Story 8 from ‘Absurd Tales from Africa’ by Robert Gurney
Johnny felt very relaxed when his wife left him. He continued to play the field, adding more and more notches to his bedpost. He became indiscreet. He almost welcomed the notoriety he was gaining. His conquests began to talk amongst themselves over coffee in the Uganda Bookshop Coffee House.
His new-found freedom eventually went to his head. He could no longer distinguish between what was acceptable and what was not in the field of human relationships. He became proud of the fact that he was seeing several women all at the same time. He would boast about it openly in the university bar.
His libidinous recklessness began to know no bounds and some whispered that he was showing signs of madness. For example, he announced one day at the Rugby Club that he wanted to show his appreciation to his harem. He wanted to do something that would let them know how much he appreciated them all. He said, with obvious pride, that he was going to take them all on a hot air ballooning holiday in Kenya.
He contacted the company that organises flights over the Masai Mara. The trips, he was told, only lasted an hour but were spectacular. They took off just before dawn. The silence and the peace experienced by balloonists suspended under the multi-coloured canopy were, they said, out of this world. Flights were followed by a champagne breakfast. This was it, he said to himself. He would begin with former girl-friends with whom he felt he was on good terms.
He sent printed invitations to six specially selected young women. In the letter he included airline tickets, money, vouchers and reservations for tents in the camp that was situated next to the launch site.
The day of the treat arrived. The young women were already up and dressed when Johnny arrived in his Land Rover, having spent the night in a comfortable lodge nearby.
As his former girlfriends approached the balloon, Johnny, who was now already in it, called out “Ladies, please step into the basket.”
“We are nervous, Johnny,” one called out.
“Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be great,” he shouted back, trying to make out their faces in the darkness.
Little did he realise that the ‘ladies’ had hatched a merciless plan. He did not see what was happening but one of his guests stepped forward with a panga and slashed the rope that was holding the balloon to the ground. Up went the balloon. The sudden movement caused Johnny to pull on the cord that ignited the flame. The balloon shot ever faster skywards.
“Bye, Johnny!” He could just hear their calls as he headed westwards.
Later, back at the camp, spirits were high. The champagne was flowing freely. Toasts were made to the departed lover. They sat there all day, imagining what was happening to Johnny.
“He’s over the lions now,” Michelle said. “I can just see him frantically throwing out sand-bags to get clear of their claws.” Peals of laughter went up.
Later Julie said, “He’s over the Owen Falls Dam now, struggling to clear the downdraught that is pulling him into its foaming cauldron.” They all fell about giggling.
Even later Wendy spluttered, “He’s up in the Rwenzoris, trying to clear the mountain peaks.” Tears of mirth were running down their cheeks.
“And now, he is over the Democratic Republic of the Congo and a thousand rebel guns are pointing up at him,” said Judy. She was more than a little merry. The group fell silent.
“My God, what have we done?” said Margaret.
A wise old Maasai man who had been eyeing the performance stepped forward.
“Do not worry,” he said. “It is not your fault. It is a result of the man’s own stupidity. He has got his just reward, his come-uppance. He ignored the advice contained in the time-honoured saying of our forefathers: ‘Don’t put all your exes into one basket!’”
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Story 9 in this series is ‘The Ghastly Soroti Coffin’.
….to be continued.
