It is Tuesday, 2 O’ clock in the afternoon and I am seating hunched over my laptop at my desk. The Chiwaya –utaka kanyenya combo I had for lunch (with Frozy lemon to wash it down) is doing my stomach Gangsta.


There is world war 3 in my bowels…nuclear war fare.


I go over my options:


  1. Our office complex bathrooms have been shut for 2 months now, all thanks to the district wide water shortages, all forms of relieving oneself  have to be done in the pit latrines used by the watchmen, management says….i am in no physical form to squat my way through the fecal tsunami that will ensure when I let go of my bowels.
  2. My friend who’s house is closest to my workplace has been acting like a little bitch lately, I think wanditulukira…dzulo lokha ndinapitako katatu…kukanyera…he is not picking my calls nor answering my desperate messages…ndikumamutheradi madzi munthu uyu(oflasha)
  3. I do not want to go all the way to my house,…ndikufuna ndisungire madzi amene ndasala nawo for tonight’s pre-masturbation shit, my houseboy only refreshes my water supply in the mornings…so I have to budget…meaning utilizing my friends’ houses for the bulk of my daylight shits or…
  4. Board a kabaza and employ the cyclist to pedal as fast as he can to PUMA filling station, the bathrooms there never disappoint…but I weigh about 113 kgs and the road from my office to PUMA ndiwachitunda and as usual anditsisa penapake kuti ndiyende pang’ono kufika pa flat bwino kuti tipitirize, I will surely  shart(shitting a little and farting at the same time…enough to stain and give moisture to my underwear…


As I ponder over my options and curse the water shortages plaguing Ntcheu, suddenly my phone rings:


It is an unknown number…


My sweaty palms clamber for my phone and I answer the call,


Tiye tikachindane’   an eerie female voice whispers through the phone speaker


Heee!! Ndindani kodi?’ I shout back as my stomach engages fifth gear with impulsive excitement…


Mesa ndinu a Mpambela kodi?’ the voice answers back…mispronouncing my name, a sure sign of the caller knowing me…


The faeces are now knocking at my rectum, but I soldier on and respond:


ah bobho aise, unafika bho tsiku lija?’ I am using one of my numerous lifeline methods for trying to get an unknown caller’s identity while hiding the fact that I’m totally ignorant to who it is that is calling me…


But whoever she is catches my bluff


‘Ukudziwa kuti ukuyankhula ndi yani?’ she mockingly asks


I try for the long shot and unconfidently blurt:

‘mesa ndi Pemphero kodi?’…Pemphero is one of my regular prostitute sex buddies whose services I employ drought ikamanga


EHHH!!,koma abambo inu ndinu a hule…kupisira konse kuja? Pempheroso nde uti? Si wa pa ever ameneyo?’ meaning Everest bar…she shout over the phone.


I am now super annoyed and I reiterate– ‘ kodi ni yani!!!!!!’…our phone conversation and tone now sounding like the dialogue in the Chichewa ‘’Ambuye Yesu ‘’ films


She is now giggling uncontrollably but she finally controls herself and responds


‘Munatiyiwala Nyayabingi?….zoona Rasta?…koma dziko ili!mmmmh’


It suddenly hits me!!…..NABETHA!!!!…as I release three short spurts of farts methodically…just enough to decrease the tension in my stomach…anything more will open the flood gates.


aaaah iwe Nabe, mawu ako asinthaso ka, nde phone so ndi ya nyuwani, ndayambiraso kutolera manambala’… if


‘koma shabba!!…olo pa facebook kundi panga inbox munasiyaso…mukuona moyo wanutu…anyway, sukufuna kamasana, tinaswirana kale kale tu’


Ladies and gentlemen, ndabongeratu!!


And I’m like  ‘ mesa uli ku Blantyre iwe?’


ndili mu mzinda mwakomu Shabba, ndabwerela survey, tafikira pa chando….i rirry want to see you dear…long time, ma missings’ she replies in her distinct chinglish…(she is now referring to me as Shabba…Shabba Ranks…koma)


I now need to make a plan hastily to shit and fuck, exactly in that order!!


I quickly make sure that Nabetha remembers the map to my place, and tell her to be there in 30 minutes…God be with me!!!


Now, I’m also in need of cash, cash for booze to marinate Nabetha before tasting her ‘gizzards’ and the bank closes in 40 minutes…ndinataya ATM so I need to go inside


I call Jiva my trusted taxi guy, and yell at him that it’s an emergency; I need to be at the bank yesterday


I take leave of my work colleagues who have been staring at me the entire time, I leave no explanation, simply tell them that I will be back in 30 minutes…let them wallow in their fantasies, they are used to my eccentricity by now.


Jiva comes through and we speed to the bank.


We get there and I rush out of the shit smelling car (I have been farting the whole way).


I get into the bank, enter the necessary forms and go straight to the nearest teller booth (I have lived in Ntcheu so long that I have earned that ‘a biggy biggy’ privilege)


As the teller is handing out the cash I try to whisper to him ‘ndufunako thoyazi yanu, ndadwalika kwambiri’


But he can barely discern my words because of the glass separating us.


Remembering that I have no known relatives in Ntcheu and that I have never been to any church to be recognized by anyone I shout:


ndimafunako chimbuzi, m’mimba mwandivuta’….startling everyone in the bank


The Teller gestures to a security guard who escorts me to the lavatories behind the building…and there I let loose…I’ll spare you the details


Fast forward, I go to a liquor shop and buy a bottle of Amarula and some condoms, then rush home.


No one cleans a house faster than a dude expecting to get laid, I am done in 5 minutes.


5 minutes later I hear a timid knock on my door, I open the door and behold! There is Nabetha (in a Brazilian weave now) waiting with a kabaza guy..,


‘Bae, 2 hands bwanji, ineyo yosintha ndilibe’


I rapidly pay the Kapaza operator and whisk Nabe into the house…


I direct her into my bedroom where I have set up the amarula bottle and two glasses


iiiii koma Shabba, so sweet like honey, komatu amarula sindimayimwayimwa, paja amandiledzeresa mwachangu…pano ndikumamwa gwalana’…I’m assuming she means Guarana but what the heck..


She accepts a drink anyway, and we sit down, sipping drinks and filling each other up on the time lost.


Pano Nabetha zikumuyendera, akuyenda ma survey kwambiri plus akumathamathamangabe ku TZ. Ali ndi fiancée pano ‘atumbuka apa nkhamenya omwewa oona ndalama atakula kale’ her words not mine, her cocoa butter scent is gone even, replaced by Nivea and some fancy Deo…zinthu zikujamadi.


We are now cuddling and caressing each other…


She suddenly grabs the Amarula bottle and chugs the entire contents


‘ let’s get fucked up Shabba’ she says…now the alcohol is starting to lay justice to her.


So anyway I obey,


we fucked and fucked and fucked…


After four glorious rounds, Nabetha is both fatigued and drunk out of her mind.


shabba fan bwanj? nili kumva moto’


I switch on the fan, but she clarifies;


Livingstone ndamene a kutentha, osati thupi lonse’…….. Livingstone or ‘Sir David Livingstone’ is the name she gave to her vagina….akuti because Livingstone was an ‘explorer’


So there we were; Nabetha atagona gada, miyendo ili yasa ine standing on top of her nditanyamula fan, directing the fan’s airwaves towards her vagina…iyeyo nkumaphethira timaso take, uku akuyimba softly nyimbo ya ASAP ferg kuti ‘ Shab shabba ranks..’


After a while she gestured that Livingstone was now cool, so I switched off the fan.


She now mustered enough strength to stand up, from which she started to head to the right corner of the room near the door and squatted…


I was puzzled and confused as towards her intentions…


Until she started peeing…..


Fast forward I chucked her out of the house after slapping the shit out of her to sober her up…


I never want anything to do with Nabetha again!!!


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