Who Moved My Mandazi? Sound Business Advice.

 

 This is an uplifting tale of how anyone, even you, if you are a crooked and unscrupulous shopkeeper, can overcome the hurdles fate places before you if you believe in yourself and refuse to allow doubt a place in your heart.

The story is set in the small shop round the corner from Golden Villas, Kyaliwajjala. 

Golden Villas is the set of semi-detacheds among with Chez Baz is one. They are mostly occupied by classy Kampala yuppies—the kind of kids who lead you to question the point of saving your money. Every other wall has a DSTV dish clinging to it like a large spider and the compound at night is packed with cars. It looks like Clock Tower.

My neighbours live large. They even buy groceries from Uchumi and stuff.

I call it Golden Villas because the outside is not as cool as the yuppies inside. The outside is painted a garish orange. It is revolting. It makes the whole place look like somebody swallowed Celtel and MTN and, when the mixture disagreed with him, he threw up on our houses. That kind of orange.

Yes, I said Celtel. Celtel Celtel Celtel Celtel. Cel-Tel. Sue me.

What this has got to do with the mandazis is, frankly, nothing. Golden Villas is just an ugly orange smudge in the background. A smudge from which the least cool yuppie on the premises occasionally emerges to slouch towards this shop. Usually in the evening of a wasted weekend like the last one, usually in the sort of deep stupor only two days cooped up indoors with nothing but a cold and PPTV can induce.

After a while growing roots on the couch a small urge rises slowly to nudge your brain. Tap tap tap. “Dude.”

“Duh.”

“Dude!”

“What!”

“Dude. Do you know what time it is?”

“No. I cannot engage temporal cognition faculties right now. This day has been so boring that I cannot muster the energy.”

“Perhaps the reason you cannot muster the energy is that, and here is the answer to the question I asked earlier, it IS SEVEN HOURS since you last ate something!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh, shit.”

“The last time we did that was last night. But you have been farting all day.”

So the decision is made. Time to get out into the sunlight and find something to eat.

It was around five-thirty when I went to the kiosk and cast my glazed eyes over the shelves. Nothing was breaking through the catatonia — just the usual array of dull brown things. 

Until … wait a minute. Right there. Those were not there yesterday.

Mandazis. A pile of them.

Now, just because I had just spent several very numbing hours being useless indoors like a big fat wasted lump of loser does not mean I had actually become stupid. I still had the ability to do some reasoning. And this is the reasoning.

“Dude, mandazis.”

“Yeah, mandazis”

“They weren’t there yesterday.”

“Mandazis. Yeah. Not here yesterday.”

“Which means…”

“Mandazis.”

“Sigh. Which means they were brought in today. In other words, they must be fresh enough, right?”

“Mandazis. Fresh.”

“Good gracious. The ki-guy has gone completely flaccid. Look. Just engage the motor faculties to point at the mandazis and let’s buy them, okay? Then we can get out of here and you can stop embarrassing me.”

“Must buy mandazi. Mandazi Fresh.”

I pointed at the Mandazis, mouthed an order of sorts, failed to notice the appalled look on shopgirl’s face when a thread of drool stretched all the way down from my lopsided lower lip to her sacks of rice and, doubtless, rat feces, and then with a bundle in my hand, left.

By the time I got back to Golden Villas, I had been in the fresh air for enough time and the oxygen, having found its way to my head, had revived me somewhat. I was reasonably lucid again. Which is why I was darting as fast as I could to get back indoors before the realization that I had been vegetating all weekend hit me and I was forced to deal with the guilt.

But first I had to eat.

And that is when I discovered that the mandazis were stale.

I could end the story here, but I feel the need to whip the hide off this horse’s cadaver, so let me unfurl again, the transcript of my internal dialogue:

 

“You realize what this means? Unless they bought fresh mandazis in the morning, mandazis which somehow deteriorate at several times the normal rate, probably because they were made from flour milled from those GM crops they keep warning us about…”

“Or unless there is an inter-universe black hole vortex in that shop and these mandazis are from four years ago, which it tastes like they are…”

“Or unless it is a bizarre Congo recipe…”

“…then the only explanation is that…”

“Oh my god…”

“That’s right. The kiosk people bought stale mandazis.”

“You mean , this morning someone said, ‘What should I have in stock? I know. I should get some fucked up stale-ass mandazis.’?”

“Probably not. Not everyone makes decisions by talking to themselves like you do.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Anyway. Let’s get to the moral of the story.”

The moral of the story is as such. Even if the mandazis are stale, there might still be an idiot out there who will buy them, so stock them anyway. 

And now, I post a picture a fake movie poster I found on somethingawful.com. For no reason I am aware of.

 

Please visit Somethingawful.com to find other educational movie posters like this one.
Please visit Somethingawful.com to find other educational movie posters like this one.
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18 Comments

  1. Dude, you bought stale mandazi? Now I am not sure which one is worse, is it buying mandazi or that they were stale. You would think that people from golden villas wouldn’t touch anything less than a croissant. You just made the other golden villa residents victims of embarrassment for your deed.

  2. Lol…that is the cheese stroy?

    That condom for kissing idea was mine!!!! Someone stole it…I wish I’d patented it.

    Kyalliwajala is recieveing rave reviews my sides after people found out u’re a resident. And I, of course. Come visitme at Palm Tree close near the borehole.

    I will make milk tea with tangawuzi. Gosh, I miss that tea. Somebody send me Tangawuzi. And no, I will not call it GINGER!!!!

    I swear, I tried to read this post but I’m hungry and the brain is receiving mixed signals from other organs. Now my bladder needs to be emptied.

    No, not RECTUM…BLADDER!!! I’m hungry, rectum is off duty! Besides, I have no rectum.

    I’m sorry I did this to your page Baz.

    Happy new year! Lemme find something to eat.

  3. This is eerie, I think I know that place…. Golden …

    This reminds me of the time I spent like three days munching doughnuts and chai. I can’t recall if I was too broke or too lethargic. Either way I was delirious.

    And yes they were stale… aaahhh memories.

  4. Bambi ka-Cheri. Where’s…who stole the rectum?
    New Vision, Bad Idea page:
    A beautiful girl bambi needs donations for a rectal operation. She can’t eat, she has psychological breakdowns that push her to believe the ‘condom for kissing’ idea is hers and has developed a knack for long comments. Help.

    The post summons memories of balaafu, bogoya, mapeera, bagiya, et cetera.

    Not etc. Et Cetera. The urge to make this a lomg comment gives way to the urge to consider the urge of teeling, manyanga telling you about how there’s a space between et and cetera so i fail to see how it’s etc and not et c There was supposed to be a period before the start of this sentence but…

    I’m sorry I did this to your page Baz.

    Happy new year! Lemme find something to eat.

    Too

  5. on a totally irrelevant note, have you all noticed how this year solomon just goes by King? what pomp!
    On another one, Tumwi is back and for emphasis, she comments twice. no way you can miss her
    erique the parrot
    and me i have nothing to say about stale mandazi, but i absolutely had to comment.

  6. Surely one of the yuppies at Golden Villas could have lent you some sugar or leftovers or something…

  7. me I stay in weekends until my stomach walls are tired of eating up eachother. They I drag myself into town in time for office lunch

  8. So that’s where you live?! Should I reveal the real name of the apartments?

    Cheri, milk tea with tangawuzi rocks! Am coming for some

  9. yup kissing can make you get AIds… my sis tells me that alllll the time, as for stale mandazis, why didnt you come to mines for a hot meal…. meanwhile visit my blog NOW!

  10. It is very amazing, the somber way you have managed to write about mandazi (stale mandazi!!) Remember antipop’s onions?
    You guys are amazing!!

  11. lol @ Cheri That Idea must have been for unholy kissing.
    Milk tea with tangawizi I last had in S.1 that’s a long time back, hope you invite me for the chai..

    Erique…lol….that was unready katogo you served.

    Baz, count yo self lucky you did not lose your rectum like my pal Cheri after eating them stale mandazi’s…

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