Confessions from Mbiko to Bulumagi, as told to the gods of Kifuuta, Kyotera, Buddu
Mukabadda, in the wardrobe for 3 days!
My brothers, if you think you are a strong man, come and listen to me. I need advice. Whoever understands this sickness, guide me. If there is a healer who can cure this dangerous thirst for married women, show me the road.
I am overwhelmed!
I had sworn on everything at the old shrine in Kifuuta: never again! I had abandoned that habit of chasing other men's wives. For weeks, I was a born-again man. Clean. Proud.
Then I met Nawozantya, and all my resolutions went up in smoke like dry grass.
THE WOMAN WHO UNDRESSED MY RESOLUTIONS
Among women, Nawozantya was not ordinary. She was beautifully brought up. She managed her home like a queen. Her voice was sweet and clear like water in a calabash. A woman you admire even when you know you should not.
Her husband was Wafula, the Sabulenya man. Dry fish. A hustler. Tanzania today, Zaire tomorrow. The road was his wife. His real wife at home remained lonely.
One day, my mouth betrayed me.
"My dear, you were brought up beautifully. You have started appearing in my dreams. What have you done to me, yet you belong to another man!"
She did not answer. She just looked at me. Moved a little closer. Stared straight into my face. In that look, my whole speech died. My English died. My Luganda died. I started speaking Lukunja and asking for Mr Mboli, the father of Fifi, who stays in Kidokolo on the way to Kiyindi.
We abandoned talk and started another discussion: When will you come?
And that was the contract of thieves.
Whenever Wafula travelled for Sabulenya, I would arrive that same night after the dust settled.
I even prayed for his business! Can you imagine? I, Mukabadda, on my knees: "Lord, let his fish sell quickly so he goes back to buy more!" I wanted him to succeed so I could sin faster. The gods of Kifuuta were watching me and laughing.
I would leave before sunrise because, at a married man's home, you never sleep like a king. You sleep like a soldier. One ear open, one eye open, shoes near your feet, trousers half on. From Mbiko to Bulumagi, I was a thief in love.
I showered Nawozantya with handcrafted gifts I made with my own hands. Her children never saw me. She would force them to sleep early, early, before my shadow entered the compound. It was perfect. For a long time.
THE NIGHT THE DRUMS STOPPED — MBIKO
Then came the day the gods got tired of me.
Wafula had travelled, but midway, he remembered: he had forgotten his Ndagamuntu National ID. Without it, no border, no business. He told the driver, "Stop, I must go back."
Meanwhile, we were celebrating his departure. Kkadiidi was on the radio, that sweet Luganda comedy. Nawozantya and I were laughing, whispering, drunk on stolen love.
Then, "Nawozantya!"
Wafula's voice outside.
I jumped like a chicken! Knocked over a small table! Nawozantya's eyes became big. She whispered, "Wardrobe! Enter! I will release you in the morning."
I squeezed. I folded myself like a suit. She closed the darkness on me.
Wafula entered smiling. He did not ask who she was laughing with. He just said, "I forgot my documents. Give me food."
I was there, inside, smelling her dresses, smelling my own fear.
Morning came. I thought, he will go. But Wafula stretched and said, "Slaughter a chicken. Call the neighbour. Bring beer. I will travel next week."
My soul left my body.
The neighbour came. A chicken was slaughtered. Beer was opened. Laughter outside. I was inside, a dead man standing.
Then Wafula called Nawozantya close and gave her a proverb, a proverb meant for me, inside the wood:
"A rat that mocks a trap while going about its business does not worry until it sets the trap off. That is how trouble catches a thief. Eziga ly'emese, amaziga g'embeba."
Thunder struck me. He knows! He knows I am here! He is roasting me slowly!
Evening came. He asked for a lamp and more beer. Then he said, "Let us go visit Mzee Lugolobi, who once lost four children in Mabira Forest."
Nawozantya sighed. A chance to free me! But Wafula added, "Dress up. I am not leaving you behind."
Click. Padlock. They both left. Locked me inside my coffin.
That night, I urinated inside the wardrobe. What could I do? Hunger cut me, thirst burned me, fear ate me. I called the gods of Kifuuta: "Banange, have you left me?"
I swore: If he returns, I will shout. Let them beat me, but let me breathe.
THE RESURRECTION OF A SPIRIT
They returned from Mzee Lugolobi with MORE people. Wafula had told them, "An animal has been caught in my trap. Come and see."
The animal was me.
I could not hold it any longer. I shouted from the darkness: "I am dying! Open! I am dying!"
They came cautiously, holding sticks, holding pangas. They whispered, "Amayembe! Spirit from Ngogwe, Buikwe!"
I screamed, "I am not a spirit! I am human! Even Nawozantya, Mrs Wafula, knows I am here!"
They asked: Who are you? What is your name? Where do you come from?
And Nawozantya—the woman I prayed for, the woman I gifted, the woman who told me to enter—she knew everything. But in that confusion, she FLED. She vanished. Left me alone to die.
The moment the wardrobe opened and light hit my eyes, the beating started.
They beat me like a thief, like a drum. Until I was not conscious. Until I was meat. Then they threw me in the bush in Mbiko, near Nakibizi, and left me for dead.
But the gods of Kifuuta, Kyotera, had other plans. At midnight, I crawled. I dragged myself home like a wounded dog, wondering how a man can survive such humiliation.
Nawozantya disappeared to this day.
NOW LISTEN — THE JUICE AND THE LESSON
So you, reading and laughing, don't laugh.
This is not just a sex story. This is a school.
The Thirst Has No Bottom: I thought if I got one, I would be satisfied. Vain! The more you drink from another man's well, the thirstier you become. The Oracle in Kifuuta said: "Men may die a prisoner of our own weakness and a victim of endless love for women." We never get satisfied.
The House of Another Man Has No Second Door: You enter as a hero; you leave as a thief. No dignity. No exit plan. A wardrobe is not a bedroom. If the owner returns, where will you go? The window? The ceiling?
Forbidden Love Has No Loyalty: When trouble came, Nawozantya ran. She did not say, "He is my visitor." She disappeared. That is the law. In that moment, you are not a lover; you are a problem to be abandoned.
You Will Pray Against Yourself: I prayed for Wafula's business to prosper so I could sin. You start praying for a man to travel so you can eat his food. Your prayers become witchcraft.
My fellow men, if you know a healer, take me there. I do not recommend this life. I have suffered enough.
Nawozantya, my darling, if you hear this, I recovered long ago. Wounds healed. I am a new man. Come visit me so I can explain everything that happened after you fled. Let us sit together, remember the old days, and laugh until our sides hurt, even though what happened to me nearly cost me my life.
If anyone knows where Nawozantya lives, tell her the Oracle is waiting. I will provide transport.
Because honestly, even if she were dead, I would want to see her one last time, just to calm this troubled heart.
I am in a Kabadda. I spent 3 days in a wardrobe. If you have never been in a wardrobe, don't judge a man in a wardrobe, as the Kifuuta Oracle goes to Kafuluma, Buddu.
