The hotel was an imposing structure on the city. All the people that entered it were obviously well to do save for the occasional sight of a cleaner or porter, who would issue a “habali” or “jambo,” mingled with a wide plastic smile. I went to room 234 as instructed. I waited for some thirty minutes and then Fox came.

He was a tall man with a chiselled nose and pronounced jawbones, he was always chewing something and was not alone. He had six other white mates who were very quite all the time I was awake.

“Show him the money” Fox commanded.

A black briefcase was opened before me. As I bent over to smell the money a blow landed on my neck and blackness fell. I cant remember a thing but now the doctor tells me I was operated on without anaesthesia or disinfectants and that my stomach, not belly, is damaged beyond repair. They also did way with one of my kidneys but that is nothing compared to the radioactive damage that I am suffering from. I am totally blind, my head throbs and I have not been to the toilet for a week now. I am not writing this story since my hands are flooded with dialysis tubing, instead I am dictating it to my secretary here.

Instantaneously, I went on the net to check the website that said nylon bags hinder radioactivity but it was no longer there, I’m sure it was uraniumcarrier.com , I should have known as an intellectual. Fox’s number is out and all my money siphoned by I don’t know who. It should be Fox because I told him my account details.

The CIA has since denied the transaction and traces of Malawian uranium that have been found in the ash of an explosion that has claimed more lives than any other in Russian history. The explosion is suspected to have been carried out by Chechnyan separatists with the aid of the M16 and CIA.

So did I kill the people? No my uranium did, no not mine ours. And the only thing that bothers me is what will tomorrow’s headline be after I depart? Nasty, brutish and short, “the engineer who could not have enough” or “nuclear physics or psychics?” whatever the head- or by-line, I will be dead by then. Just remember to tell my wife that I love her and that my brother in Lusaka can take care of the kids. She can remarry if she wishes. So dear reader don’t cry for me laugh at me, I am a fool.