FORGIVE ME PAST: The Good Samaritan

“You must be a family man. I admire that,” he pulled off an intimate conversation. I turned and gave him a condemning look. There’s no way anyone could call me a family man. At least he would have called me a conman because that’s what I looked like, to be honest.

“Do I look to be responsible to you?” I fired back. He smirked.

“You have a good measure of humor…” He replied almost immediately, but thinking of a name to baptise me. I had to help him find it to keep the erupting quarrel active.

“Sam,” I retorted.

“You have a good measure of humor, Sam,” he continued, “I called you a family man because of the way you were putting all your life and everything inbetween to that call, as you were talking to whoever was on the other side.” He paused and waited for a reply I didn’t give him. ” So I thought it was your wife.”

“It’s a very important person but that really is none of your business.” I was nagged by the smile he wasn’t putting off. I wondered why he hadn’t given it to me the previous day to make a nifty first impression.

“It surely isn’t,” he gave up. “Why don’t we go somewhere and have a talk, and also tell me why you didn’t get the money yourself,” he suggested. This man must be a thief, I thought. Don’t blame me for such a negative thought—strangers are not usually that nice, most especially in Bwaise. “Don’t worry my friend, drinks are on me,” he tried to snooze whatever he thought was going on in my head. I don’t know why but I finally accepted.

“But you should know I don’t have much time sir, I have an errand to run,” I made sure the moment I was about to have with him was timed as briefly as possible.

“Alright Sam,” he replied. He pulled very long steps that forced me to double my usual pace to catch up. Only four minutes or so were enough for us to reach Denis’ Lounge. It was a fair place, talking about standards of Bwaise. “What would you like to drink?” He asked as the waitress modelled towards us. Being a Sunday morning, the lounge was still a mess due to the wastes of the previous night. A gigantic man was sweeping the messy floor, lifting this and that for effective cleaning of mostly the particles of broken bottles that lay at every point of the lounge.

My mind wasn’t trained to answer quickly, so I took my time trying to figure out what I could have at such a time of the day. Nothing at the counter impressed me—probably because it was morning and I wasn’t used to having spirits and vodkas at that time of the day. “I will have Red Bull,” I opted for an energy drink.

“Get me two bottles of beer,” the man ordered as the waiter modelled back to work on our orders. The Blue jeans she was packed into and the see-through blouse with only a bra inside stole our attention. We both studied her body and the language it was speaking as she took every step.—A typical masculine act, I know. “These Rwandese babes are really made from heaven,” he complemented.

“If I can have such a meal on such a Sunday morning, I do not need to go to church to know how great the creator is,” I joked, making sure I was in his bracket. We both laughed at it.

“I’m Kisembo Sande, by the way.” He said immediately after the round of laughter. My sight was siting every detail of him, with the strands of grey hair spicing the black hair becoming more visible. The ridges on his forehead had cleared with the laughter, and I saw a man full of life.

“It’s good knowing you Mr. Kisembo.” We shook hands for formality. “I’m Kubanja Samuel.”

“Such a unique surname,” he pulled a wrapped joke on my name’s expense. Nevertheless, I laughed along with him again.

We discussed about several matters—both sensible and silly—that strengthened our bond. I told him about my friends who I didn’t want to tell about my luck of winning a bet, and so on (Of course I didn’t tell him we are thieves). In about an hour, we had discussed almost everything there is, or to be more specific, everything that men usually discuss about. He also told me about the love of his life—his former wife—and how she disappointed him by stealing everything in the house, leaving with their son and disappearing thereafter.

“Two years later I found out that she had married a more fortunate man—I didn’t bother ruining their marriage or even putting a fight to win my son back. The only fruit of that misfortune was that I completely lost trust in women. Now, I just hump whoever I want, at all costs, and leave whenever I wish to,” he reached the climax of his story. “What about you? How do you keep up with life and ladies?”

My slim but muscular body was finally clothed in brown khaki trousers, a checked shirt and a navy blue blazer. The black Oxford shoes were the jewel in the crown. I had a load to accompany me to Rachael; a banquet, the gifts and a lyrical poem I had composed for her weeks back had to spice things up. By 4pm, I was good to go.

“Me?” I prepared myself. “Well there’s no catchy story as yours concerning women in my life. I enjoy prostitutes and these other cheap dames but…” I paused to raise his attention and suspense. We both took long sips of our drinks to get ready for the ‘finale’. He was on his fourth beer and I, on my third Red Bull. “There’s a girl I truly love.”

“The one you were talking to on the phone.”

“That’s right,” I affirmed. “She’s called Rachael—Nambi Rachael. She’s at Makerere University and I’m going to visit her today.”

“A university student!” he exclaimed. “Aren’t you playing a losing game? Or even risking?”

“How?”

“Basing on the stories you’ve told me about yourself, you don’t seem to be a favourite for a University belle,” he downplayed me. “I mean, just look at yourself.” For a moment, I thought he was crossing the line. I didn’t want to be underlooked to that extent. After having a moment of silence and evil thoughts nesting in my mind, I finally took it to be the effect of the beer.

I laughed and said, “Everything in life involves gambling. You don’t really know if you’re going to win or lose but you cast the bet anyway. I cast mine and even though the chances of winning are really trivial, at least I have a purpose—of following up and dropping to my knees every once a week for luck.” He laughed out loud.

“You are a very ambitious young man. I can’t judge you. Despite the dark parts you’ve told me about yourself, I still see a genuine and upright young man,” I am not sure if that was a sarcastic compliment but I acknowledged it anyway. “Tell me, what do you know about purpose?” Now this was going further than I expected. My temper wanted to make me quit the show or whatever this was but I girded it. I wanted to see where this would end.

We discussed serious matters for about ten minutes and the man *fell in love* with me. My wit was above what he expected to come from Bwaise. He offered his abode for me to base my missions on Patience. “You can as well come anytime you want,” he offered.

“That is very benevolent of you,” I commented, avoiding a direct answer that would betray my need for such an opportunity. For months I had nurtured a thought that I was dynamically surpassing the league that my three buddies were in, and this seemed like an open door for me.

“Come, let me take you there,” he said, paying the waitress that must have sensed our ripening departure and had come closer. We then made it to his residence in Kyebando, a town near Bwaise. He was living in a rental but of a high class inside a gate. He welcomed me into the self-contained abode. It was just the perfect place. “Feel at home.” Now that is what I was waiting for.

I marvelled at the expensive assets and appliances situated at various points in the sitting room; leather-coated sofas, a furry carpet, a a percolator, a wall clock, a cooker, a home-theater and a wall unit that had small glass vessels and the LED flat-screen TV as its centerpiece. There was a lot to marvel at but my host fell on one of the sofas to scrap off the feeling brought by the beers with a nap. That gave me time to think about plans for the day.

I first went to town and bought everything I thought I needed; new clothes, a perfume, a watch, shoes, a couple of gifts for Rachael, etc, and I went to the barber too. I found Sande still in the arms of slumber, so I tried out this and that until I was dressed to murder. I’m not trying to blow a trumpet for myself but truthfully speaking, no woman could say ‘no’ to me if I made my move.