ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD:

“Bromidic execution of the penance

would result to the two police 

officers giving us an unforgettable whipping, thus I had no option but to also give Tetemesha my very best yanking…”

There had been an outbreak of mad cow disease in the village so when I found a fully grown Norman Kithanga aka Tetemesha swinging his legs while sitting on a tree branch protruding between his thighs I was not all surprised. I thought that he had, perhaps, eaten infected meat from our native meat den that was known for selling all types of meat, especially donkey meat. He swung his legs exuberantly as a wide smile tore its way through his commonly stern face, his eyes shut in intense exhilaration.

“Ahemn!”  I mumbled embarrassedly.

Tetemesha froze and looked down at me blushingly.

“I was thinking we go to Kosovo for a gulp or two” I said trying to avoid his eyes lest I burst out laughing.

“Oh yes… yes…” He muttered unnervingly while climbing down the tree. I had informed him earlier there were ‘fundamental’ things I wanted us to discuss.

An hour later Tetemesha and I were gulping down our fifth bottle while discussing very grave matters of how the T.V people were taking us for fools: How could one throw out a television set, fridge and microwave to make room for new electronics?...In Africa? … How?! I had never owned a microwave or a fridge and I was one of the wealthiest in our community, courtesy of my Volkswagen beetle. Yet an advertisement was showing us some idiot throwing away gadgets to create space for a new set in his living room! After a heated discussion we concluded that the media must be suffering from a syndrome called ‘To-Carry-People-For-Nonsense!’

The DJ who was amalgamating some euphonious traditional songs with wonderful country music seemed to capture Tetemesha’s attention as he wobbled on his chair every now and then, a smile materializing on his face per wobble. Though this was unusual of the ever serious Tetemesha I nodded to the beat just to give him the moral support. Little did I know!

Six hours later Tetemesha and I were pulling chairs from the centre of Kosovo, creating a dance floor. We boogied to some elating Lucky Dube music advising us on how every Rasta man, Nubian and Indiana man must come together as one; laced with a Michael Jackson song telling us that he was going to find his baby no matter is she was black or white.

The revelry did not last long as some police men ambushed the small watering den ordering us to lie down. Since the vetting of one John Mututho as chairman of National Authority for Campaign against Alcohol and Drug Abuse (NACADA), tables had turned to our detriment as all bars were to be closed by 11pm. The policemen advised us to each part with 100 shillings for our freedom or they would ‘deal with us perpendicularly till we catch fire!’ Everyone apart from Tetemesha and I paid the 100 shillings- even the barmaid who said she did not have any money at all to pay back my 90 shillings balance that she had mysteriously disappeared with the previous night.

Tetemesha and I were given a whip and told to endow each other’s bottoms with six merciless floggings! I went in first, and Tetemesha wasted no time giving me six ‘hot hot’ ones that made me rise up rubbing my rears! Bromidic execution of the penance would result to the two police officers giving us an unforgettable whipping, thus I had no option but to also give Tetemesha my very best yanking while looking at the officers to see if they were gratified with my feat. They were not. Tetemesha kept squealing and moaning in excitement, telling me to give him more.

“… Oh yes! Again…! Again pleassee! Oh yessss…!”

I enthusiastically gave him the last thrash while looking at the officers who were as baffled as I by Tetemesha’s theatrics.

“One more for the road, please. Pleassse!” I raised the whip several inches higher and ruthlessly sent it down on him. Tetemesha shrieked and quickly rose up on his feet while holding his backside, a queer smile written on his face. I was bamboozled. So were the policemen.

As we scampered away from the bar Tetemesha started vomiting. He complained he was not feeling well. He had been having nausea for the better part of the day with bouts of extreme tiredness. We staggered to a nearby chemist that was always open at night due to the booming business of selling prophylactic devices, especially during harvesting seasons. The owner, who we called ‘Dokta sugu’, was a pharmacy dropout from a polytechnic upcountry but had a brain like that of Ben Carson, and a chemist fully stocked with government medicine and traditional herbs.  Everyone in the community consulted him once they fell ill, and his treatments were legendary. Word has it that he once treated a man who Kenyatta Hospital had given a week to die by giving him a concoction of traditional herbs and common hospital medicine. The man who was frail rose up from bed immediately and started walking. He even outlived the one week prognosis and is usually seen coming to sell potatoes on market days!

“Apart from nausea and feeling tired all the time, is there anything else?” Dokta Sugu asked Tetemesha.

“I am scratching myself severely, especially at night.”

“Scratching yourself where?” Dokta Sugu further probed.

Tetemesha nervously moved his hands to his backside. I almost laughed. I thought he was joking but after serious recollection of the histrionics that day: swinging his legs on a branch, wobbling on his chair in the bar and enjoying the vehement lashes I realized he was telling the truth.

“What about lack of sleep and appetite?”

“Yes, even those ones!” Tetemesha retorted.

Dokta Sugu massaged his moustache gently, a frown etched on his face in deep thought.

“What about bed wetting. Have you had any such experience…? Don’t be afraid to say.”

Tetemesha looked at me embarrassedly, turned to Dokta Sugu and mumbled something.

“Louder Tetemesha, I can’t hear you.”

“Yes.” He said, face down.

“Your symptoms sound like you have thread worms. You shall sleep here then early in the morning I will do a tape test. If you have threadworms I shall give you Melbendazole but I will need you to bring your whole family here for treatment because it is very infectious.”

“What is a tape test?” I inquired. I loved being cognizant with medical terms.

Dokta Sugu smiled before answering.

“You put a clear sticky tape on the skin surrounding the-middle-down-there then u look at it under a microscope for any signs of threadworms.”

I wished I had never asked!

Dokta Sugu spread a mattress and mackintosh in the store room for Tetemesha to sleep on whereas I staggered back to my house to get some rest. However, I couldn’t sleep the whole night; the picture of Tetemesha going through the tape test haunted my mind. How I wished I never asked!