The other day, I was sitting at an open air bar and across the road I could see vehicles as they drove to and from the city centre.On the other side of the road at the carwash men were busy washing cars.

Then came this strange guy who for some unknown reasons insisted that we should share a table.

Because there wasn't much between the two of us, I concentrated on my paper. I would find myself peeping to check if my drink was still safe.

This was just out of precaution to avoid surprises because you just cannot tell what tricks the guy might have up his sleeve.

However, even then there are also countless times I have sat with strangers and after a few rounds of bottles and a wave of gossip they turned out to be great friends.

Usually, it starts with wayward comment from one person.

A response in agreement or counter argument would soon turn into some of the juiciest gossip. I have made countless friends that way.

I was reading through one of the dailies when I came across a certain story about Ewura that really stirred my alarm system.

I thought Ewura should have been telling us about revoking Tanesco's licence.

Suddenly, I flung the paper aside and started speaking aloud "How could they, after such poor unpredictable services Tanesco is allowed to raise power tarrifs?"

"Is this how Ewura is going to provide us with world class regulatory services which they promised for the enhancement of the welfare of our society?" I asked.

"I didn't believe the boss' explanations that 40 per cent electricity tariffs hike wouldn't touch small scale consumers," I found myself shouting at the stranger.

The guy wasn't even listening to me, I suppose. Instead he was humming a certain taarab tune which was on TV.

"Acheni hizo," he mumbled with his eyes glued to screen.

"This is Bongo," I told myself "who cares?"

It was at that point that a guy came along advertising his shoe shining services.

For those who accepted his services he bent and took off their shoes and offered them a pair of some ancient looking sandals. In a few minutes he would be back with the shoes shining clean. "Shoeshine, shoeshine," as he walked towards me.

I looked at my new pair of black shoes. They had lost their shine after just four days since I bought them.

But I had this bad feeling about the shoeshine man there was no way I was going to give him my new pair of shoes.

Reluctantly, I let him take off my shoes for the cleaning. He gave a pair of worn-out flip flops; one was red and the other was blue.

The normal period of about 10 to 15 minutes elapsed and the guy wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"No reason to worry," I assured myself. "He would be back at any moment."

Then half an hour, then an hour passed, at that point I was beginning to panic.

I didn't know where to look for the guy. The barmaid confirmed my worst fear when she told me there were no shoesshiners around. The guy must have been offering mobile services.

I looked at my feet with only socks on. Checked the money in my pocket I had only Sh500, that I had intended to pay the shoe shiner.

The money was hardly enough to take a bodaboda home.

"How on earth am I going to walk back home like this?" I felt like crying..

Mlagiri Kopoka is a Citizen correspondent based in Mwanza. Reach him at