Monday Massacres: HeroMan

It’s been a while since we run these massacres. So understandably, prospective sponsors were queasy. They said that they could not trust the brand. What’s there not to trust? WHAT’S THERE NOT TO TRUST EH!!!???? Ok, let’s breathe in, breathe out…think pretty thoughts, pretty thoughts. Presenting the massacres…I have a gut feeling the sponsors will be queuing up next week.

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It is no secret that we live in hard times. Very hard times. Ladies’ bags are getting stolen. Men are sending money to their offshore accounts, money meant for drugs for the sick and needy. Other people are going years without getting any. Hard times, my friend, very hard times. We need a hero. Someone who can lift us out of this…this despicable state of affairs.

Someone who’ll champion the cause of the weak,
speak up for the meek,
and do it every week,
justice he will seek,
no, he’s not a dick,
not even a prick,
he, he is Sleek.
With a kick and a flick,
He’ll pounce on them robbers, the pricks,
Yes, they’ll have sticks,
But Sleek, he’s unique,
Taekwondo and jujitsu make him tick,
We need a hero, we have Sleek.

With an intro like that it’s hard not to trip. But back to our story. Hard times, yes, very hard times. But Sleek has this covered.

CASE ONE:

(kock kock kock kack kock kack)(High heels hitting the tarmac as unidentified SHE walks down a lonely alley in Buziga, having left work late from taking an extra cup of tea to her boss.)

(kock kock kock kack kock kack) (kamppphhh)(She breaks her stride. An unidentified man with bloodshot eyes has  stepped into her path, a few meters away)

HE: Nze tegumanyi luzungu naye ‘Hand over zat handbag and no one gets hurt’. (Translation: translator unavailable right now. Apologies)

SHE: (shrill scream) (breaks into her mother tongue) Ai bambe, kjnivcreuoyuwyedeouweyofcitfouwdyootedouwyywevfdiyvuycwiyfiwrv, where is Sleek when we need him?

(Flash of light, barefoot man grimaces, punches, kicks, more punches, a scream, then calm. Barefoot man is bundled up, struggling to break free.)

Barefoot man: ‘Nze mwana I’ll get you Sleek, if it’s the last thing I do. Naro!‘

(Sleek and the previously so-scared-I’m-going-to-piss-my-pants lady walk off hand-in-hand. To her place of residence. She lives alone. They proceed to have a discussion on possible ways of empowering lady to defend herself in such situations. Then they tell me not to write anything more about them.)

CASE TWO:

Burly HE is seated in his office. Sipping cold coffee. Eating a mandazi. He is waiting for the money. It was supposed to come in the previous day but word has it DONOR had some other stuff to take care of. But today is the day. The money, it is coming.

(Knock knock)

Ah, that must be them. Come in.

Tea girl walks in. ‘You aren’t done with the tea? And you owe me for that mandazi…what’s with your ilk and procrastination?’ (She walks out, semi-slams the door)

(Tension builds…tension builds…more tension)

(Another knock)

Ah, it must be them. The money, it is here.

They walk in, three of them. DONOR, and two goons in shades and body-hugging black suits. And white sneakers. The goons stand on either side of DONOR. He is clad in a red and black t-shirt, brown corduroys and mauve sneakers. He hands over the sack of money and insists on a signature. Burly HE signs. They head for the door. DONOR turns just before the door is shut behind him, “Now make sure all those with Malaria actually get drugs bought with this money.”

Burly HE nods. They leave. Unable to contain his excitement, he starts to stash some of the bills into his socks, shoes, underwear….

(Flash of light, scuffle, kicks, punches, burly HE is now bound, struggling.)

Sleek: Thought you could get away with eating our money eh? Eh? Take him away boys…