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FATHERS’ DAY TALE: CHILUNGAMO SALUTES POLICE IG, TAKES A SWIPE AT HIS FORMER DEPUTY

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As soon as we arrived at our usual drinking joint, I could tell something was greatly troubling my good friend Chilungamo. Having known him for three good years, I did not require any effort to read his moods.

“Blanyonyo,” he started, “How does it reflect on our country and in the eyes of the international community when you arrest someone for breaking the very laws he should have been on the forefront enforcing?”

“Go a little deeper,” I said, “What do you exactly mean?” I asked, throwing my eyes across the dance floor hoping to catch a glimpse of this woman I bumped into last Fathers’ Day.

Did she say her name was Happiness? Happiness or Loveness. Something to that effect. I have met truckloads of these women on my countless drinking escapades to remember all their names.

What I remember, though, was seeing her through the corner of my eye save my number in her phonebook as ‘Mayi Busa’.

You question my logic for carelessly giving my number to any other woman? Don’t judge yet. You see, I’m not given to sharing my contacts with these ladies. But, trust me, this woman was worthy an exception. Everything about her was just beyond my control.

If you had the privilege to see her showcasing her bedroom antics as I did last weekend, if you happened to hear her screaming throughout our encounter, you would not, I bet, throw the first stone at me for giving her my number.

In fact, it was upon her insistence that we exchanged our phone numbers in anticipation for ‘more nights of fun’, to borrow her own words.

She told me she was not much into night life. She told me she was just doing it because her husband, a big name in the ruling party, does not have time for her when she needs him most as he is often busy hopping from one presidential function to another.

She also confided in me that even when he finds time to be with her, he hardly satisfies her in bed thus leaving her sexually starved which she said she was now fed up with.

“You see,” Chilungamo brought me back from my reverie, “While everybody is busy celebrating the arrests of those who caused deaths of our relatives when our hospitals were reduced to mere death waiting shelters as they had run out of essential drugs due to Cashgate, I find so much to lose sleep about as one of the remnant few who genuinely love our country,” he said, helping himself to a few sips.

“As far as I am concerned, the involvement of second-in-command of Police in Cashgate should be of great concern to us as a nation that has a reputation to jealously look after.

“I mean, how on earth could a whole deputy Inspector General of Police sink so low as to connive with Cashgaters to sweep under the rug useful information that would have seen the country making significant strides in getting down to the root of the unprecedented wanton stealing of taxpayers’ money from government coffers?”

“And to think that he was the man entrusted to oversee investigations to do with Cashgate leaves one wondering whether the appointing authority care to scrutinize the people they engage for such serious assignments,” I said, throwing my eyes across the dance floor again.

“That is exactly where I am driving at,” Chilungamo returned, “As a matter of fact, the man is a disgrace. He shouldn’t have been a cop in the first place. He has disgraced the Police. His conduct leaves a lot to be desired for the job.”

“I have always asked myself,” I said, emptying my eleventh bottle as I gesticulated at the barman to dress the table, “how did the man climb the ladders to find himself as second-in-command of police?”

“I guess he now regrets his meddling with party politics,” Chilungamo said. “The man should have learnt to cut the coat according to the size of his cloth, not breathing fire as he did as if he were the IG himself. His boss must be enjoying the last laugh now.

“Given a second chance, I’m sure he will play his cards with caution. It will be foolish of him to let politicians use and dump him again as a used Chishango condom. But, unfortunately, they say, some people never learn even from their own mistakes.”

Looking across the dance floor again, I saw a familiar face walk in. The thirteen bottles I had now hammered in total had not yet started playing tricks with my senses of sight. It was the sexually starved woman again!

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