you that your name is written in the book of life; if she touches you, as if you will never die, and if she gives you the best of her taste... O my goodness, no words to tell. Now she was telling me to get closer, I torn apart my pants and jumped. How can I put it? Let me see, I asked the European God to forgive me because I was about to go against the book of Exodus 20:14. That day San Python was punished.
     The wrath of gods and goddesses from all over the world fell upon the town. Representatives from different civilizations attended and each brought their supreme beings to gather power to destroy San Python for good. The Chief God of the Town “Babachuchu” was the strongest and he feared no one. But in a twinkling of an eye that little Shanty Town exploded and I woke up. I can’t recall what happened but I was still sleeping in the bathroom inside Emperor Haile Selassie Hotel. Grrr! I roared, who woke me up? Nobody responded; a knock on the door, who is in there? I’m a maintenance man…open up? I jumped off the Jacuzzi and rushed on the wall to pick up the towel, before I completed tying it up; the maintenance man bumped in, Oh my Green God! He was carrying a Bazooka…He was breathing heavily like a pregnant Elephant; I decided to press to discovery.
---What is happening?
---We are going to war… (Answered the maintenance man as he was struggling to land the weapon he was carrying)
---War? Fighting what biggy?
---Death, human beings want to live forever man…we are fighting death.
     He put the bazooka on the wooden table and started loading it, at the far corner there was a huge metal box, I didn’t know what was inside, and he told me to bring it. Beneath the box there was an envelope, Biggy what of this khaki envelope? I asked politely. Let me see, he insisted. He opened the envelope and shouted! What the hell? Who brought this here? He asked; his eyes wide open like a pooping demon, he sat down silently like a feather and concentrated on the paper which read:
To all the armed forces and patriots of the federal republic of Nopinia; Greetings! Comrade, our nepionic country was already crawling and we were busy erecting its economic pillars, but now our own breast cannot breastfeed our starving son. Join us in our campaign and let’s save our land from the hands of the psychopaths; “praeses debet mori, nisi hac sola via”__ the president must die, this is the only way to save this country. Hope to see you there soon, and remember; the codename is ‘Operation VIP’.
This must be happening soon, the music hall is not so far from here, hey, why are you here? Asked the maintenance man, you must be one of us, name your passcode. He forgot that he was reading the letter aloud, so I remembered the passcode he just mentioned a minute ago and I answered:
---Operation VIP
---Operation what?
---Operation VIP!
---Correct comrade, tell me the coordinates, the headquarters must watch this, I want to stream live. What is your name? He asked.
---My name is Nicholas, W.W.W.
---That is counterfeit, your real name?
---Jonathan Tafreg I guess.
---Are you kidding, how can you guess your name? Tafreg is not your name either, that is the name of the former prime minister of the Ghost Island.
---What is your name little rabbit? He asked furiously, this time I decided to tell him the naked truth.
---“My name is Nicholas Tafreg, the last of my kind; I am the father of Jonathan Tafreg, the former prime minister you mentioned happened to be my son. I am the living guardian of the Tafreg Dynasty, my mission is to find the lost constitution and give it back to the owners of the land.”
---The lost constitution? Asked the maintenance man,
---Yeah! I replied. It’s called “The House of Broken Hearts”, all the spirits from the afterlife are looking for it.
---Are you also the spirit?
---That is an answer Mr. Bazooka, ask the question now.
---The lost constitution is with the president, his heart is the key to the safe, kill him and you will accomplish your worthless mission. To get the safe, you must live a hundred years from now.
---Where is the safe? I asked.
---It’s not yet made; its manufacturer is not yet born.  You can die if you like and come back to life later. (Replied the maintenance man)
---The president is my best friend, I can’t kill him.
---That is the problem with the spirits of nowadays, they easily forget the fact that they are demons; now this one is pretending to befriend humanity, go to hell! Shouted the maintenance man and stood upright.
---The one you are going to kill is not the president, so stop acting like a lunatic and get ready. Dress up paperboy, we are going to war. We must get rid of that good for nothing David Coin and his allies. Yesterday he sold two provinces to his best friend in Europe. Early this morning he attended the birthday party in the United States and he promised to give three million acres of arable land as the birthday gift to the son of his favorite musician.  Now he is on his way coming home, our men are waiting at the airport. They will give him a VIP treatment. Prepare for the battle, let’s go to the music hall, he will be there soon enjoying the New Year’s Eve with his concubines. He thinks that this country belongs to his grandma? He must pay for his sins that son of a pig. I dressed up as ordered the maintenance man, he took his bazooka, and I carried the metal box and the envelope. The hall was amazing, red carpet everywhere. We took our chances and telephoned the headquarters. You’ll pull the trigger; shoot him between the balls, end of story. Said biggy, his moustache like the Jamaican Bobo, he smiled for the first time and loaded his Coffinata, the latest model, the most deadliest long range rifle on earth.
     According to the Nopinian Mythology, the rifle was used for the first time by its manufacturer, Louis Bottleman, who was the soldier from the underworld. It was first used to kill aliens from the Colfelog, one of the notorious provinces on the moon. Its inhabitants invaded the earth several times and took with them very rare earth metals, women, water, cattle and crops. When human beings declared war against them, they descended during the night and raped all the female animals including their women and children. Human beings later allied with the King of the Underworld who promised to help them under one condition; that all the departing souls will join his rebel army down the hell.
     The King of Humans accepted the terms and Bottleman was sent to save mankind from the wrath of the King of Colfelog. Bottleman designed the rifle to take the souls straight to his underworld burning barracks. When the war reached to an end, Bottleman manufactured only ten Coffinatas and gave the King of Humans as the remembrance of their friendship and contract. Bottleman went back home and there was peace on earth. Colfelog was destroyed completely and life ceased on the moon.
     About four to five minutes later, my target was already in, such a moment that no mercenary or a sniper would dare waste even a second, just like a man in the heart of the desert, what could he do at the sight of an Oasis? I used Biggy’s Coffinata to send an old man on his way; the hell opened its bellies and swallowed him, as I was rushing to get his heart, he disappeared. The maintenance man transformed, I took one of the girls as a hostage and escaped; on my way out the book opened its last page and the same hand that grabbed me in, took me out and the book closed again. I heard the voice from the book saying “What you have witnessed and the life that you lived as our guest is real and that is what happened to the great Nopinia, your experience is the content of the lost constitution, go and tell the world everything you saw, tell them about the tribe of the thieves, tell them about Romata, tell them about the Federal Republic of Nopinia, and don’t forget to tell them about the moon and the soldiers from the underworld”. We fell on the ground like mangoes falling from the mango tree. It was unfortunate that my hostage was pregnant, so she was unable to run all night. We slept at the nearby cemetery and waited for the dawn. It was the longest night, so long we waited, poco a poco, and at last, we slept.
     The next morning I woke up, tired and hungry, the pregnant lady was still asleep; she was the most beautiful girl and the last of her kind. When I gazed at her, I smiled and laughed, I was so happy to escape with the hostage, the girl that later came to be the mother of my doyens, the cure to all the earthly problems. She woke up and we journeyed westward, we reached the shore around 8:00 A.M in the morning of December 31, 2099; I found Tony, Gilbert and Olympia waiting. I was surprised to see them alive; they asked about the lady and I told them “She is a gift from the book”. Which book? Asked Olympia, (she was a very jealous woman and cunning too). “The House...” which house? The House of Broken Hearts; where is the book now? Long story, I’ll tell you later.
     M.V. Poseidon II, the boat that brought us all that far, she was there ready to take us home. All on board! Screamed Tony, the island is sinking, hurry! We rushed in like fools and the island sunk and the deep of the sea remained quiet. The Big Mama (M.V. Poseidon II) took us to the Blue Olympus Cape; we moored at the Pink Shadow Harbour on the second of January, 2100. What is your name sis? Asked Olympia; my name is Vicky Winslet. Nice name, welcome to our world paper lady (Because she came from the book), thank you! Answered Vicky, and we departed. Gilbert and Tony went to see their father who was living in the land of Essay, just five miles from the heart of the Blue Olympus Town. Olympia, Vicky and I boarded a bus to Justice Road Children’s Park and we lived a happier life thereafter. After some months later, Vicky gave birth to a bouncing baby boy and we named him Tafreg.
     After listening to the story, children asked an old man to narrate another story with a happy ending; but an old man didn’t utter a word, he was already gone. Seeing so, King Rhombus descended from the pavilion and joined the children to mourn the deceased. Meanwhile, he wanted to prove for sure that an old man died. Actually, it wasn’t a happy ending, but rather; a bitter bite to end the meal. Now that it was clear to him that an old man is no more, he was a little bit delighted; but the children were really saddened by the incident. No one to comfort them, loneliness and stings of disunity that was shading around was like a dagger in their hearts, piercing them sliver by sliver. King Rhombus realized that, after the burial, his majesty summoned the children.
     His intensions were not bad, he just wanted a place in the children’s heart, and he also wanted them to remember him in their kingdom. So, he thought of a story to tell them, a story of a man called Madusa, the fisherman from the nearby land of Ratura. So saying, children sat and waited for their new friend to tell them a story, they prayed first, and then King Rhombus sat amidst them:
---Hello! My lovely grand children, how are you today?
---We are not fine. (Children gave him a choir response)
---I understand the situation you’re into now, but don’t worry about grandpa anymore. It’s written that man shall go back to the hands of his maker, so grandpa is probably there already incase if he is not encountering some problems with the custom officials about the Visa stuffs and the like.
---Visa? (Asked one of the children, determined to go there and help his grandpa to get rid of those custom officials)
---Yeah my grandchildren, Visa and some passports! It’s not easy to go to heaven; you can die and continue roaming here and there if you don’t have the Visa and the passport. But don’t worry, after telling you this story, he will surely get the Visa.
---And what is Visa anyway?
---Oh, visa is an endorsement on a passport which indicates that the holder is allowed to enter, leave, or stay for a specified period of time in a country, another planet, hell or heaven.
---We need a visa, we need a visa… give us a visa… (Children crowded around his majesty)
---Ok, calm down my children, calm down… Yes that way… now that you are ready to listen, I won’t waste a minute, get close and listen. Can somebody tell me where is Africa?
--- (Children looked at each other in surprise, whispering in low voices…) Africa? Africa is in heaven… (Answered a boy aging about eight)
---Heaven? Do you know how heaven looks like?
---It looks like Africa, isn’t grandpa?
---Yeah my children, heaven looks like Africa; and Africa looks like heaven, but there is neither heaven in Africa nor Africa in heaven.
---Because in Africa, everyone is trying to be God, and their godliness is not turning Africa into heaven, but hell.
---Why is Africa doing that?
---The problem is not with Africa, but Africans.
---Who are these Africans?
---You and you and you… and you.
---But grandpa…?
---Grand what? Have you blackened your skin with shoe polish? Let me tell you something, even if you call yourselves with English names, you’ll always be Africans.
---Grandpa can I ask you something? (Asked Lumbazi, son of a village chairman)
---Go ahead son!
---Are you black or dark?
---You…you cousin of a cat… are you insulting me?
---No grandpa, but I can’t see you.
---Do you think I’m seeing you either? I can only see your teeth when you laugh… see who is talking, like a nightmare.
---Hahahahaaaaaaa! (They both laughed)
---Actually I don’t know why we Africans are black; there is no theory that can prove anything. If God created man in his own image, then I wonder if God is multicolor or something… I really can’t figure it out. But I think God is also black, don’t you think so?
---Yeah, he must be black, but not an African… Hahahaaaa!
---Ok, let’s stop it, whether God is black or white, African or European; that is none of our business. The only thing that matters is that we are black, and that is our identity and we love it that way. So, listen about this fellow African, who fished a woman instead of a fish. Hahahaaaa! Very funny!
---What happened? (Children asked as they laughed and laughed…)

    Current date/time is Thu Apr 26, 2018 8:10 pm