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“Jomba, send me your CV, I see what to do. I know people.”

Every African has that one uncle who disappears after promising to connect you to a job. You know who. He calls you one day, very serious.
Your heart starts beating fast. Your future is shining. You even start imagining how you will greet him ukitoka block.

You send the CV, add certificates and attach your passport photo. ‘You can’t mess this up’, you tell yourself

Then… silence. Not even blue ticks. Then when you meet him per chance at a family gathering, he tells you…“Mambo yako sijasahau”

Disappointed is an understatement for what you are feeling now. You are stuck in a daze, terrible phase. You contemplate all your life decisions. Where did you go wrong? Then it hits you, aah! Jomba is more like that friend you lend money.

They come with a very emotional story. “My friend, I just need 2k. I will send it back tomorrow morning.”

You give it. Because you have a good heart.
Tomorrow morning comes, the afternoon fades and before long, next week comes.

Now when you meet, they greet you like nothing happened with the confidence of [Kasongo] when; he knows he is lying, he knows you know that he is lying, and you know he knows that you know he is lying but continues to lie anyway.
And your flabbers are gasted, too stunned to speak, wondering where they purchase their audacity from, because clearly that shop ought to be closed down. The nerve to ask you, “Uko aje?”

Meanwhile your 2k is still doing field work somewhere. At this point you are begging for your own money back. Anyway, speaking of dues to be paid, I know I owe you months of Afrikatales tales

And I am sorry because, eerrr…. uhm…Truth is… I disappeared. Not small-small disappeared, but big-time disappeared.

Afrika Tales has been quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes people start asking questions like,
“Did the writer relocate?”
“Did the website expire?”
“Did she die?” Lol, obviously not!

I mean, in my defence, I said, “I will post next week.” Then life said, “Sit down first.” And my bad, I have been sat for what, six months? I even lost count. I don’t know what happened, because I swear, I just blinked and then next week turned to months.

To be honest, disappearing is an African tradition, si ata wewe unajua.

We disappear from WhatsApp groups…church meetings…from gym subscriptions…from people we owe money.
We disappear brethren, we do…

So really, my disappearance from Afrika Tales was just one for the culture, I didn’t betray you. But like every African story, the person always comes back. That uncle eventually calls again after three years.
“That job we talked about… are you still interested?”

Or

That friend who borrowed money suddenly texts, “My phone was stolen.”

And me?
I am back here like nothing happened. I dust my chair, open my laptop and stare at the blank page like we did not leave each other for months. Then I start typing away.

Afrika Tales is still here. The stories are still here. And this time, I will not disappear again.

But who knows? I am African after all.