Joanalisa, the monster

Likening love to war often attracts intoxicating protests from lovebirds. However, this is the sober truth: Love is the only war where one sleeps with the enemy.

“If you get a partner like my Caroline, you’ll be happy. If you get a lying Chimimba, you’ll become a miserable philosopher,” said I, Zikathankalima, amid cold ones.

“I’m always puzzled: What do our partners want?” asked pot-bellied Chimimba, sheathing his flashy phone.

“Maybe just what Mr and Mrs George W Bush admittedly do,” Chimutu answered.

“What does the former warring US leader and his peace-loving sweetheart do that I don’t?” enquired Chimimba.

The information-starved big man, who terrorises soft drinks and skirts alike, is the type that keeps beer-begging storytellers in pubs. Unsurprisingly, he ordered beer for Chimutu just to hear what Bush said when asked the secret of his long marriage: “We take time to go to a restaurant two times a week. A little candlelight, dinner, soft music and dancing.”

Quite inspirational for a warmonger who fought terrorism in Iraq and Afghanistan with more terrorism!  But Chimimba was not worried about terrorism. He was married for years, but he and his partner had become two sides of a coin; they just couldn’t go out together, but still they live together.

That night alone, she had phoned him about 20 times, asking: “Where are you? Who are you hanging out with? What are you doing? When are you coming home?” 

Chimimba told her he was with me, the trusted husband of Carol, and switched off his phone. After all, he had already landed a cute sexual consultant. She was short, big and round—some Matofotofo christened Joanalisa.

He was spoiling her with kisses and sparkling wine when Chimimba’s daughter entered the pub and knelt before him. An onlooker reminded us it was our duty to protect minors from booze dens. Moreover, she was young and innocent, even though she was garbed in a dirty and tattered edition of her mum’s wear.

“Mum wants to see you. She is out there,” said the shy girl, signalling at the silhouette in the dim light.

 “Who is this dirty doll disturbing us, darling?” screamed Joanalisa and Chimimba apologised immediately.

As the minor sprung to her feet and paced out of the pub, I wondered if this is the treatment our beloved partners and children deserve. Meanwhile, Chimimba had left the hall, leaving Joanalisa alone. Chimutu and I carried our bottles and followed him. But we were surprised to hear him slap his lonely half.

“What are you doing here at this hour of the night?”

She put the question back to him, adding: “Why are you doing this to me?”

 “When did women start following their husbands during night outings?

“When did men start ignoring calls from their partners?”

Theirs was dousing fire with fire.  As expected, the crossfire escalated until Chimutu intervened. The paparazzi-turned-peacemaker tried to calm them, but only fuelled the row.

“Didn’t you promise you would be home by 6pm?”

“But this is just 3am!”

“You said you would be home by 6pm on Friday, but today is Sunday.”

The man gazed at his dead phone. He said one word—sorry—but his wife responded with paragraphs. Unfortunately, he had forgotten the secret: When you are wrong, admit it and shut up.

“Why did you switch off the phone if you were not cheating on me?”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry?”

Sorry. I was afraid of angongole. You know this is the end of the month.

Basket player Michael Jordan once said marriage is one way of transferring funds that is faster than electronic banking, but when did Chimimba’s wife become angongole? Is this what our loved ones deserve?

By the way, was the wife justified to call or follow her partner at that hour? Is this not petty possessiveness? Isn’t possessiveness better than business as usual in these times of HIV and Aids?

I was high on questions when Joanalisa emerged from the pub and smashed Mrs Chimimba to the ground.

“Leave my man alone or I will slice you, whore,” warned Joanalisa, unleashing a glistening knife from her underwear.

Chimimba’s daughter wept. It was too late to save Jericho. Surely, the decisions we take not only endanger our lives but also our beloveds. I wished Chimimba knew what I had done before I married—anything I wanted.