I hooked a Mzungu with help of mudfish

One evening, I strolled home with my mudfish scoop only to find our uncle had come home with two young white Christian missionaries from the land of George Bush.

The one who was a smashing beauty was called Isabyll. She was clad in a long flowing cashmere dress that matched the colour of her eyes. I could already see that my older brothers were scanning her the way a chameleon does a fly. With my mudfish catch still dangling on my hook, I went to welcome them.

"Where did you fish this?" Isabyll said smiling down at my scoop.

"From Kamabaare," I replied referring to the small roaring river down the valley near our home.

She was overjoyed with my catch making me swear several times that I would take her fishing that very morning.

It was to be a secret. That whole evening, she was in my company. My older brothers, who considered themselves 'the kids on the block' (they were in boarding school, knew so much about anything and everything and village girls fought over them) were jealous to realise that Isabyll preferred my company - I, the small primitive boy of S.4 and in a village school.

Well, early morning the following day, before cock-crow, I tiptoed to Isabyll's room and quietly helped her to dress like a cowboy. We then headed for our fishing mission.

Everyone else was –in Shakespeare speak –still 'enjoying the honey-heavy dew of slumber.' I had my hook ready. I had also set my fishing baskets the previous night. No one at home knew where we were. Else my Uncle would have slashed my neck.

It was joy seeing the blinding smile of Isabyll as I whistled in the act of my fishing hobby to encourage the mudfish: rugubwobwa...rugubwobwa, ekyaana ky'engaara kyakutangaho... my hook shook and bang! the biggest mudfish ever was thrown on the bank! I had never seen someone so excited with my catch.

But soon, the pangs of the dawn cold began affecting her, I offered her my coat. Then referring to the same cold, I manoeuvred into her embrace. We lay there holding each other tightly. I would have been satisfied with the status quo but she had other ideas. She grabbed me by the neck and kissed me for so long a time that I started gasping for breath. By the time we returned home, I was no longer a virgin.

Three days later, they flew back to the US. Isabyll gave me a camera before she left. It is about four years since but I still remember that day like it happened yesterday.

Published in Daily Monitor, on February 13, 2004