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I'm out of control, it’s killing me

Tuesday March 28 2017
drink

ILLUSTRATION|JOHN NYAGA

The feeling of something cold and wet on my face slowly nudged me out of my blackout. I slowly opened my eyes then shut them quickly as the light pierced into my eyes. My mind felt cloudy and I couldn’t make sense of where I was, how I had got here and why there was a wet feeling on my face.

I turned my face and tried to open my eyes again, and this time I managed to make out that I was lying in a puddle on a cabro floor. But, where was I? I gave in to the darkness.
I slowly opened my eyes again and now it was completely dark. I was no longer lying in the puddle. I felt around with my hand and realised that I was in my bed. I rubbed my face and slowly got up and felt for the light switch on the wall. The blinding light pierced my eyes and I quickly switched it off. I fumbled around to the door and opened it to more blinding light.

“Ah mkubwa (sir) you’re finally awake,” Latene said with a warm smile. He had his feet up on a small stool and was watching a show on the TV. I did not like it that he had made himself so comfortable in my house.

I motioned for him to switch off the light as I slumped into the closest chair. My head was pounding and I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Run to the kitchen and get me a drink,” I told Latene.

He tried to hide the shock from his face as he got up to go to the kitchen. I could hear him rummaging though the cupboards and drawers and after what seemed like hours he came back carrying an almost empty bottle of vodka and a glass that he had just rinsed because it still had water dripping from it. I grabbed the bottle from him and told him I didn’t need the glass.

Latene tried to say something but thought better of it and quietly took the glass back to the kitchen, came back and sat on the sofa but did not put his feet back up onto the stool.

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I took a long sip of the whisky and felt it warm up my nerves and calm my restless stomach. I sighed with relief as the fog in my mind cleared. I took another sip and another until the drink was finished. I shook the bottle hoping there would be a little left, but there wasn’t even a drop.
“Latene, go and buy me two bottles of my usual from Mama Ben,” I told him, while feeling around my pockets as I tried to remember where I had left my wallet.

“Mkubwa, I put your wallet on your bed stand in your room,” Latene said.

The worry on his face was obvious, and I could feel my annoyance with him rising.

I went to my bedroom and found my wallet on the bed stand. I sat down on my bed and opened the wallet to see how much money was in it. There was only enough to buy a small bottle of whisky and it took all my self-control not to turn the room upside down. Where had all my money gone?
“Latene, did you take the money that was in my wallet?” I asked him trying not to sound like I was accusing him of theft.

“Mkubwa, all these years I have been looking after you, have I ever stolen a single cent from you?”

He tried to look innocent but I wasn’t buying it. But there was nothing I could do, and I still needed him to buy me a bottle.
“Fine, here, get me the small bottle,” I told him while handing him my last note. He took it grudgingly and went out.

*************************
I knew I would have to make the call, if only just to get some more money. But, I could feel the anger, resentment, shame and worry growing inside me until I was shaking.

I stood up and went out onto the balcony to see if fresh air would calm me down. The estate was almost deserted because most people were at work. I fought off the feelings of guilt and shame at being at home instead of at work.

Why was Latene taking so long to come with my drink? The shaking was getting worse. I wondered if Latene was secretly trying to kill me. Maybe my ex-wife had hired him to finish off the job she had started years ago when we were still together. Memories of her self-righteous rants made my blood boil.
I paced across the balcony but it was not helping, neither was the cold breeze that felt like tiny needles pricking my skin. I had to do anything to take away this feeling, even making the dreaded call to ask for more money. I paced some more and rubbed my arms to try to control the shaking. The pain in my head was increasing, and I felt like I would die. But, I smiled as I saw Latene walking into the entrance of the apartment building.

I did not wait for him to bring the glass he kept trying to force on me. I opened the bottle and took a big swig of the brown liquid. I almost choked as I tried to quench the thirst that was deep inside. By the time I put the bottle down on the stool next to my seat, it was almost empty. I needed more before the sickness started again, so I talked myself into making the call. I convinced myself the lying was necessary. It helped stop the pain.

But making the call was further proof of how low I was willing to stoop, of how far I had fallen. I could feel the tears welling up and hid my face from Latene. I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me. Why couldn’t this pain just stop? How was this my life? These painful questions were making me shake again so I downed the last of the drink and told Latene to get me my phone. I had to make the call.

“Hello, mother. How are you?”

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