It is through a well known research technique known as ‘running stomach’ (it is lauded by well known researchers) that I find myself listening to late night radio talk show which I unfortunately forget the name. Luckily then names of the presenters did not escape me: Melody Sinzore and John Maloba. They played a lot –okay, they were only two, which is still a lot) of Luhya songs and gushed over them as if they had stumbled upon a secret formula to extend their lifespan.
The two presenters reminded us – listeners, although one gets the feeling he alone is being addressed –that the topic of the night would be revealed in the next hour. They reminded us more than once, which, under the research conditions I was in, was a lot. I wondered who the target audience of these late night shows is; thieves, night runners, or night shift workers.
Before the topic was introduced, Melody read news with extremely long pauses between news items. The three items that I thought were important were the rise in the price of fuel prices, Ruto reminding people that corrupt leaders would be accorded fair and just hearing – which meant they were already cleared to run for public office- , and lastly Museveni allowing Bobi Wine to go to America to seek treatment after his head exploded through thinking that Museveni would be removed as president.
After the rewarding news experience, the two presenters embarked on the topic. The topic is basically a snippet of the life of man or woman in severe distress, so much distressed that he or she wants complete strangers to put into context. As an intellectually upright person who has not undergone any form of major surgery whatsoever, I placed the topic of the night in the following context: it was not real.
I imagine the man send it as follows: ‘I, (name withheld for privacy reasons), has never in my thirty two year experience, discounting the time I waited for my organs to mature, has never had any conjugal experience. My parents have intervened by selecting ladies of diverse characteristics but, unluckily, my member has not been responsive. I would love to choose a lady for myself. I have a decent job and a tidy sum of inheritance. Also, my friends are laughing at me for being a virgin.’
The topic seemed to have been a continuation of the previous night’s. The presenters made subtle reference to it. Maloba repeated the topic two or three times more, which was way too much this time round. Melody interjected with thoughtful responses such as ‘ehe, hajawahi kula uroda…’ each time Maloba talked about it.
And then the lines were opened. The first two were intercepted by space aliens, ending with the eerie ‘duuud duuud’ sound. Subsequent callers managed to have theirs through. The first among those did not even have to introduce himself. Then he went on to offer his advice to the thirty two year old virgin, who I bet was fast asleep or fondling himself if he indeed existed. I don’t remember what he said because he made sense. He exited by saying that he will hung for his friend who has a more sound advice by virtue of his background: he has overtime demonstrated that he has an IQ of mboga ya kienyeji.
I was surprised that the callers did not even have to introduce themselves. And they all sounded like Kisiis. One in particular was an old man. You always know an old man when he begins a sentence by ‘wakati wetu….’ In a tone that suggests that human beings have mutated to something that does not at all resemble humans that came before, especially the youth. He veered off the topic by saying that in those days, women were virgins and the only known way of deflowering them was using a special cow horn. He said the bride would be held by strong men, and phew! she was no longer a virgin and the young man would harvest his fruits.
When it came to advising the young man, through his vast experience, he said that the young man should be taken to a cow pen, where a bull would make an excellent tutorial material for the gentleman. The bull of course would be present where a cow on heat would be, lying naked and ready to be serviced. Then the young man would take in the breathtaking copulation, picking up various stylistic devices that the bull has learned from other bulls, and practiced over a long period of time. The young man would be ready to face the vast world of women beckoning at his feet, because he learned a bull, thereby qualifying to be a bull. In the bed. But his problem was that his jethro toll never rose to any occasion, except peeing.
A horse would have been a better idea, I concluded as I fell asleep.
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