#murderhewrote

I looked at him in masked annoyance. He was the teacher, I was the pupil, and I was very much aware that there was nothing much I could do. But this man had played around with my name for a long, long time and it so irritated me that he found it amusing. Something had to give.
I hated the way he opened his mouth and guffawed loudly after he had said “Linda Bom Bom”, I detested seeing him laugh at his own “joke”. I loathed how his big nostrils flared as he roared away, and how his little eyes turned into slits as his body shook with mirth at my expense.
Thank God he was not my class teacher, and I only met him once a week. At House meetings. Mr. M was the master of Blue House. We assembled on Wednesdays, though the meetings were more frequent when swimming and sports galas were part of the term’s programmes.
Mr. M did not start murdering my name until I got to Standard Three. I think there were others to make fun of before me. I was only eight years old, but this teasing made me really mad.
One Wednesday morning, in tears, I told Mummy about how the teacher was mangling my name. I told her she had to come to school to ask the Headmaster to change me to Red House- the Nelions. There was also Lenana and Tereri. Our Houses were named for the peaks of Mount Kenya.
Mummy was concerned but said not to worry and that he would stop. But it only became worse. Actually, the worst part was that Mr. M insisted on doing it in front of the other kids who all tittered away.
Three name-mangling assemblies later, I decided it was time to find a solution to this bullying. Yes, bullying- that was how I saw it.
Mummy had said it would stop but this didn't look like it was going to happen soon, and so would take the bull (bully) by the horns. I had to act.
It happened on a sunny Wednesday morning, after we had squinted ourselves through Mr. M’s assembly, standing in the lines and fidgeting from foot to foot. He murdered my name as usual, guffawed away, the kids snickered along, and then after the announcements, the assembly was dismissed.
I had my plan of action worked out.
As the other kids ran off to class, I followed Mr. M. In my blue shirt and big white shorts. I was scared, but I couldn’t take it any more.
“Excuse me, Mr. M.” Very humbly. I was shaking.
He stopped and turned back.
“Yes. Oh! Linda Bom Bom!” he boomed.
And in the bravest voice I could muster, I announced, “Mr. M. that is not my name. I am called Linda Kibombo. I have reported you to my mother, and if you do not stop, I will go to the Headmaster and ask him to change my house.”
He looked at me, surprised.
His face transformed- eyebrows raised, forehead furrowed, mouth set in a hard line.
“You must stop it Mr. M. I do not like it. That is not my name. And the other children laugh at me!”
Silence.
I felt the tears prick my eyes and quickly shifted my gaze to the books and ruler he held in his hands.
“Ok. Go to class now!”
And that was how Mr. M stopped the deliberate murder of my name.

#newneighbour

The estate's latest tenant is gifted in the looks department. He doesn’t quite fall in the TDH category though- only possessing the Tall and Handsome qualities, and a 50% dose of melanin, which means, he's not that Dark.
Today, in the space of just 30 minutes, I learned several new things about the neighbor, things that I have not had the opportunity to know in the three weeks since he moved in (Trust me, I do not have my eye on him, the ear most probably). Through his five phone conversations, I picked up the following plus more:
First, that he is multi-lingual.
Two that he is street-smart.
Three that he is out of a job.
Four, he will soon be on a sojourn in a foreign country.
Plus more.
These “facts” were uncovered in the taxi that took us into town. I sat next to him, but he probably doesn’t recognize me. First call is to someone he greets, “Gyebale ko!” Ebyaffe wabikozeeko?” That did the person on the other end “work on the other things?”
It seems not, because he says, “Meeeni, kiri bubi. Naye, nja kumukoona ko leero. Nina okukikutula. Okimanyi!” Man, things are not good, but anyway, he would call him up today and conclude the matter.
(Street smart guy this one.)
######
The second call is made in a language that has the word “chakari.” One of the 4Rs in western Uganda. It lasts about three minutes.
“… passport…. Zambia…”
The other person must have asked how soon this plan was to be executed.
“Chakari… I need the passport tomorrow… traveling Monday. See you later."
(Okay, so he's travelling soon?)
######
The third call goes to, most probably- a lady. A female he has designs on. A lady he works with. Because his voice softens and goes a few decibels lower. We are in Mpererwe.
“Hi. How was your night? Where are you?”
“You are home?” (I’ll never be able to get my head round why some people omit the word “at” in between ‘are’ and ‘home’.)
“I am in Wandegeya. Very near the office. (Liar.)
The next statement proves that he really needs to be sweet to whoever he is talking to. “Actually, I have to first go to town, I will be at work at around 10. Is that okay? I mean… if it is not…”
The other person must have said it was okay.
“Uh, thanks. So… can I bring you something? Anything.”
The other person must have said, “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure you don’t want anything? Really? Kale, see you later.”
(Office romance?)
#######
By the time he dials the fourth person, we are stuck in the Kalerwe roundabout’s perennial early morning traffic jam. Another workmate. Straight to business.
“Gwe, man, we have a problem.” He sounds ominous.
The other person must have said, “What?” and leapt out of his slumber, or sat down heavily on the bed, or first stopped munching on his breakfast.
“Something has happened. Maureen.”
Dark clouds are gathering.
The other person probably asks him to spill.
“Maureen called me after the meeting. She said… that she saw me… handing you money.” He is kind of whispering.
The other person must have said a loud, “Eh?”
“Yeah, she knows. But I DO not remember giving you any money. On that day, I ONLY remember handing you my accountability. My memory tells me we only counted and talked about my handing over. That is what I remember!”
The other person must have started cursing.
“By the way she said she is watching you, that she doesn’t trust you!”
The curses must have now transformed into prayers.
(Oh, so he has accountability issues?)
#######
Then his airtime ran out.
He must have loaded more from MTN Mobile Money or Airtel Money.
“You know that Maureen was trying to cheat me out of my cash. But I schooled her on the labour laws. Gwe, that meeting was hot! I told her I was not going to swallow her stupid nonsense!”
Then he went off on a tangent about contracts and labour laws and how Maureen was being a pain in the wrong place. The way the conversation was being conducted was in lecture form- but he stressed about the BLOODY pain in the wrong place that Maureen was.
(Oh, so unemployment looms?)
###########
Then in perfect Luganda, “Nze n’genda ku-handinga over today. Naye I need my two months payment in full. And then I will go and enjoy a month in Zambia. Bya kweyiiya! Mwe mubeere awo Molini (Maureen) abafuge! I leave on Monday.”
(This man really is multi-lingual!)
##########
Then we were in Wandegeya and the conversation came to a premature end as he shouted to the conductor that he was getting off.