I went to some ‘public place’ in Lilongwe days ago. Occupied by the ongoing World Cup matches beamed live on television, I stayed at the facility long enough to want to use one of their washrooms.
But with the soccer action hot and exciting, I put on hold all the calls nature made.
You can just hold it for that long. After a couple times of postponement, I finally found it hard to ignore the ‘nature alerts.’ I was forced to go get a break.
I hurriedly jumped off a tall stool, darting for the men’s room.
As I neared the entrance to the lavatory, my arm readily extended for the door handle, I heard thumping noises inside. I quickly stopped in my tracks and pressed my ear against the door for a moment.
The sounds were loud enough for me to easily catch from outside the men’s room despite the loud football commentary on the television screens behind me or the wash-down sounds of a lavatory inside.
The thumping grew more vigorous, like a piece of cardboard being struck against a war.
I hesitated a bit. In places like these, you can easily run into something nasty. But the call of nature was now even stronger to lure me in. I braved it and shoved myself in.
With the caution of a man balancing on a thin rope, I quick-wittedly sprayed my eyes around the room, trying to locate where trouble would spring from.
To my surprise, the only company I found in there, except a man who walked out as I went in, was just this other man, in his 40s, standing shirtless in front of the big mirror next to the urinals.
He thumped his chest so hard with his tightened fists. That was the source of the thumping sounds! I believe his chest is made of something harder than flesh and bone.
His zip was ajar and his trousers sprinkled with liquid. His belt and shirt were lying on the floor.
He had a mean upper body punctuated by ribs that showed themselves to the world a bit more briskly than did the flesh.
Unfazed by my ‘intrusion’, he continued to sternly talk to the ‘man in the mirror.’
‘Usamvere za walowayo. Zikuvuta! [Ignore the man who just walked in, you will have it thick!]’ He instructed ‘his subject.’
‘Ineyo palibe angandiuze nzeru! Ndimathana ndi mabwana obvuta, ndiye mkazi angatani? [No one can run my life! I sort it out with difficult bosses at work, so what can a mere wife do or say?]’.
Now fishing his wallet from his back pocket, he looked into the mirror and instructed the man in there, ‘Ndalama izizi ndimwera. Usaope, ndikalongosola ndekha!’ [I will use all this lot on drinks. I will handle all the questions the wife will have].
As I walked out, there was this young beautiful lady metres away from the men’s room. She approached me, inquiring about a man who I bet fitted the descriptions of the man I had just left behind in the men’s room.
Was it the wife? I am still without an answer.n
