It is often said that too much love will kill you. To verify this, Michael Bolton sang about it in his 1992 hit, Too Much love Will Kill You, and perhaps many of us should have not paid him a deaf ear because he was prophesizing on our life.

My friend Jose' who lives in the U.K was home for a holiday recently and while here, he became a victim of too much love.
Jose' met this Kyotala babe in one of the bars in Kampala and immediately he fell  head over heels in love with her. In fact it was an obsession and I wasted no time to tell him so.

Jose' was so angry with me that he did not want to talk to me for days. He thought I was standing in his way to love a woman he so passionately described as the sweetest and most beautiful he had ever come by.

Because I did not want to act like I was the rain in his sunny day, I gave up on my attempt to open up his eyes on this ill-intentioned love affair.
How possible is it that a man finds a woman in a bar and no sooner has he declared his love for her than she too confesses undying love for him? This is what had happened and from the back of mind, I kept on expecting a tragic end to this love.

Soon, Jose' was not sleeping home. He was now warming her bed and the two love birds spent hours indoors making love as if it was going to run out of fashion.

I again  thought my Jose was wise enough to be using protection. Women however succulent they're, they should never fool you into not using condoms.

I told Jose about this and the answer that came out of his mouth shocked me.
"We only live once, man. Why don't you give me a break? he told me as he puffed away his cigarette.

As a man I knew what Jose was up to. He was sleeping with this woman without any protection. Yes, this babe was one of the kind. I had seen her several times when she came around my house looking for her boyfriend. Yes, I was left pocketing; not with that goddam body which I had only seen Nicki Minaj with. "God the sculptor!" is all I could mutter to myself.

Jose' was so in love that one afternoon, he came to me and told me that he wanted to buy this woman a house, car and take her on a vacation to the Bahamas. Of course I did not ask him if he had the money to do all this. That would have been irrelevant as much as an insult. He could afford all these fancy things. He was a rich young man.

But I told him to his face that this was not the type of woman to plush his money on. He could get a decent woman; one who is home baked like the saying was among our clique of friends.

Jose' was bitter with me. I was a hater. How could I think of Mariam- this was her name- as a slut? Did I ever stop to think how she made him feel? He asked me this question with anger written on his face. What kind of friend was I who could not delight in his friend's joy?

I kept quiet as he bombarded me with these heated questions. I could see how too much love for this Kyotala babe was destroying my best friend's sense of reason. No man worth his name will plush almost all his earnings on a woman. Women are fickle minded by nature. They change like the seasons. Maybe I had never been crazy about a woman like my Jose'… Maybe, I kept on thinking.

When Jose' handed his darling a car, house and that ticket to the Bahamas, the doors to her heart where closed on him. Every time he called her, she could not pick and after three days of consistent calling, her phone was switched off.

He rushed to her house, but he was not allowed to get in. In fact a man who claimed to be her husband told him that the next time he comes around looking for Mariam, he will slit his throat.

Too much love had destroyed Jose'. He came to me and told me everything. I was touched by his story and wished that he had only listen to me at least for a minute. I had been there and done that; so I knew what I was talking about all the while.

Today. Jose' is so broke after mortgaging all his property to please a Kyotala babe. But good thing he learnt his lesson.  Hey, he needs to go and check if he's not carrying any virus. Too much love could have killed him already! blog comments powered by Disqus

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