This is not my writing just thought I should share
If you are a lady, dating arguably an aged sponsor, I highly recommend you acquit yourself with basic First Aid skills.
Before you take these old sponsors to your bed for conjugal acrobatics kindly, I beseech you by the mercies of the living Lord, to enquire about their medical history.
Yesternight has been the longest night ever in my life. For those of you who know the ‘plot’ I dwell in can confirm that my bedsitter is sandwiched between a series of single ladies for neighbours.
I chose this strategically for reasons you all know.
My immediate neighbour is a dark-skinned campus girl, with a wasp waist and a behind bigger than Globe Cinema Round-about. She was formerly generous to me until she was radicalized into this sponsorship cartel and then started giving me a blind eye. I forgave her and told God to look into my troubles and do something. It seems my Lord neither slumbers nor dozes.
Yesternight was the big game as West Brom thrashed Man United. I left the base around midnight and headed to my keja to sleep away my troubles.
For those of you who know Kasarani, it is the end times version of Sodom and Gomorrah. Strippers line up the road as if mounting a guard of honour, and you can literally walk spanking a hundred buttocks bend over along the road to win client’s attention. I took a stroll, sampling, not for consumption but for reference.
On reaching the penthouse, I thought it was too early and decided to wash some dirty clothes.
It was around 1:00 am in the dark of the night when I heard my next door neighbour knocking frantically on my door, calling my name and that of Jesus, interchangeably.
I dropped the water basin, and dashed towards the door, only in boxers.
She was not speaking, looking frightened and teary, and leading me into her keja.
“Anakufa jameni, anatuacha!” was the only thing she was saying.
Her door was open.
I stepped in to a sight of a shivering big-bellied kamzee lying on the floor, eyes and mouth wide open and drooling.
His manhood, though hanging lifelessly, was still semi-dressed in a condom.
“Kwani umefanyia nini mzee wa wenyewe?”, I asked the lady.
“Haki hakuna! I swear hata Mungu anajua” She answered
I was afraid of touching the old man, then he dies and my DNA is found by the CID guys then story changes that I am the one who strangled him to death because of a love triangle. You know Satan and I are never in terms and he is always orchestrating for my downfall.
For a minute however I asked, “What would Jesus do?”
Of course Jesus would pull out a copy of the Ten Commandments from his pocket, and quickly point to no. 7 and tell the girl to recite it aloud to the dying man.
I left Jesus alone and decided to be myself.
“Kwani umepea huyu mzee Viagra wewe?” I asked the lady.
She looked down.
The last time I handled a tricky medical case was when I assisted a colleague deliver in the office. I had used my natural instincts and memories from that movie, 3 idiots where the matafakas led by Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad helped a lady deliver.
In the current case I had no movie memories.
“Si upigie bibi yake umwulize kama anakuwaga na medical case kama epilepsy dear?” I advised.
She couldn’t dare. “Unajua bibi yake ananijua wewe!” she had resisted.
“Wacha akufe ndio utajua!”, I scared her.
“Mbona unatafuta ancestors unawapea vitu na niko tu hapa next door?” I intelligently reminded her of her sins.
By now the kamzee was growling and vibrating like an infinix phone. He was rolling on the floor, sweaty and seemingly in some pain.
From what the lady was explaining, it had taken over 1 hour of caressing to make the mzee rise up to the occasion.
In that 1 hour he would stop mid-way and rush to take a glass of water every 5 minutes amidst constant coughing. It was when he finally managed a weak erection and tried to fit a condom that he suddenly stopped, hands shook, mouth opened and he said something about sugar level before collapsing.
I picked the mzee’s wallet to see if I could find anything like medication or details on how to handle him. There was 2k in the wallet; I pocketed it quickly (Holy Mary mother of Jesus, pray for us sinners).
There was also his ID, the name Habakuk and an indication he was born in 1936 (I think that means his age-mates include Koitalele arap Samoei, Luanda Magere, Chief Kivoi, Kabaka Mutesa II among others!)
The fact that he was growling and shaking had all along made me believe that he will recover. A serious victim is one who is silent and body is numb. The others somehow manage to recover, even on their own. I told the girl I think it is the effect of Viagra overwhelming our grandpa here.
I poured two buckets of cold water on him. She agreed on my advice of massaging his crotch with an ice block.
It was around 4 when the mzee fully came back to senses. He looked ill and tired.
He took a glass of porridge and thanked us.
Now if you are a woman, your husband is called Habakuk and he came home in the wee hours of this morning, kindly advise him against taking the blue pill. If he doesn’t want to listen, kindly ensure you have your name in his will and you know his ATM’s cards pins.
ION: The lady neighbour has agreed to pay my invaluable service in kind.