Blame it on me.

When something happens to you you’re always going to seek for something or someone else to blame.. Sometimes you’re right but more often you need to take some care before you blame anybody or anything else for what happens to you.
I’m coming from Fatboys, a joint in Kisementi this one night, I’ve crossed the Kamyoka-Bukoto road and am heading toward ,there’re no bodabodas on the road and these guys are catching up with me..and I have a bad feeling.
I earlier ask Dora and Jeff, sister and hubby to leave me at Jascent’s wedding reception which is at this place in Najera I forget, meaning to enjoy some music and later connect with Eugene ,an old high school buddy,but I don’t tell them this. All I have to do is tell them who will drop me off at kiwatule which is near home. I can’t imagine letting this night go, I have to make it. When I arrive I order for a Smirnoff and grab a seat…later the table is full with Eugene and friends ,am on my second Smirnoff. I’ve been trying to watch my boozing so it’s a disappointment am already feeling tipsy. There is a way everybody regards my bottle When I check on the bottle it’s 7% alcohol, higher than any other beer on the table,who am I lying to now, I might as well take a beer. When I’m done with the second Club it’s time to go;am high. I don’t have the presence of mind to jump on a bodaboda once am outside the joint.. I walk to the kamyokya-Bukoto Road I realize there are no taxis at that time of night, it’s coming to three. When that gang of boys is just behind me one asks for a two grand note.I tell him it’s all I got ,I feel them surround me and this particular guy bows his head down as if to show the two grand would have done him much good. I feel one of them hit me on the side of the neck I lose balance, the next thing I know , they’re going through my pockets am shouting at them to leave behind my wallet, I get the two grand note from my jacket and I’m shouting to take it as if it’s all they wanted;I must look funny bribing a thief not to do his thing…then they’re gone I see the last one of them disappear between some shacks near the road. I feel stupid how could someone expect to get a taxi at this time. I head back to Fat Boys tell Eugene what’s happened, he gets me five grand and I do what I should have done before, jump on a bodaboda. You could say damn these muggers but under that condition and with my party clothes, didn’t I look like the perfect target so who’s to blame..I think me. I now freak out at having to walk late, i always look behind my back.
The blame game doesn’t help, I remember when we are reading a book at a classmate’s desk when Teacher Fisher walks in,before we can rush to our places. he has his stick..he calls everybody standing at Nobel’s desk in-front of class for a spanking, what are we doing disrupting his class. Now I do the universal sin off not wanting to go down alone, I go forward but, not before pointing a finger at Nobel too,the whole class curses at me;I remember after that there’s no end I get to the teasing I get because am Rwandese..this is as a reference to some story our teacher of English gives us about The Genocide..it was hell for me then, I’ve blamed those guys for those tribal chants there’s a time I wished everything about me was different. It changed me it made me more self conscious. But am I right..is it good for me? No..after that phone and camera incident I now admit, rather claim that I had a part in what’s happened to me..I’ve always had.