HYENA CLASSIC TALES! If I hadn’t wasted a lot of money on belles, I would be as rich as Ham or Jeff Bezos. I too would donate bags full of cash, to fight Covid-19 and other dangers that attack our great nation.
However, I blew a lot of my money on your sisters, who in turn have had little to offer me.
When I remember a chick that I gave fifty thousand, as airtime, just because I wanted to show her how I was loaded, I kwesoza and shake my head.
Sometime in 2018, I had to travel by bus to Hoima with my cousin Fariduuh. I prefer sitting in the front or the two-seater side, but on entering, the front was full. So I walked eyes fixed on the two-seater side only to see a sexy looking chick seated alone on the three-seater side. Indeed all beautiful Banyoro mommas are in Kampala.
The chick fitted all the descriptions of an angel. My ancestors would choke me to death if I didn’t vibe her and I swang into action first by sitting next to her. “Hello princess Beautiful,” I said as I took my seat.
She replied with a “WHAT?” face, since I was sure she had heard me, there was no point in repeating myself. “What did you just call me?” She asked and I said, “Princess Beautiful”.
Only for her to tell me that wasn’t her name. “So now it is,” I confidently insisted only for her to bury her head in her smart phone and went on social medialing.
Playing a jerk, I introduced Fariduuh.
“Good lady, this is my brother Fariduuh,” I said.
The chick had no option other than saying “hello” to Fariduuh. Turning to Fariduuh, I told him this was my new friend Princess Beautiful.
She couldn’t help it but sigh, “Hmmm!” plus a giggle and then said, “some people can kwesiba kubanabwe.” That was followed by a when did I become your friend question to which I answered, “we’ve always been, you just didn’t know it. But I think you can feel the connection deep inside.”
Next, I begged for her phone numbers saying “by the way, I no longer have your numbers they got lost in my old phone.” Only for her to ask if I used to have her number.
“Which network am I on?”
I gave the usual suspects. Only for her to say, “Owaire! Am on Africel.” I didn’t make bones about that, I just begged to have it because we had very important things to discuss. “What important things? For me, I don’t have any things to discuss with you……I even have a boyfriend.”
“Now hear her talking of boyfriend. Do you think they steal in abandoned houses? That boyfriend should consider himself fired.”
To that, she flashed me – her eyes and laughed and accused me of being funny. “Can I have the number, I said pressing a zero on my phone only for her to ask if I was serious or just playing with her.
“Serious!” I shot back only for her to ask how serious I was “dead serious.” That was followed by a will you manage me question. And I was “even if you want to carry you to and from Hoima every day on my back.”
Kumbe that wasn’t what she meant. “We shall see.” She said reaching into her handbag out of which she pulled a blue two thousand shillings note and a pen. She wrote her number on the two thousand shillings note and handed it to me.
“Ooooh!” I scoffed upon understanding what she meant by a will you manage me. I threw the two thousand shillings note out of the window then reached for my wallet out of which, I pulled a fifty thousand shillings note ( ekizike) on which I wrote my number and handed it to her.
Surprise, Surprise, She happily pocketed it. Soon thereafter, the bus started the long journey to the oil city.
Like and not likes were discussed between Kampala and Wakiso. She accused me of being an adulterer an accusation which I denied on grounds of never judge a book by its cover.
“Don’t deny it. It’s written allover your face,” she said.
Thereafter, we started talking of important things like how many children she was to produce for me.
“If you’re lucky, I will produce you one,” she said and I was like “Ssshh the whole beautiful you. I want twelve girls. No boys!” To that, she said “ssshhh nga whom do you kukunkumulamu those many. Do you think am an idler? If I help you, I will produce one and it has to be a boy for me, I don’t like girls.”
At Lwamata, I bought us snacks which we enjoyed as I planned on which styles I was to use on this chick. However, I didn’t have her number, having thrown it out of the bus window with the 2k note and when I gave her mine, she had just pocketed it.
I begged her to come along and meet my mother but she declined on grounds of having preplans which she couldn’t cancel. She promised to come to see her future problem (my mother) in the following days.
Soon after, we arrived in Hoima, upon disembarking from the bus; some guy with spectacles was waiting for her. They hugged and almost kissed.
“Sweetie, this is Mr. Hyena – we came chatting, he is very funny,” she said. As she introduced us, I almost got a heart attack, fearing she was going to say I was trying to decode his pin code.
Off to bonk themselves, they went. Fariduuh burst out into wild laughter. “Eeeh, you fed her to go give ko another dude! Eeeh that fifty thousand, I wish you had given it to me.”
To solace myself, I called a bummy teacher pal of mine whom I worked the whole night as I thought of the chick from the bus.
To this day, she has never called. I now regret throwing the two thousand shillings note on which she has written her number.
I don’t know why she has never called. Oba she accidentally used the note before copying the number oba she detoothed me like so many have done. Anyways, a week later, I was thumped by my stepchildren who didn’t approve of my making their mother happy.
I will give you the juicy details tomorrow.
Till Then, I remain yours truly, Mr. Hyena.