So, while I took a really deserved break away from work and decided to get close to nature by suspending television, newspapers or radio, some of you went and indulged yourself in new-found ‘holy waters’ and of all things, petrol. Etooo…wasn’t it enough that at the beginning of this year you took faith to another level when you decided that the delicacy of grass was just too much a temptation to ignore in order to get close to the Most High?
Mind you, I don’t take my faith lightly, but I am most worried about some of my folks in the kasie, who never leave home without the koevert every other day to give offerings in church that just make some men of the cloth’s kapundas bigger and their bank accounts fatter. They might take these orders of eating grass and drinking petrol to heart and do the unthinkable.
Luckily, this infamous pastor is not living in our midst and so far no one has been rushed to Katutura hossie under suspicion that they may have eaten grass or drunk on petrol. That’s why I somehow sympathise with the feisty madams in white at our health centres when they scold some patients of wasting tax-payers money and being dumber than a mampara who escaped through a manhole only to be arrested at the other end with more kak on his face then the gobbledygook he started. Some people really need a sjambok rather than medical care unless they are cuckoo in the head and have not the faintest idea what they were doing. We know that if you don’t talk to yourself in broad daylight on Independence Avenue or pee in your broek at a crowded Sam Nujoma Stadium while watching a match between Starlile and Orlando Pirates, then there is nothing wrong with you.
If you are in your most sober mind and you eat grass, drink petrol, swallow a pack of Disprin tablets, attempt to hang yourself on a tree and untangle yourself because you saw a huge snake on the branches or try to drown yourself but run out of the water after seeing a crocodile entering the stream and you survive, then you deserve a sand bucket on your head for being elayi.
We really have better things to worry about that we don’t self-inflict or can’t predict what might happen to us on a daily basis when in the kasie.
Such things include being gwassa-ed in a surprise move for dancing to that hit song at a kambashu because you didn’t contribute a dollar to the Jukebox, having your Brazilian hair pulled out of your head because some big-busted mamá chula with a low-cleavage top confused you for her /gamare at some late night braai or being panel beaten at ‘injury time’ (04h00 in the morning) because you didn’t realise it was that late and the jitas were watching the way you were flushing your moola on some high maintenance kamboroto.
The real facts about petrol is that you may not chaez (die) from it, but it has nasty side effects that in this time of heightened Ebola awareness, you would have patients and medical staff running out of the emergency room, suspecting you are infected with the virus because its symptoms, such as vomiting and magwerk are most similar. In the meantime, please stick to your matangaras, Mopani worms, Omaere, Punya Punya, Castelo Ginger Fizz, Perle Perlino, Ombike and Umqombothi.
Sorry Ngo!
mnunuhe@newera.com.na