For as long there remain the broke, the desperate, the hungry, the poor, the needy, the unfortunate in the world, the belly of ingenuity will always remain full. Never have to hunger it won’t. in Uganda, i’m sure there’s more than a handful of chaps to fit the prerequisite for the continuity of initiative. I think however for my theory to take root, they all need to be desperate so we’d have desperately poor, desperately broke, desperately unfortunate and so on and so forth.
I’ve got this friend, Silas he’s called. It suits him. Silas just sounds sinister and evil and scheming. This guy is a paragon of the three.
Silas is a Ugandan to the core. He is also a perfect paradigm for my theory. Byomic theory B, the second in a series of many more to come.
Legend has it that this guy can make you buy an elephant you obviously don’t need. Legend does not lie. He has the tongue of a she-devil (yes, a female one). He can charm the pants off any man, woo the ears off any woman, squeeze lemon juice from a guava and that’s only the stuff I’m allowed to let you know about. This guy is the “illest” shit ever!
Silas lives with his guardians, friends of his parents. We wont divulge much on that end lest someone come up with the brilliant idea of another Martyrs day.
Anyway, these guys take him in and treat him like their own. They clothe him, feed him, school him and try to love him.
What does Silas say to that? You guessed it, muahahahahahaha!
The garage of unsuspecting Samaritan guardians stands empty today, a laughable stance compared to its former glory. Like all garages, packed to the brim with junk and other fairly useless stuff.
He sold it all, the rogue, he did!
And we’re talking doing away with some really useless junk. An empty box, a stick with no apparent use, bicycle tire rubber tubing, a really broken down lawn mower, a car aerial, an old worn out shoe (just one), the scrap of paint on the wall (I think he melted it back to re-usable paint, because…).
The guy sold each and everything in the garage. The last I heard he was moving in on the house. Shouldn’t be too surprise if I were his guardian to wake and find I’d spent the night in a house exclusive of doors and windows.
Problem with being pals with a chap like Silas is his passion, for lack of a more suitable definition, knows no boundaries. He’s crossed the family boundary. What makes you think he’ll even pretend to think twice about doing you in? You’re just an acquaintance. Someone who thinks you are his friend. To guys like Silas, friendship is spelt a little more like opportunity.
Although, we can’t be blaming Silas for being who he is. Perhaps he’s just sick. You know how the whites do. When I steal I have some complex or disorder that is somehow related to the thefts therefore I am not to blame. When I kill, it is a manifestation of years of harassment coming back to claim my revenge for me. For everything you do, those guys have a disorder. So to state Byomic theory B “there is always someone to blame. If someone to blame did not exist, there would be need to create him.” Couple that with a disorder of some sort and I’m sure we can find Silas a fitting complex to define his sickness. Coz, truth be told, that guy is sick. He just can’t stop himself.
He was selling a phone sometime back. It had a cracked screen, could only “receive” text, network was messed (whether MTN or not) and the mastermind had it clamped together with the aid of rubber band.
He called yesterday to tell me he had sold it. A salesman if ever there was one.
