THOSE who have keenly followed my adventures as revealed on these pages since December 2002 will surely have noted that my wife, Amake Pachikani, was definitely out of character when she accepted to dine with Chris at the 5-Star Radisson Blu Hotel where she instead went with me in tow.
You will remember she is the timid type, so humble that that part of her is probably the reason why she has tolerated such an abusive marriage as the one she is in with me. Whenever I hurt her badly, all she usually does is break down and let tears talk for her. She also generally takes everything in the Christian way you are least likely to see her behave the cunning and rather cheeky way she did.
The most important thing, whether she was out of character or not, was that she taught one wife-grabbing nincompoop a bitter lesson he is least likely to carelessly try to date every beautiful woman that strolls past him. He surely will continue if he is the philandering idiot I suspect he is but the Amake Pachikani adventure will always ring in his head and give him second thoughts about attempting to bed other people’s lovely wives on first sight.
In fact he must count himself lucky that the first thing I didn’t do upon seeing him hug my wife was start throwing plates and cutlery at him! I could easily have murdered him with a table knife, the twit, the dimwit, the nincompoop. You know how badly possessive I am over Amake Pachikani he is lucky even the hug didn’t earn him a thorough beating!
There are times when I feel tempted to get his cell phone number from my wife, call him and call him all the names he deserves. I feel angry he sneaked away when he realised his supposed prize catch had showed up looking all the sweeter but in tow of her ‘uninvited’ husband. He ran away, the bastard! Which honest person runs away when his invited guest turns up with their spouse?
Dexter Kabotolo says I have exposed my wife, that there is a possibility Chris can still contact her by phone and who knows, she might have a change of mind and go of to see him without my knowledge and do with him what I hate to imagine my wife can ever do with any other man! Now, that kind of thinking, Dexter, is provocative and annoying. I don’t like anyone who wishes to suggest that my wife can be taken. I trust her.
Look at what she just did! How can she then turn around and go hiding with that hideous rich idiot? I am the only one who is allowed to be thinking in a suspicious manner about my wife. But surely for now, hasn’t she proved herself to be a beacon of hope among our women? An example for many to emulate? Dexter’s wife wouldn’t do what my wife did! She probably would rush for the Mercedes and the dinner and the money. And before she knows it, she has been abused, used!
So get lost, Dexter Kabotolo. My wife is a superstar. Tell the rest of the women to emulate her.
&&&&&
I’m told my half-brother and look-alike, Joks Jokonya who dwells in Kaulembe on the road to Lundazi from Chipata is in hiding again.  That creep often gets into my kind of usual situation – drunk and disorderly, and flirting with other people’s wives or daughters. He dances too. But mostly to obscene songs which he sings himself. Now that’s scandalous by all standards because as an agricultural extension officer, employed by the Government, he ought to be a role model among the villagers. But no.  He is the village fool instead.
Thy do beat him up quite frequently it’s an eighth wonder he still lives. I know you are always thinking as you read that that sounds too familiar, that he must be a replica of Mix Njombwinjo and that maybe I have no right to speak of him with disdain or sarcasm because that’s more or less what I do myself. Maybe. But there are always significant differences.
I am neat and smart. Well-dressed! He is untidy, clumsy, filthy to be precise! His teeth are big and tobacco stained. He has bad breath all the time. Whoever goes kissing Joks Jokonya must be mad. Surely that must feel like licking a rubbish dump in the rainy season!
You can kiss me any time. I never smoke and I never run out of tooth paste in my bathroom. I never go about doing anything, whether on duty or at the pub, carrying malodorous airs so terrible even expensive perfume can start stinking like wet cow dung if put on me!
Whenever they beat this guy, I’m told they always beat him so hard with sticks, firewood, knobkerries, name the weapons. One furious mother is said to have broken a clay pot on his head and when his eyes rolled as he fell down and swooned almost completely lifeless, she poked a piece of burning firewood into his work suit, somewhere near the trouser zipper causing him to resurrect and run for dear life!
So he is a well-known idiot in those parts who they enjoy hitting every now and then and who for sure nobody will worry much about if the ultimate beating sends him to the local graveyard.
They say he is in hiding just now.  It’s not clear whose wife he either seduced or attempted to seduce though rumours have it that it was some famous polygamous chief’s advisor, the ones they call ‘nduna ya mfumu’ out there. Though the man boasts of something like nine wives, a rare thing these days and especially among the Cewa and Ngoni, he is so particularly possessive and promises anyone who dares flirt with any of his wives will die mysteriously facing skywards (ati cagadaa)!
I hope they find him, the creep, and beat him again. He must learn to bath before he can start messing up (with) other people’s wives and daughters. Beat him up, guys, and make sure you paralyse him permanently. Knock him on his knee caps and break them. (You don’t have to kill him! Just sort him out as they say here in Lusaka)!
If you knock him very hard on the knee caps he can no longer walk. Which woman will go out with a paralytic crawling from one corner of the village to another? What would be so special about him?  Nothing, I tell you! He will be finished. Hammer the bastard when you find him! Hopeless brother.