In gleeful anticipation of my second novel and the outcome in Zambia's elections here is something for a chuckle...

A VISIONARY TASK lies before me. Read on ------

Yesterday, Sunday, I called Ms Cleo---a renowned $3.99-a-minute-psychic---to help me see the future of our country. Well, lo and behold, I had no idea where my prank was going to lead me from thereon.

Before I cut to the chase about Zambia, I asked of Ms Cleo as to why she charges for these phone calls when she could just pluck our credit card #s and pin #s and be on her merry way to a life of wealth. Honestly, she didn't like my brash query and its connotation but knowing that she was going to screw me out of $3.99 each minute that I was on the phone with her, she was polite and got real chatty. She even went as far as asking me if I was a virgin. And I was like, "No, ma'am, you tell me. You are the psychic."

We talked about dates, friends, beer, work, chips,,,and sex!

Anyway, this lady who has an uncanny ability to see the future did actually see Zambia's future. She told me that G(Z)ambia had a bright future. New huge investments, better schools, eradicated AIDS, potholes big enough to hide a giraffe would be no more. The only thing that was standing in the way of this 'bright future' lies somewhere along the banks of the G(Z)ambezi River. I chuckled here. Seriously! She admonished me that this was serious stuff. After chatting for 14minutes, 59 seconds I was told everything else was going to be revealed to me in my sleep. There goes my $60.00.

But I couldn't wait to go to bed so that I could become The Chosen One to be revealed to the secret that will propel Zambia into the sky of progress.

Night fell. Dark clouds hovered closer to the earth. I went to my bedroom to sleep, "no fooling around tonight buttcakes. Goodnight." I refused to entertain or spend quality time with my boyfriend. (No, silly, I am not gay.) I call her my boyfriend because she has the shoulders of a sumo wrestler, wheelbarrow chest, the face of a badly beaten boxer after a 15-round bout and the butt flat as the face of a cliff. So, you see, my calling her b-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d is not to insult her but to make her endeared. Oh, she's twice my size too. I am only 150 pounds. Pardon me, I digress here.

In my sleep I heard this voice telling me about a text written many many years ago on metallic plates. The title according to the voice was 'The African Curse'. The voice went on to give me directions of the location and how I should go on a quest in search of this treasure. Why me? I don't know yet. I am not complaining, it's just humbling for me to be honored in this way. I know where to go but that is classified information at this time. This text, according to the voice in the night,is the key that will unlock the doors to Zambia's future. My question was, how do I know this is real? Response: "My son, there will be a sign for you in the morning as you face the east.

The first thing I did in the morning was not to kiss you-know-who-goodmorning but to go outside and look for the promised sign in my backyard. Well, for starters, there was green doodoo from our neighbor's dog. This dog is a vegetarian and shits like a chicken. Everywhere and anywhere. I am thinking of plugging its rear at the opportune time when the owner is not looking. The dog lives this vegetarian-style so that we can save a few harmless cows. Hold on here for a minute, I have to check on something. "Honey, how is the seven-pound steak coming in the oven? Don't forget to throw in the intestines as well. Thanks sweet!

Okay, I am back. Sorry about that. That was my boyfriend, I mean, girlfriend, making breakfast. Back to the African Curse. Ignoring the vegetarian doodoo, I raised my head and lo, there it was. The sign indeed. It was pale yellow and bright. The sun!

I rushed into the house to pack my bags so that I can leave immediately on this noble quest. I have to do this without wasting anymore time. But today is Monday and I haven't left yet. What is holding me back is this: Do I head out on this journey with the blessings of an old frazzled priest--- or a box of caramel chocolates, spicy fritos, Santa Claus underpants , and a fervent chant of a dozen Hail Mary's will do just fine?

Evans
Mpelembe Alumni Newsgroup
Dec 17, 2001 13:30 PST
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