The Old Geyser

The Old Geyser

Sara and I were at the Lusaka Playhouse, watching the Zambia One Comedy Show. Onto the stage bounced the Master of Ceremonies, Henry B J Phiri.

‘Our next comedian is your friend and mine, a loveable and irrepressible lady who has come here tonight to give us another hilarious episode on how to develop Zambia. A big hand for Geyser Bwezani!

As we roared and cheered, onto the stage glided the star of the evening, the glitzy Bwezani, resplendent in a beautiful long blue chitenge dress with a floppy blue hat, all with her own battered face printed all over it. Her huge droopy eyelids were painted blue, her lips were painted purple, and she carried a bunch of red roses which she proceeded to throw at the audience one by one, as the audience continued to cheer and clap.

‘Oooh, what a lovely audience,’ she cooed. ‘But I wonder if you know why I’m called Geyser Bwezani?’

‘Coz you’re a silly old geyser,’ shouted a voice from the audience.

‘Oooh you naughty boy,’ she said, pouting her luscious lips. ‘I’m called Geyser Bwezani because I have the key to development. Just put a solar geyser on every roof and this country will be rich!’

‘We haven’t water for geysers!’ somebody shouted.

‘Listen to me,’ said Bwezani confidentially, as she leaned towards us and showed us her wrinkled cleavage. ‘I’m a businesswoman, I understand these things. I’ve started up a geyser business with my two sons, Harry and Hurry, and they’re sticking their things everywhere, whether you like it or not! They’re so hot! They’re in and out before you know what’s happened!’

‘And do people appreciate?’

‘Ooh you pretty boy, what a naughty question. Of course they like it, but woops, the husbands get annoyed if they find out.’

I leant over to Sara. ‘This old girl looks a bit like Nyamasoya’

‘Of course she does,’ she laughed. ‘Who did you think it was?’

‘I thought he was supposed to be in jail. How did he get out?’

‘He offered to put a free geyser on the governor’s roof, and that was the last they saw of him.’

‘What use are geysers,’ somebody laughed, ‘if there’s no piped water?’

‘Listen to that pretty boy,’ swooned Bwezani, clutching her ancient breast and feigning desire. ‘While the rest of his class was doing physics, he was doing naughty biology on the back row. Come home with me darling, I love a bit of naughty biology.’

‘So where does the water come from?’

‘Oooh, my pretty boy didn’t do geography either! Water comes from the river. They can all go down to the river and collect water, climb on the roof, and tip it in the geyser! This will solve the unemployment problem.’

‘We need food, not hot water!’

‘I know what pretty boy needs,’ purred Bwezani, as she ran her fingers up and down the microphone. ‘I’d love to have a hot bath with him! But of course these people don’t have baths or even sinks. Their hot solar geysers are for making steam for the steam engine!’

‘The steam engine?’ we all shouted.

‘The steam engine turns the generator to make the electricity!’

‘Where do the steam engines and generators come from?’

‘The steam engines come from the Hot Air Factory and the generators are generated at the New Generation Factory in the Tax Free Exploitation Zone!’

The audience was now warming to this farcical interchange. ‘And where is the Exploitation Zone?’ we all shouted.

‘It’s already here!’ laughed Bwezani, doing a little dance and waggling her bottom. ‘It’s on the billboards all along the Great East Road! This is your government and your money working for me!’

‘But people don’t need electricity,’ we all shouted. ‘they don’t have fridges or cookers!’

‘Oooh, quite right my lovelies,’ cooed Bwezani, giving a little curtsy. ‘What a lovely audience we have tonight!’

‘As I recall,’ I said to Sara, ‘Bwezani used to be a man.’

‘I’m told it happened in jail,’ explained Sara, ‘He had to change his orientation.’

Bwezani now ran her hand seductively up her thigh. ‘This, my lovelies, is what we mean by trickle up. Every home will be supplying electricity to the mines, enabling increased electrolytic production of copper and increased GDP!’

‘Hurray!’ we laughed, as a few vuvuzelas joined in the fun. ‘Wealth must trickle up from the poor to the rich! What genius!’

But there was a dull person at the back who was not amused. ‘If the people are all making the electricity, what is ZESCO going to be doing?’

‘Bwezani put her finger to her lips. ‘Shuuushh,’ she said, in hushed voice. ‘The Zambia Election Subversion Company will take over from the Electoral Commission, to organize the electronic digital rigging!’

‘Of course!’ we all cheered, ‘we must all support the government of the day!’

‘And will the people be paid for the electricity they produce?’ asked the same awkward voice from the back.

‘Of course not you silly boy,’ laughed Bwezani. ‘They have to pay back their loans for all those geysers, steam engines and generators!’

As we were laughing at the hilarious absurdities of Bwezani economics, six prison warders in uniform rushed onto the stage and lifted her into the air. As she was being carried off she turned her head to the audience ‘Farewell my lovelies, these naughty boys can’t do without me for a single night!’

‘His behaviour was too blatant.’ laughed Sara. ‘He’s being taken back to the closet.’