The Good Drunkard's prayer

Dear our heavenly father, how are you up their Sir? I haven't spoken to you in a very long time but here I am today.

Somewhere somehow last week, I promised my friends that I would gallop only 23 liters of beer but I exceeded my limit and now I ask for forgiveness! Forgive me father.

These friends keep inviting me for alcohol freebies most times. Well I also remember your only begotten son turned the mixture of hydrogen and oxygen into wine at that awesome wedding in Cana. Not so heavenly papa? And it was by your grace too!

As you know papa, Okello invited me to act as the drinks manager last week at his wedding in Gayaza and I had been sober for a very long time; well, approximately 15 hours! The bottles I was serving to people kept calling my name. I tried to block my ears but they continued with their whore-like whistle. They wanted me so badly that I stopped serving and I grabbed one of them, sat down and interrogated her!

Okello was not happy and kept staring at me with those eyes of a Nigerian who had been denied a visa. The high table was indeed so high for him that he wished it was low so that he could walk swiftly to come flog me properly!

As the tale continues, I held this bottle by neck: it shouted my name; I ignored her; but when she begun sweating around the neck, I knew she was ripe and a single second wasted without un-wrapping would seem like an inhumane treatment towards her.

That instance did not stop their father. One became two; two became three; three became oba eighteen! Hell no, I wasn't counting father! The good news is that I didn't mess up. Well I only woke up in the trench with a little scratched bum and a girl's lip stick mark on my vest - a wedding present from my wife.

Now am confusing you heavenly father. Yes, am married! I married that motor-mouthed dark skinned muhima. I know you didn't want me to marry her and I went against your wish! Forgive me heavenly papa. I also know you wanted me to hook up with Apolot, that itesot goddess and I declined! Mercy upon me father! I couldn't resist the muhima's garden for I could plough for long hours without fatigue!

Now how shall I even face my wife in this vest? Lord, is there any way you can turn this vest to a charcoal-brown color so that when am asked at home, I could tell madam that I was simply helping Juma-the charcoal vendor. Please lord, one miracle on my vest, just a simple one!

I hope you hear my plea heavenly father! That muhima thing is wicked. She always thinks that am a cheat! That I keep escaping to go meet Apolot, Really? Me? Heavenly father, don’t you know that you created us-the Northern men-with a Hugh chunk of loyalty?

Yes! We the dark skinned Northerners were created in your image and embedded with trustworthiness and faithfulness…but the muhima thing denies all those awesome inherent values.

Heavenly papa, that woman can beat! She recently pounded me like no man’s business! Remember when she turned me into a pestle and pounded me like a village woman pounding cassava? Father, do you still remember that incident after her crashing me; I looked like a toddler in front of my peers? Or when I took the case to Police, the female officer-in-charge laughed at me as though she was demon-possessed? What an embarrassment!

Father, what did I do to deserve all these? Okay, as I wind up this one-hour long prayer, could you please do me one final favor? Father, you are omnipotent; you are omnivorous; you are alpha and omega; you are everything…please kill my wife’s puppy! Now I sound wicked I know but that creature has taken up all my madam’s time and attention!

How can a 2-kilogram white hairy beast take up my madam’s affection? How? We are still in Africa, not Europe! Please send the late Judas Iscariot to come and strangle it!

I pray for less wifely punches; I also pray the government’s tax increment on alcohol remains rhetoric; and I finally thank you for the free air that am inhaling!


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