MY MONEY

MY MONEY(Raphael Lali) There is a thin line that separates friendship and sizzling enmity. They say when you lend a friend money expect two things; it’s either he returns your money on time or never. Since every situation has a consequence, the latter is when smiles can turn into miles of chasing just to have that neck, at least, instead of the money. Times are hard, so my playing hard should be a thing abnormally normal. Every man shall eat from his own sweat (how lucky the women). Unless you were both at a drinking joint throughout the night and money was flowing out of pockets like rivers in the great African rift valley; if someone promises to pay back the next day or week, you might as well forget it and blame it on the alcohol.

But since times are hard, even the smallest of debt counts. It’s nothing personal, just trying to survive. I believe everyone, upon searching deep inside their hearts, will find that all of us share this same trait but most of us are just in denial for the mere fact of trying to satisfy and earn our place in the categories of the forgiving, considerate, understanding, loving and so on. Well, not me. When it comes to my money, I am a ‘go getta’.

I walked up to the front door of Elson’s house, my hands pressed in my back pockets. I was not in the mood for chit-chat or anything of that sort. My mind was only on one thing and that was my money. I needed my money right there and then. The whole five thousand kwacha, nothing more, noting less; preferably in two hundred kwacha notes just the way I gave it. It did not make sense. Fifteen days to my next salary and I was already deep in the sea of brokenness like a teenager stranded at a far away boarding school. I was that kind of broke when you can’t even afford a smile let alone a packet of cigarettes. On that day, I was already jumping from one friend’s car to another leaving my own vehicle at home. Unfortunately, that time around I had no way of blaming the government for fuel shortage because fuel was available in unbelievable abundance, but my pockets were like the Sahara; dry to the mantle and my bank account alike.

Why did it always have to happen to me? It was as if misfortune was created to revolve around me. It may seem little, but anything goes when a man is desperate. Regardless of the fact that I took the bundle out willingly, squandering one note after the other until it was reduced to the last ten notes that I handed to Elson after he had pleaded with me to come to his rescue, like an angel of the Lord, and lend him the money to buy some medicine for his ill and pregnant wife. Even while drowning in alcohol and almost out of all control of my body, I managed to sympathize with my old friend and give him the cash after he swore to God the father (with a bottle of liquor in the hand) that he would pay me back in a week’s time.

Times are hard but it is funny that when you are loaded and drunk, it is the best time to be empathetic. Once the alcohol flies away, you start to have ridiculous regrets and wish you could have done otherwise. Here comes in the other cruel side of life, the inability to turn back the hands of time. A week turned into two, then a month, then several and my friend Elson was nowhere to be seen. Every time I went to his house, the children would stand at the door and tell me folk tales of how he had travelled for business and was expected to return that night. When I went back, the kids would continue the folk tale from where they left off. I would walk away in disappointment, conscience telling me that he was right there in his house, watching me be stupid and smiling with his wife who never came out to meet me.

I took my right hand from my pocket and clasped it hard like I wanted to hit a wall. I bit my lower lip as if it was to bring me more strength, then I knocked the door with rage. Not the ordinary knock; that was more like an unusual bang! Bang! Bang! I took one step forward expecting to explode in the face of the first kid that would walk out of the door. I planned to make him swallow the folk tale and send him back to tell Elson I would pull him out of the house if I had to because I did not come to play but rather to siphon some liquid capital from wherever he kept it into my own pocket to help me survive until my next salary. I shook my head as I waited. “This guy thinks I am a fool?“ I said to myself. “We will see”. That is another thing of being angry while broke, your mind and rage deceives you that you are as strong as Rambo. Out of nowhere you transform into a Hercules. I was ready to grind somebody on the spot if I was to leave without my money, but I was one of those people who can’t even burst a mosquito with a slap against a wall.

I waited, shaking my leg like I had the kung-fu syndrome running in my veins. The decision was made; it was either money in my pocket or blood on the floor (hopefully Nelson’s blood), I was more than ready to make a mess. I reminded myself of the main character ‘Timo’ in the book I was reading ‘Never Say Nigger’. A Malawian man who had made his way to the United States through his South African white boss and went on to later become a notorious street business man in the heart of New York city. He never took no for an answer. He would slice up a man like a loaf of bread if necessity pushed him to do so. As long as money was involved, he was one of them die-hard go-getters. That is how I believed rich people make it. My big brother Tiko told me one Friday evening at a shebeen in our township, “my brother Austin, you don’t have to chase the whole world just to catch money; just chase your money and the world will run after you.” Truth is truth even if it is uttered by a drunken man who is on the verge of shaming himself. I remember those words today and Tiko still tells them to me when I go to visit him at Zomba prison. Even though he was sentenced to quarter a century for chasing his money, he still plans to continue whatever he was doing when he is released. To him what matters is not legal or illegal, wrong or right, moral or immoral but simply success or failure.

Scratching my head for no reason I waited a little longer. I moved forward and hit the door once more. That time around more violently. I heard footsteps slowly advancing towards the door as I made myself ready to blast off like a loudspeaker.

To my surprise, Elson tried to take me more seriously and sent out his wife, looking serious as if she was defending herself in a court of law. I shook my head as I quickly noticed she was not even pregnant as Elson had previously stated.

“So you already gave birth huh?!” I popped a striking question that sent terror up her face.

“Excuse me,” she asked softly, looking puzzled.

“Don’t play dumb with me Mrs. Mwanza! So you were never even pregnant and there I was paying for your damn medication! How silly of me. Where the hell is your silly husband, that slick mouth criminal! Tell him to come out here with my money this instant, otherwise there will be an accident here!” I exclaimed, trying to make sure I embarrass them to the neighbors. Before she could say a word, a silenced her with more bombs. I started running my mouth like an idiot, lambasting both her, her husband and their kids. Talking about how they were a family of shameless crooks living on other people’s hard-earned money. She kept on gazing at me as I emptied every word from my heart uncontrollably assassinating their characters from all angles as the whole neighborhood was quiet. I attracted passer-bys' attention as I lay out all my insults from my arsenal trying to influence Elson to come out and face me.

“I will walk through this door if I have to. I don’t even give a shit about our so-called friendship which has turned into a Tavern-cooperation. To hell with your excuses, I’m tired! I need my money right here, right now or somebody is going to get hurt today.” I paused to swallow spit.

As I was about to crack open my dirty hole again, I saw an old lady peep out from behind Elson’s wife. “What seems to be the problem here? Why all the hullabaloo?” she asked looking concerned. I recognized her as Elson’s mother. I had seen her last a year previously when she came with Elson’s wife to see my newly born baby girl, Stella.

“Nothing is wrong mother, go back inside I will handle this.”

She kept on looking to the ground as the old lady walked back into the house. Then she raised her head and I saw tears slowly running down her cheeks. There is nothing that melts me more than seeing a female cry. My rage suddenly transformed into pity as I stood there dumb-founded.

“What a friend you are,” she started.

“You have been troubling Nelson with all your visits demanding your money but you know that he lost his job. He complained every night of being so ashamed to face you so he decided to go and visit his uncle in Harare to help him restart his business. On his way back home last Monday he had a terrible accident in Maputo, Mozambique.” She wept even more as I struggled to gain composure.

“He died last night and we are expecting his body this evening?” she said as I tried to comfort her. I was too shocked to even start to apologise. I only said a simple sorry and told her I would leave her alone and let her forget about my untimely behavior of pure stupidity. It is strange how energy can transform from one form to another in just a short time. All that fury quickly turned into sympathy. I walked away like a little child, afraid and shivering.

I walked down the street slowly as I thought about what I had just done; failing to comprehend the fact that Elson was really gone just like that. What hurt me most was that it seemed to be because of me and my pushing. How selfish of me. I thought of how his poor wife must be devastated; how she was going to raise all those wild kids. She had no job and depended sorely on what Elson did in his business which had seen massive u-turns of late.

As I dragged my feet up the stairs of my house, I heard someone call my name.

“Mike, how are you man?” said my former workmate Bingi who had been dismissed due to poor office etiquettes. I walked down the stairs to greet him by hand and find out if he had heard the sad news. We greeted each other and he kept on smiling like a kid with candy.

“You seem to be in a hurry man?”

“Yes, I’m so in a hurry! See you” he said and started to walk away. I grabbed him by his hand and pulled him back.

“Where are you rushing to?”

“To Nelson’s house of course, don’t tell me you haven’t heard the news yet.”

“I am just coming from there this instant, I am surprised I never heard the news, but the wife told me that the body is expected this evening so I will be there tomorrow morning, I just did something crazy there man.”

“Why did you come back fool? And what body are you talking about?”

“Elson’s dead body of course you goof head!”

“Hahahahaha!!! Dude are you already drunk? I just spoke with Elson a minute ago; he said the party will begin in thirty minutes. Don’t you know it is his birthday today? That lucky fool was born on the first of April, imagine! He just came back from Harare this morning and he is loaded man. All the guys are on their way so I don’t want to miss the free liquor. His wife’s single friends will also be packed there! Come on fool!”

He started to walk as he finished his statement, leaving me in total bewilderment, my brain totally disordered. That son of a gun had taken me for a ride yet for another time. I looked at Bingi stagger down the road. I rowed up my sleeves and followed him with extreme anger.

I am not saying it could have been acceptable for you to kill Elson if you were in my shoes; I am just saying I would totally understand.