Things Fall Apart - a West African love saga

THE CHARACTERS:

Mr. C: A dear friend from the African continent who is deadly against the French. French colonialism seems to have left a lasting imprint on him. Although his first language was French in addition to a tribal language he NEVER speaks in French. I mean NEVER. His english accent has strong and distinct french + tribal remnants, making him illegible to the untrained ear. Even after a year is unable to pronounce my name correctly and I am ‘Ishwa’ to him. He is a tall, chiseled and beautiful specimen of the west African kind and luckily he was not born 200 years ago, for surely he would have ended up on a farm somewhere in the American South being molested by the plantation owners wife and daughters.

The Damsel: is a bad tempered and generally bitchy young lady. She is from the same place as Mr. C and was his love interest untill the filing of this blog. She is an impatient woman who is constantly whining and suffers moodswings like a pendulum. having said that, the only reason why Mr.C tolerated her and others may is because she has a reputation that precedes her. apparently she is a whirlwind when the candle is snuffed out.

The Polizei: Their job as custodian of the law is to uphold and maintain public law and order

THE BACKGROUND:

Well anyway, with much fanfare Mr. C (he shall be referred to as Mr.C here forth) prepared to receive his love interest who was to visit him last weekend from England. Mr.C made sure he got all prior assignments out of the way so that a weekend of intense romantic passion would not be disturbed for anything. So Mr.C disappeared from public life for a few days prior to his concierge’s landing. I met him a couple of days before her arrival and he was in good spirits. I inquired whether sexual adventurism was the sole purpose of the next few days. To which Mr.C immediately went thoughtful and responded with a resolute ‘no’. The trip was to make certain whether she was the right one since Mr.C wanted desperately to live the American dream with a wife, children, car, house and the works. So the trip was to be a very important one.

THE SHIT HITS THE FAN:

Mr.C emerged on Saturday evening en-route to THE PARTY. A high-end club had been booked for a very important party and it was to be a night to remember. Mr.C and his companion arrived very well dressed and arm in arm. Upon arrival Mr.C introduced the lady as his companion for the evening and launched for the bar. After a while I noticed the damsel sitting alone by herself and Mr.C swinging with a glass of wine. I may as well add at this point that Mr.C can absolutely not hold his alcohol. According to his own self, the last time he consumed alcohol in his African homeland, many many years ago he found himself sprawled on the bar floor in the morning with his pockets and effects picked clean and no recollection of how he ended up there. So I was a little alarmed to see him in that position with the damsel keeping the sofa warm in the meanwhile. 3 hours, several glasses of wine, and 4 women later I vaguely remember Mr. C staggers out of the club with the damsel in one arm. It was roughly 1 a.m.

It was 9 in the morning on the following morning when I was roused rudely from deep slumber. I had stayed out till 4 and had barely made it home before collapsing at 5 am. I staggered to the door to open it and see Mr. C in the flesh, who invited himself in proclaiming to be a ‘dead man walking’. Apparently on the way home, Mr. C had proceeded to puke his guts out on to his pants and shirt upon which his damsel apparently very embarrassed at being with him had simply moved away from his presence and into another rail carriage. Mr. C then exited at some random train station where he was supposed to make a change without a second thought to the damsel, who was in town for the very first time and did not speak a word of the language. Mr. C, at that point clearly astray proceeded to stagger around the rail station searching for his connection when he was picked up by the police for public indecency and thrown into a lockup for the next 6 hours. He was unable to recall which station it was that he exited at. Early next morning the police let him go after giving him a dressing down for meandering about the rail station in an unruly manner posing a menace to the public order and decorum. They then gave him a jail bird outfit and pushed him along his way. The damsel had simply disappeared and Mr. C was fretting his guts out about how she was a stranger in a strange country and kept repeating how he was a ‘dead man walking’.

Mr. C fretted and fretted about how this was a disaster and how the police were racist and they prolly ran identity checks on him. And how he had to piss really badly and they wouldn't let him out of the lockup. He maintained decorum in the cell and did not pee at all. He then proceeded to explain how he felt about the damsel and how this was a test of the strength of the relationship and she had failed miserably. If she could not stand beside him in his hour or lecherous, debauch, drunken, puke infested stupor then how could he trust her to stick around him for the rest of his life? I immediately nodded in agreement. my hangover was not helping at all but I still wanted to be a good friend and listened. Since I have purchased a new bike I seem to have become a good listener.

The only problem was that where was the damsel after all. soon enough his phone began to ring and some guy informed Mr. C that his damsel was safe and sound with him and she had called him in great distress last night, when she discovered that she did not know anyone on that train and now he wanted our address cause he wanted to bring her 'home'. After putting the phone down Mr. C proceeded with expletives liking her to one in the prostitution business. She was not supposed to know anyone else in Berlin and she had a spent a 'whole night' with a man when she was apparently empotionally very unstable...and vulnerable ...hence there had to be something fishy. or else why would she walk away from him, abandoning him in the train the way she did? if she really was a stranger in the city.

I advised extreme caution when she arrived but cannot verify it. Mr.C has not remerged from his quarters in 3 days since the damsel's flight back to mancy is not be untill 3 additional days.

LESSONS LEARNT, the hard way:

Mr.C cannot hold his booze therefore he should not drink
The Damsel is not a stranger in Berlin
She will not be the mother of Mr. C's children