Culture

Goodbye lipstick stuff

The former Minister of Lipstick and Lip Service never ceased to mesmerise with her tragicomic loudness before the announcement of president Bingu wa Mutharika’s death last week.

Once, the lipstick mouth accused MBC employees of indulging in sickening sex scenes at workplace, instead of creating a world of possibilities or informing, educating and entertaining the nation. Likewise, she urged women and girls never to strip in the dark because you cannot tell what men are hiding.

I, Zikathankalima, was sleeping over a bottle and my drunken friends were winding up short-time business when the qoutable lipstick figure popped on the sex-loving television for the nation amid reports that Mutharika was no more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Minister of Lipstick and Lip Service,” said a TV presenter, sweating and panicking as if he was having quality time with the cutest workmate when news of the midnight ministerial address arrived.

We, the bottlemates, only wished the TV presenter  had remembered the lights and condoms if he was really playing hide-and-seek with some bird in the sound-proofed studios of the sex station.

Being Zikathankalima, I switched from sexpetising club music to the grainy motionless pictures of the Lip Service Minister and fellow Cabinet cartoons for official updates on the beloved president’s condition.  Unfortunately, they only stammered that there was no vacancy in the high office.

“Please know it is easier for a donkey to fly through a needle’s eye than for the vice-president to take over if she does not belong to our camp,” rapped the minister on the microphone.

As reporters probed the minister for wasting our time, drunkards were rising on points of order since the law of succession is clear.

I don’t forget where I was when the Cabinet circus happened. With my wife Caroline and our Ulunji asleep, my bottle and I were at Chimimba’s pub.

According to Chimutu who sells stories for booze, the potbellied pub owner was enjoying life with a teenage mother of three for whom he rented a house in the suburb.  Nobody bothered who else was footing her water and electricity bills, but which bird in Chimimba’s fleet of teen sexual partners.

“You mean the sex worker he interviewed last year?” asked a whiskey-soaked hearer.

“The girl who has hiked the cost of short-time services? Does she expect us to queue for her as if she is selling sugar? What’s sweet about her,” fumed another with an empty bottle.

“No, I mean the lass who cried loudly during the interviews—-the one likely to have more children than the  members of Parliament who join any ruling party?”  clarified Chimutu,  raising his bottle for refuelling.

“That little beauty!”  said the man of the empty bottle. “Sadly, interviews for sex work are not conducted by boardroom professionals, but bedroom sexperts like Chimimba.”

That way, Chimutu and his friend exchanged notes and bottles on the hidden story of Chimimba’s teen customer. She was a brilliant schoolgirl, but her parents only cared to educate her brothers. She dumped school for marriages, got unwanted pregnancies, resorted to selling her body, acquired fatherless children and became a bartender.

Thanks some big shots were ready to foot her bills as long as she was nice to them, but they mobbed her with infections which she generously transmitted to the Chimimbas who fell head over heels without crash helmets—the condoms.

“If the country is serious with safe motherhood and women empowerment in times of HIV and Aids, we must ensure even girls remain in school,” argued Chimutu.

Spot on. Safe motherhood and inspiring the Malawian child is the job even spouses of the Number One citizen must pursue free of charge, even if the former first lady Callista Mutharika used to cash in a salary of over 3 000 poor teachers on it.

Thanks, the ascendency of Joyce Banda to the presidency has brought a different ‘first lady’ to the State House. Shall we call him first gentleman, lucky man or just the first person?

Whatever the title, the president’s better half must consider safe fatherhood too—and it begins with keeping boys and girls in school as well as getting the Chimimbas to be loving, open and faithful to  only one sexual partners.

Now, I am enjoying the Minister of Lipstick and her fellow political chameleons as they swallow their vomits and run   Chikwakwa-style from Mutharika’s  falling empire to  JB’s People’s Party. There are no farewell kisses for lip service and lip stick loudmouths.

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