DIARY

DAY THREE: THE NEW HAIRDO

Early in the morning Nkululeko relates to us the story of the alleged 'horny little Bishop' Pius Ncube of Bulawayo who heads so many million Catholics in formerly Rhodesia, including president Robert Mugabe. The bishop who has been in the limelight for all the wrong reasons, apart from criticizing Mugabe.

I am of the opinion that the few pictures I saw in magazines of the bishop peeling off some white panties were staged. Well, I know the difference betweeen staged and realtime pictures and I swear to Nkululeko that the ones I saw appeared staged. He tells me that they were shot by an SABC journalist. Now we all know one thing or two about SABC journalists and their not to hyped objectivity when it comes to covering Zanu PF and Zimbabwe.

Nkululeko tells me that on the full version video, which Mugabe made a point of promoting three weeks earlier during one of his ego-boosting rallies the little bishop is seen trying to do it without any consideration for foreplay (or fiveplay - a minimum time to be taken is four minutes - well, you can have a 12Play like R.Kelly) and he has difficulty finding his way because the anaconda he packs under his boxers is really massive and makes porn starts look like saints. "Then he reaches for glycerine and empties the whole bottle on the poor woman's quim who has her legs wide spread and he still experiences difficulty getting through and this is not a virgin but some other parishioner's wife. And when he finally gets through it takes him few seconds to cum", he says.

We all laugh and start debating about the sense behind using glycerine when one can use KY gel, and vaseline. One woman even says that she always thought glycerine was sticky even if one intended to lay the foundation for a muff. "There are not such gels on Zimbabwe shelves but only condoms", he reasons. Wow!.

By the way I am supposed to hook up with Uhuru later on the day who recently sent me a JPEG of herself in freaky Afro saying it's her new look. Yeah, the Afro makes her look to damn good (see No Need to Romanticize the pre-colony). Along the way to Wits we ask Nkululeko what brand was the bishop using so that we can help to penetrate the market. "Sure, we can increase its market penetration" I say.
"It is probably produced by Johnson & Johnson"

At around 15h00 Uhuru finally pitches and she's a different person from the one I received her JPEGs barely two weeks earlier. Okay we find a rendevzous where we talk in peace about all things bright and beautiful all creatures great and small that the Lord God made - all of them. We discuss Afrikan literature because she is doing a big course in that and she's got these archaic looking books that she has to refer from for some of her writings which of course goes on to grace Kasiekulture. And she tells me that she's going to major in English and maybe be a professor and maybe she can fix me a doctorate at any institution that she'll be at. I feel paranoid that someday she'll be editing my posts and picking the useless nuances I love to bore you with and replacing them with good royal words. Kasiekulture is hers as good as it's mine. We discuss stuff, free love, Branch Davidians, living and dying as a mob, free everything and hey, I'm going back to Jozi somewhere this month because tonight she couldn't cook me some chicken something-something because I had a function to attend, the John Manyarara Award ceremony at IAJ. She promised to cook me chicken something and I can't wait.

At IAJ they have got lots of beer and wine and all things toxic except weed, I wonder why. I end up liaising with a Zimbabwean journalist who works for an NGO. I also meet City Press Editor Mathata Tsedu, for the first time after many years of writing for his newspaper. Awards are given to Jessica Pitchford and some journalist from Malawi for his story about food in prisons.

Soon we move back to Berea where after intoxicating ourselves with poison it calls for some more which is exactly what we go for in Yeoville, or what is left of it. I can see four of the folks are getting closer now and they are pegging themselves like print proofs. We get back to the hotel and yeah, the folks start that nasty tongue kissing that makes me wanna go out and puke bile. I am holding on to my last bottle of cider and trying to be a deejay on some laptop that only plays L'Vovo Derango and Oliver Mtukudzi.

Nkululeko is with us and then I see it getting hectic with the folks just next to me and decide to finish my ale and leave them to fuck in peace, hoping they'll fix Nkululeko with an orgy moment since the guys are two and the girls are two except for the odd one out.