Musa sat on his bed, the only piece of furniture he had in his one room house. The bed consisted of two parts, the first was the metal which had mostly been eaten up with rust. On top of it was a very thin mattress with an even thinner blanket with several holes in it placed on top.
In his left hand was a piece of paper -the lottery ticket. He would buy himself one every single Friday after work. Despite being unlucky in all the multiple attempts he had made before, he never seemed to give up. With him it was all a game. He didn't take it as serious as most of his colleagues did. Seko,a friend of his for instance, would buy six or even seven tickets at once.
"This will increase my chances of getting the winning ticket. ", he would always say.
It was funny how even though he did all that, he too had never been successful before. To musa, even the one thousand five hundred kwacha he spent on one ticket was more than alot. He, therefore , could not spend any more than that.
On his lap was his second most priced possession, his radio. It was second to his bed. He would listen to the radio every six o'clock on Fridays to hear whether or not his six digits were the lucky ones.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Let me start by welcoming you all to this week's edition of Wayiphula Ndindani Loterry Reveal where we find out the winner of this week's lottery. In just a few minutes, I will read out the six lucky digits. Just to remind you, the winner gets a cash prize of five million kwacha which they can collect tomorrow at our offices.", the radio presenter started.
Even though Musa had been in a situation like this several times before, he’d always find himself very nervous when the reveal started. The vibrations the tension brought made their way all around his body up to his chin. Tiny drops of sweat began to form on his face.
'FIVE MILLION KWACHA!', that word alone echoed in his head, bouncing from side to side. He thought of all the things he could do once he won. He envisioned himself walking out of his mansion and looking at all his cars parked on his big yard. Most importantly he thought of quitting his job. Musa hated his job. He hated having to wear a stained work suit all day. He hated pushing around heavy wheelbarrows. Worst of all, he hated being bossed around. Maybe then after winning, he could start his own construction company. He quickly erased all the thoughts from his head once he remembered what people always said- too much ambition drives away luck.
"Without further ado,the six lucky digits are ..", the presenter then paused a little. Just when he said are, a drumroll intercepted.
The drumroll made Musa more than nervous now. At this point, he had his eyes fixed on his ticket despite having memorized all the digits on it.
"2,9,7,0,3...", went the presenter, announcing the first five digits only. With every number he mention he made a little pause. The last pause after the fifth digit seemed very long, longer than the others to Musa. Could it be he saw it longer because the first five digits matched?
Musa did not smile, laugh or do anything to show happiness. He had been in a similar situation once where all the first five digits were the same but the last differed. He knew better than getting his hopes up high. He closed his eyes and dropped his head a little. He whispered little promises he made to God. Promises of how if he was to win, he would never miss a day of church service. He felt the sweat build up on his face. It formed bigger and bigger drops until when the face could no longer hold them. It then made it's way down the face all the way to chin.
"And the last digit is ....4 !", finished the presenter.
Musa jumped and raised his left hand high. He held the ticket so tight. He breathed in and out a couple of times. He could not believe it-he won. The radio fell from his lap to the ground but at the moment he didn't even care. He was a millionaire. He could even buy the whole radio shop at this moment!
This called for a celebration. To Musa, nothing said celebration enough than a nice drink.He quickly took out a shoe box from under his bed. In it was ten thousand kwacha- all the money he had at the moment.
"I will use this five thousand for transport to the city tomorrow to take my money. This other five thousand kwacha is going to be responsible for the drinks tonight!", he said to himself with a smile that had come after hearing the digits still printed on his face.
He took off his work suit and wore his favourite clothes, a white long sleeve shirt he had bought a few months ago(it was the only shirt he had that had no stains) and a pair of blue jeans his friend, Mavuto, had bought him while he was in South Africa.
He placed the five thousand kwacha notes in separate pockets of the jeans on purpose. The ticket, he placed in his pocket. To him that was super clever. Nobody would guess where the ticket was for everybody would think that for a thing so precious his home was the only place he could keep.
He made his way to the club. He would at intervals place his hand in the back pocket to check if the ticket was still there. In just a few minutes, he arrived at the club.
Musa loved the club. It truly was his friend indeed for when he was stranded he came here and also when he was happy he did the same. He loved the music, the cheer of men watching football games, the sound of people trying to communicate over the loud music. All the noise combined with a cold drink in hand brought relaxation to Musa. He bought his first drink and took it slow as he watched people cheer at the football game on the big screen at the bar. He was not a fan of football.
'I can buy myself a big screen just like that one, or better a bar !', he thought and laughed to himself.
Just when he was on his second bottle, Musa spotted a couple of his friends on one table. He joined them and bought each and everyone of them a drink. In the middle of drinking, he felt he had to go urinate. He made his way to the toilets at the back. Unknowingly, he dropped the other five thousand kwacha as he pulled up his trouser. He returned to the table and just after a few minutes he felt he needed to urinate again.
"You know what they say, the amount of trips one takes to the toilet determine the amount of drinks one has bought.",he said to his friends who all laughed.
He staggered his way back to the toilet. As luck would have it, he entered the same stall he had dropped the money in way before anybody did. He looked around and picked up the silver banknote. What he did not realise was it was his own. He quickly made his way back to the table.
"Look what I found, some drunk person dropped this at the toilet. Let's order some more bottles!", he said to his friends and they all cheered.
"Tomorrow will definitely be on me.",said one of the friends trying not to make Musa feel guilty for overspending.
"I won't be here tomorrow. I will be at the city collecting my lottery money!",said Musa.
"What lottery?"asked another guy.
"The wayiphula Ndindani Loterry, you are not just drinking with a mere builder here, I am a millionaire.", said Musa and broke into laughter.
The others followed and laughed too.
"I think I need to go get myself some sleep in preparation for tommorow's trip", said Musa as he stood, nearly falling back to his seat.
"Awww already ??",asked one guy.
Musa just smiled and went on to stagger his way home.
As he approached his house, one thing seemed odd- the lights. He remembered turning them off before he left. As he got closer and closer, he saw two man figures in his house tossing his things around. He knew what they were looking for. He touched his back pocket to see if it was still there. He sighed in relief upon feeling it still there. He thought of running away and hiding at one of his friends house. Just as he started running, he tripped and fell to the ground. The men heard him. They then started chasing him. Despite Musa's efforts, they still managed to catch him. They severely beat him up.Musa screamed like a little girl. People woke up from their houses only to find Musa lying on the ground blood all over him.He then reached into his back pocket to check if the ticket was still there, it was gone !
He checked his front pocket to check if the five thousand kwacha note was still there, it was not. He then recalled the five thousand kwacha from the bar. Tears formed in his eyes. What seemed like luck turned out to be the worst situation he had been in his entire life!
THE END
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