The man, a struggling civilian with dreams of striking it rich some day by whatever means (initial public offers of shares and pyramid schemes included) sometimes reneged on his duties car-fueling duties, and the car would sulk and brood. When man finally came round to fueling Car, she would decide not to budge so as to ‘teach the man a lesson in consistency’.

Car would also do this to remind the man that she had cruised over enough roads in her many years of existence, and mustered enough skills to tame human hot-headedness ( why would a man bother to own a car if he doesn’t fuel it?). This misunderstanding wasn’t something they couldn’t handle. They had to break up to make up.

They would have lived happily ever after but the worst happened. Some minions in the far off Middle East decided that it was time for a revolution. Pump prices for fuel started palpitating and went into a fit; then they reeled to lofty heights. Man’s budget for fuel trebled and he decided to abandon Car at her hour of need…

I find it hard to confess that I am that man, global oil prices have disorganized my mobility, and the spiral effect has spilled over and disorganized food prices. My budget has to be worked around one meal a day. This gloomy state of affairs sent me into thinking mode, and I found the secret to beating these hard times - the first step is to own a radio.

Here’s my story. I woke up on a brand new hard day to a huge cup of steaming tea (black), and was just about to help myself to a deserved breakfast when I discovered that I was ‘sugarless’. It was a depressing prospect as I had eagerly anticipated my stomach would be warmed up to start my day on a high. In exasperation I switched on my radio to stem my disappointment and frustration.

The usual, excitable high pitched radio presenters were executing their trade with gusto and feigned accents, and then I heard it. I had not anticipated that I would stumble upon that kind of information. There was a miraculous promotion going on - all you had to do was call the station and if you were the 9th caller, you would win a 90 kg sack of sugar.

Phew! I counted my lucky stars, gave it a shot and turned out 10th; the sack went to someone else but as a consolation I was offered 5 kgs of sugar. This got me all excited, and my eyes were opened. Trust your radio to solve at least most if not all of your problems right from your domestic sores, bedroom issues, hookups, breakups and well, sugar.

I was delivered of my 'utter ignorance' and realized you can actually earn a living out of radio. All you need is a good set of ears, a grasp of trivia, plenty of good luck, airtime and good discretion (You don't call the same radio station ten times a day). So the games began - my rent was long overdue and there was this craze of stations playing a mysterious sound and daring the listener to identify it.

So I made things in the house make some noise; plenty of noise. I grabbed my loyal cat Pakapower by the tail to hear whether that was the mystery voice, ate crisps with closed eyes to decipher the sound of my molars crushing the dried pieces of potato. To cut tall tales short, I didn't manage to win the money. I wasn't deterred though, and in a matter of weeks I won a thousand shillings, then it was two, and before long I managed to land on a lunch voucher, a gift hamper from a chocolate manufacturer, even some milk products...

I certainly made some good fortune and decided to make winning radio promotions my career. Then the grand competition came - 10,000 American dollars were hidden in some secret location. All I had to do was to figure out where the money was hidden and it would all be mine - the clue was given; the money was in a barrel, where the flag was raised.

I thought long and hard and concluded that a barrel (of a gun) could only be found in a police station, which naturally had a flag. So I went to the station, grinning sheepishly and informed the officers that American dollars were lying somewhere in that station and I was bent on finding them.

They took a long look at me then informed me that they did believe some money was lying there, and that they had a fairly good idea as to where it could be. They asked me to go round the counter, and the officer motioned me to follow him. Before I could say follow, I was hounded and bundled into a dark cell full of suspects, where I spent a weekend charged with being ‘drunk and disorderly’…

Turns out the money was actually in a school compound, the barrel was the flag-post which had a flag attached to it. So much for radio treasure hunts…

About The Author: Isaac Sagala is a humorist who embarked on a journey to look for himself and lost his path along the way, he is still trying to find his way from the maze. He likes watching people and birds for fun.'

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