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MR. HYENA ASKS… Where do I report Banyankole belles who don’t have el-nino?
I am tired of disappointments!
Every region is known for something. The Zungus are well known for ‘Oooh Yeah……Oooh Yeah.’ Our Sebei cousins known for chopping of the devil’s door bells, northerners for being super black, Dinkas for being tall, Gisus for the imbalu, my fellow Banyoro for empako and the greater Ankole for milk, producing beautiful women with floods like el-nino and, this is a very big AND mega twin towers.
It was mainly for those qualities that the greater Ankole took over the nation. Men lusting to swim or drown in el – nino went for them on an industrial scale. Hence every family in central, Bunyoro, Tooro and some parts of Busoga, has one or several wives from the Ankole region.
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However, of late things have so changed. It’s no longer shocking to find a brown Okello or Mukwasi with a full housing. It is also increasingly common to encounter a dry Natukunda, Mbabazi or Kabashagazi.
My latest disappointment is Nyabusheshe of Natete, but originally from Kiruhura. I would understand if she was a slender boney city belle, one of those that speak more English or Luganda than their native Runyankole, Rukiga or Rufumbira.
But until two years ago Nyabusheshe had never travelled beyond Kiruhura.
She is fat, brown and always proudly speaking Runyankole which gave me and probably other men the impression she was a complete Munyankole with everything a belle from the region has.
Eager to swim in her el-nino, like 30 men poured in their manifestos. The majority being her fellow greater Ankoleans, yours truly being the only Munyoro in the race, several Baganda and Basoga taxi drivers in the queue as well.
However, her fellow greater Ankoleans were cast aside due to the bad experiences with her two Ex-husbands and several boyfriends, leaving yours truly to fight it out with the Baganda and Basoga.
Being a savedee, she first rejected my manifesto. She set tough conditions of marriage before chewing things. However, I persisted sweet talked and heavily invested. But for six months, I didn’t reap rewards of my hard work, prompting me to hit the middle pedal.
Thanks to the financial hardship of the city, Nyabusheshe finally agreed to show me –her unpretty body parts. “But you will use condoms,” She insisted.
Condoms is almost my middle name, having used them like seventy percent of the time.
In preparation of the important match, I swallowed a stamina booster. Because there was no way I would tamper with a waterlogged fat belle from Ankole with an empty head.
Throughout the night, I planned on how to go about akembarara. “I hope, I satisfy her,” I silently pondered.
Our adultery being top secret wouldn’t happen in Natete because Nyabusheshe feared someone from her church or one of her clients may see us and gossip.
Come following evening, we met at a safe distance and off to town I drove. The journey ended in a hotel room on Lumum street.
As we kissed, I was eagerly looking forward to seeing mega flip flaps. Old school kind! Only to find short ones. Making her man eater look more like a lazy adolescent’s who had just started the elongation course.
“Doesn’t she have swenkazis?” I silently wondered.
I solaced myself by thinking that whereas her peers were in bushes doing elongation practical’s, she was at the river drinking as much water in preparation of drowning my bed.
Using my middle finger, I tried to open the flood gates, but nothing came. Just some cream.
“Her river is far or blocked by a clog,” I thought.
And just as that thought was going through my brain, she asked if I had brought her here to use my finger.
I replied by installing a rubber antivirus then took center position and begged her to kick start the ceremony.
“Do you want me to give you a goat and a rope?”Nyabusheshe asked. What else could I do other than doing it my self.
In a bid to impress, I started administering slow gentle jazz.
I expected to hear praises like “yamaawe……mushaija wangye……wanyita….be gentle don’t kill me……am only a woman in love.” But she just closed her eyes and lay silent like a dead body.
At first, I thought her cells were asleep. So I went faster and faster.
To acknowledge my work, Nyabusheshe opened herself widest. But still didn’t make any sound nor did the river in her flow prompting me to wonder if her river had been channeled to an irrigation scheme.
Or I had not reached her switch, so I thought.
So I dived in, traversed her territory. In less than four minutes, her body heat had gone up. She even started groaning, fooling me into thinking, her flood tunnel was about to burst.
Throwing a fat belle’s thighs over one’s shoulders ain’t an easy task, but since I wanted to get to Nyabusheshe’s core, I did it.
This gave me like eighty percent access to her Shangri-la and I bombarded it to the best of my ability. By 2am, we had covered all the basic techniques, but I had not even seen a drop of water.
As we rested with her head in my chest, I politely said, “I was told Banyankole women have a lot of water.” To which Nyabusheshe shamelessly replied asking if I liked el-nino.
Since I hadn’t seen nor expected it, I politely said “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it and was worried of it.” I told her that my friends said during sex, women from the greater Ankole cause floods.
Then I asked why I hadn’t seen it. And shameless as she is, Nyabusheshe said, “because you didn’t look for it.” I couldn’t believe my ears.
However, I asked how was it that I was supposed to look for it.
I begged her to teach me but she said, “I don’t give goats and ropes!”
That it was my duty to look for it. Sad reality dawned on me that I had hit a dry well.
Had Nyabusheshe been my first belle from her region, I would have believed, but I have boned lots with the sacred floods.
After encountering a lot of belles from Ankole region without el-nino, I call upon the guardians of culture to call for a general meeting and check their daughters.
While that’s happening, Baganda and Basoga should as well be doing the same because their daughters are no longer waist wiggling and spinning plus singing senga melodies which put them on world markets. We are slowly witnessing the demise of the African revolution.
Till next time, I remain yours truly, Mr. Hyena.