I THINK my visit to Chipata for that funeral I have talked about the last two weeks has brought more confusion and chaos than I had bargained for. Never mind that it unearthed long forgotten friends like Orgasm Zgambo (a.k.a. O. Zgambo Esquire), which details I gave you and some men of the collar were not amused with me.
I got a good tongue lashing from one Pastor Kachikete (translating into small skirt in my mama tongue) who says I get carried away by serious demons and evil spirits when I start writing my things in the paper and on Facebook.
“The problem with you, Brother Njombwinjo, is that you don’t realise that you allow mobs of demons and a pack of evil spirits to infest your mind,” he attacked. “True there may have been a man by such a name but do you have to tell everyone about it?
“What value does it add to our lives when you tell us about things which as you obviously know tend to invoke immoral images in our minds? That’s why, as you put it in your story, he has realised his name was a serious misnomer, hence he calls himself only as O. Zgambo.”
Something is amiss here. I know Pastor Kachikete from within family circles and I hold him in high esteem. But I believe he is getting confused. In the first place, he will preach nothing from my writings.
He will not find anything to tell his congregation about from showering condemnation about Mix Njombwinjo and all his friends and their hiccups in life.
So he shouldn’t even be reading Njombwnjo at Large. Period. He risks having my demons and t evil spirits flying at him and entering his head en masse. Should that happen, holy hell we are in trouble because very soon, the papers and radios will be on him denouncing him as a fake pastor who was found under a guava tree with Deograta Kamugode doing the most unpalatable things.
I don’t like those who judge me but there you are with this Pastor Kachikete. He says I shouldn’t mention Orgasm.  I should just say O.
Zgambo. But that’s what is on his NRC, on his hospital card, on his grade 7 certificate which he used to get his court clerk job in 1975 and on every other official document. He is Orgasm! What’s wrong with this pastor?  Aaah I tell you… this no good. It’s petty.
You will remember that it was this same funeral thing I was returning from when after a few drinks at Chongwe, I strayed into the Ladies, only to be accosted by a bouncy mama who insisted I should undress and show her all my most valued vital statistics as compensation for
accidentally viewing her thighs as she innocently bestrode the toilet pan doing her thing!
Of course you know the only things I saw were her thighs but she insisted I had seen all and should, therefore, return to the toilet with her so that I drop my own underpants and give her a grandstand view of what only me and Amake Pachikani are supposed to see – or K200 in lieu of being viewed naked! Some women, I tell you!
Was it not bad enough that by the time I got home, I truly messed up my hard earned reputation with my wife as a spiritually delivered and morally adapted and changed husband, seeing the bad things I did at home? No details required.
You must know by now that I am capable of sleeping in a chicken run or kissing Vainesi Mtolilo’s stray dogs when I am dead drunk.
After all these troubles emanating from the funeral trip, now there is this thing about one of the crew we travelled with on our way from Chipata, Njuga Soko, a guy I worked with in Government years back.
He was so happy to meet me after a long time too, as was Orgasm, he insisted late as it was, he should come home with me and meet my family. Of course my family this time of the year meant only my wife because that other indefatigable pair of nincompoops is at school. I was drunk so I don’t quite remember how it went when I introduced
Njuga Soko to my wife. I do know that he ended up spending the night with us at my insistence and only left well after lunch the following day. Now I am looking for Njuga Soko specifically for a beating! He must be beaten!
I mean what kind of friend is that? This Njuga Soko… we were great friends some years ago. We rediscover each other and he is very anxious to come home and meet my family but a few days later, perhaps after having failed to get her number, he goes to Facebook, fishes out my Amake Pachikani and starts sending her private messages attempting to seduce her! Some friends, I tell you!
Perhaps it is because he doesn’t know that with me, there are only two occasions when I can really beat up anybody: (i) When they tell me I have a head like my father’s (because his is small and poorly shaped, more like the hard seed inside some unknown fruit from the bottom of the sea); and (ii) When they attempt to do unthinkable things, totally unpalatable actions to my wife which I don’t approve of.
That is MY wife guys so stay away, I am warning you. This Njuga Soko is in trouble. I have a giant master plan. I will collect and bribe a few cops from Chelstone or Avondale or even Chainda so that they help me get hold of Njuga. We will go together to some unknown location, the ideal venue for a beating!
I want them to tie this guy… I mean handcuff him from behind so he becomes totally incapacitated in terms of self-defence or possible retaliation. No policeman will participate in the beating. That is my task and mine alone. I want to be allowed the pleasure of donating every punch to his nose alone! Alone I said! I am the aggrieved. I am the offended. I am the one whose wife he was trying to… to… what the hell was he trying to do with Amake Pachikani?
I cannot even imagine it. It annoys me even more just imagining what he was attempting. He is a fool, isn’t he? How can you try to do things with your friend’s wife as if other women are not available, even married ones who are wives of people who are not your friends for sure!
Nizakwapula! I will give him a good hiding.  When the cops think I have given him enough thumping, they will be free to save him from further punishment and possible death. They will stop me. I will instruct them not to allow me to literally murder him. Murder is bad. And they hang people for it.
I don’t want to be hanged. So they have to check me before I reach those levels. But they must first watch and allow me enough minutes to clobber him hard and mercilessly. They will only intervene when they think I have delivered enough beating for a day!
You think this is a joke? I said I would bribe them in advance so that instead of arresting me, they (after the beating) arrest Njuga for drunken and disorderly conduct and toss him in a cell (where nobody will think of checking for him). This is not far-fetched. No sir! With our cops, nothing is impossible. This Njuga will soon be nursing wounds from a serious beating. He will be serving an illegal prison sentence which only a few policemen (or women) and I will know about. Sixteen days? A month? I will decide.
You will hear about, I am telling you. This Njuga Soko is in trouble. Sending private Facebook messages proposing unthinkables to MY wife?
Ah! Ah! Ah! Heh! When I and the cops are done with him he will suspend his Facebook account. He will lose interest in Facebook I am telling you!
Make friends on Facebook with Mixture Njombwinjo.