Mmmh! You Be The Judge !!

Why You Should Never Give a Tanzanian Woman your Credit Card.

So 2015 is off to a good start. I feel pretty good about the choices I have made so far. Yes I know. Its only February.  So today I was thinking about the decisions NOT to make this year that I made in 2014. As I pondered and reminisced any poor decisions I had made, I realized that most were made under the influence of Vodka.  Which is why you will not catch me dead drinking Absolute, Smirnoff, Ketel, Svedka or even Belvedere.  There is even Vodka called “Zombie Apocalypse”.  That should send you a message. Bad shit happens when you drink Vodka. In fact, if you know anyone who is still drinking vodka and has not had to raise bail money, you should tell him to stop drinking that shit with immediate effect! Vodka is the reason why women fail pregnancy tests, the reason why men wake up with black eyes and Mercedes SUVs collide with the neighbor’s mailbox somewhere in Allen, Texas. Sorry Musyoki, no one bought that story about the mailbox growing legs and colliding with your Benz. Anyways, I have eliminated half of the bad decisions I will make this year by quitting Vodka. I have instead switched to Crown Royal. We shall examine the validity of that decision next year. However, there is one mistake I made in 2014 that was not made under the influence of any alcohol. In fact, calling it a mistake is an understatement. It was a blunder of magnanimous proportions. My friend, I gave a Tanzanian woman my credit card. Not just any credit card. I gave her my American Express.

To clear the air, I have no beef with the daughters of Nyerere. These fine species of women are what my Christian Union teacher Mr. Aluha used to call, “wonderfully and fearfully made” . You see if a woman brings you closer to the almighty by reminding you of that verse in Psalms 139, then you know you are in trouble. Not every woman is beautiful. Some should I say this-handsome. Tanzanian women are beyond the threshold of beautiful. These daughters of Mwalimu Nyerere are a sight to behold. Gorgeous, to the point of eclipsing their sisters to the North and West.  When a Tanzanian woman speaks, time stops. The earth stops rotating in its own axis and the galaxy’s activities are brought to a halt. These silver tongued devils know how to drive men to the brink of insanity with their captivating swahili. Pure sorcery I tell you!

So how did I make the fateful mistake of parting with my credit card to a Tanzanian woman you may ask? The thing about Tanzanians in the Diaspora is…well, they are not too many.  I attribute this to English. Tanzanians have never been known to be masters of English.  And that pesky TOEFEL test you have to take before being admitted to a University in America is a headache to them. They even teach Chemistry in Swahili over there in the land of Nyerere.  So when I came across one of them in this here Texas, I was quite intrigued. Long story short, I closed the deal pretty quickly before the other mafisis could close in. You have to be fast in Dallas. These Kenyans around here don’t play. Masters of thirst kapsa! They will steal your wife at Nai while you go negotiate a drink at the bar. You cannot turn your back on them.

So me and this girl..we shall call her Fatuma are standing at the parking lot outside her apartment. It is Friday morning. I am eager to make a technical appearance at work and begin the weekend festivities. Fatuma is holding my hands while she looks up at me with those hypnotic eyes. You see, fatuma is not only a looker but she is a master story teller. She tells stories that tug at your heart strings. Each story peculiarly ends with me opening up my wallet.  Fatuma is also an actor. Like Lupita Nyong’o, she should have won an Oscar a long time ago! She plays the part of a great chef in the kitchen, a financial advisor(usually at how I should invest in her) and a porn star. Yes, she can give Lacy Duvall a run for her money. Anyways, where was I? Tuko kwa parking lot. Hapo Spring Valley and Monfort. Fatuma says to me, “Baby..look at me. Do I look like I have a boyfriend?”  You see men have become accustomed to questions by their women being traps. There is always a hidden meaning. So I ponder her question briefly..”yes of course! Why do you ask fatuma?” you see our conversations where very strange. Because of the language barrier, she always spoke in Swahili and I in English. I know. Strange. But we understood each other. That is all that matters.So Fatuma says, “Sijui kama niko na boyfriend. Hebu angalia nywele yangu.”. It is at this moment that I knew that I would be parting with some of my hard earned money. Fatuma continues in that distinct Swahili sanifu, “Nahitaji Kusuka nywele. Sijui nisuke na pesa gani? “ I start fumbling with my wallet. She continues.. “Si lazima ni kuombe hela ya nwele kama wewe ni boyfriend!” Now she just mad me feel like a complete asshole. How do women do this? How do they make men spend money on them while simultaneously making them feel guilty? So now Fatuma has succeeded in making me feel like I have absconded my boyfriend duties and to redeem myself I will have to part with some cash. The only problem is, my wallet only had $12. I hurriedly check the time on my cell phone. I am late for work so I cannot run to the ATM…but..I have my American Express. Problem solved. So I clarify with Fatuma that she only needs about $200 for her hair. No problem, here is my card, give it back to me this evening. With that, I drove off to work.

Let’s talk about Amex for a minute. You see the thing about Amex is, they don’t let you accumulate the balance and carry it over month after month. The good folks at American Express expect you to pay the entire balance at the end of the month. So you really cannot get carried away with that shit. I know you can already foresee the disaster that was about to happen.  So I am driving to work and she calls me to say how much she appreciates me giving her my credit card. In that enchanting Swahili voice she says, “ Karoki wacha ni kwambie. Kwa mwanamke, kujisanifu nywele ni tendo muhimu sana.” She has succeeded in making me feel like a hero. Women are good at this. They can inflate your ego magnanimously right after they crush your balls. Don’t fall for that shit, it’s a trap! Abort mission! Abort mission!  I arrive at work and head straight for my morning meetings. During this meeting, I get no less than 2 calls from American Express fraud department. I  dismiss them thinking they’re probably wondering what a bald black dude is doing at a hair salon. That is until I checked my account before I left my office. This is the point I realized that I had fucked up.

I log into my Amex account, click on recent activity(pending transactions) and I almost got a heart attack. My credit card grew legs and was seen at Victoria Secret, Walmart, Subway, Express Womens and was even seen at Emirates. I also noticed that my credit card had been used at my local joint. So I call my bar tender and ask Shiri how my credit card was swiped at my kalocal and Shiri the bar tender tells me , “your girl came in to buy some food and bought some of your boys drinks as well.” Yes. She bought my boyz drinks with my own FUCKING CREDIT CARD!  So at this point I call her in panic. No answer. Call her again.Goes to voicemail. My palms are sweating. Hands are shaking. The veins in my head are about to explode In fury. So I call Amex and push the panic button. I tell them to suspend the card. It was too late though. $1436.32 had already been spent. Damn! At this point I feel like the village idiot. All I can say is that when I finally caught up to Fatuma and my credit card, it did not end well. I made an executive decision, cut my losses and move on. I concluded that I had bought a Range Rover with the budget of a probox. I’ll never do that shit again. My eyes have been open. I was hoodwinked, mamboozled, fed that okie dok but no more!  So yes, 2015 I will make better decisions. I will drink Crown and keep my credit cards closer to my chest. Beware the daughters of Nyerere!


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