Sometime back, I received a phone call from a lady who identified herself as Jojo. She asked to meet me for lunch and posed that I carry my debut novel, The Greedy Barbarian. I asked whether she had read Banana Republic—my torture memoir—and she answered in affirmative. So that meant that she came to know about the former after reading the latter.
The day came and we met—in the alfresco side of Café Javas, Kamwokya. I autographed for her the book and she pulled out a wad of crispy yellow notes from her purse and handed me sh300,000, and also paid for the whole bill of what we consumed. When I asked why she had to pay all that for a novel of sh50,000, she retorted that she is rich and that she was buying me Namaqua as her kind and eleemosynary consolation for all the horror I went through.
Jojo told me that she was 33-years (my age mate) though she looked younger. She had that youthful and exuberant look of circa 24-years.
I hadn’t saved her number yet but that evening, I saved it proudly and she would call often to check on me. She began to care like we had known each other for a while or like we were dating—but I played elusive and lackadaisical for I hadn’t known what her intentions were.
After a month of not meeting, Jojo asked me for lunch but I told her that I was in the countryside and busy at court with my state inspired persecution. She asked me when I would be in Kampala and indeed I reluctantly promised her that I would call as soon as I got into the city.
When I met Jojo on a Tuesday for lunch, she asked me what I did for a living and how much I earned. I told her and she laughed at me with a lot of spite on her face.
How do you survive on such a picayune salary, Kakwenza? Asked she with concern.
I was reticent because I felt like she was mocking my pecuniary misfortune. Her laughter reeked schadenfreude.
She asked if she could get me a good job and of course I answered in affirmative. I also flinched like a surprised toad when she mentioned that I would be earning ten times more.
People, that night I didn’t sleep. I thought that my life was going to switch from destitution to riches in just a fortnight. The whole time, I was thinking about paying off my debts in a few months of working and buying land for farming high value crops.
We shared a lot from lunch time up to 8 in the eventide. When I excused myself to go, she offered to drive me home in her ML Benz but I turned down the offer--which kind of discombobulated her. She wore an exasperated face as she bid me goodbye.
After two weeks, I began to realize that Jojo was setting me up for something cruel. Thanks to my ancestors for they blessed me with a sixth sense premonition of imminent disaster.
The job she had gotten for me, I would earn sh8M and other privileges, with a proviso that she would get for me a fully furnished house and that she would have exclusive possession of the keys and that I would not be allowed to have visitors. That she would check in anytime of the night.
It came to my attention that her phone number wasn’t even registered (I checked using mobile money) and upon googling her name or even searching on Facebook, the process was fruitless. The number wasn’t even on WhatsApp.
Jojo has long white-snow teeth and a beautiful diastema which makes her resemble the other curvaceous NTV dancer, Lynda Ddane.
Jojo is a medium sized brownie with long glistening spotless legs and loves to wear skimpy skirts and open tops that shows off her beautiful cleavage. she doesn’t encase her succulent breasts in any brasserie--the nipples are always protruding.
Jojo is neither short nor tall—when we hugged, her round and youthful breasts at least prodded into my tummy.
Jojo has short hair and doesn’t do makeup nor polish nails—they are always trimmed and clean.
Jojo told me that her other name was Nakachwa but she looked and spoke English like a Muvandimwe.
The last time we met, I attempted to be a detective by stealthily taking a picture of her.
I picked my phone from the pocket, feigned a phone call and while carrying the device to the ear, clicked the camera and perfunctorily took a picture of her. Like a commando in those detective Hollywood movies, Jojo Nakachwa grabbed it; deleted the photo, her number and cleared the entire call log.
I have never seen or heard from her again.
I cannot wait for her to call me again and I apologize while kneeling down. LOL
Jojo Nakachwa wherever you are, if you are reading this, you left me hanging hehe.
By Kakwenza Rukirabasaija.
23-4-2021
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