Johnie was eighteen and always on the computer.

“Just one more game, Mum.”

His mother, a single mum of two living in Najjera and working at a major bank, had tried everything under the sun.

Lectures. Threats. Wi-Fi restrictions. Even prayers.

At work, she could stop a suspicious transaction in seconds. At home, she couldn’t stop “one more game.”

Finally, she called her brother.

“Rwamiti, come and talk to your nephew. He needs a serious man-to-man conversation.”

Uncle Rwamiti arrived looking suitably concerned.

She left them on the balcony and went to check on a friend.

Three hours later, she returned.

The balcony was empty.

From Johnie’s room came laughter.

She opened the door.

Johnie stood behind the chair. Uncle Rwamiti was at the computer, shoulders jiggling, laughing so hard his glasses had slipped down his nose.

“No, no, no!” he shouted. “Let me choose again!”

“You chose last time!” Johnie protested. “Now it’s my turn.”

His mother gripped the doorframe.

“Rwamiti. Have you gone mad?”

“Possibly. I trusted the wrong person.”

“What?”

“In the story.”

“I called you to get him OFF the computer!”

“And we had a very serious conversation.”

“About what?”

“Choices. Consequences. How you can mean well and still make a complete mess.”

Johnie nodded solemnly.

“Uncle has made three complete messes.”

She turned to her son.

“And you’re enjoying this?”

“Mum, he ignored my advice every time.”

Uncle Rwamiti swivelled round.

“My sister, you sent me here to talk sense into the boy. You didn’t mention that the boy might have some sense to talk into me.”

She stared at the screen.

“What exactly are you playing?”

Johnie pulled up another chair.

“Your move, Mum.”

She remained standing.

But she leaned closer.

Uncle Rwamiti — the uncle your parents should probably not have introduced you to.

Now with games at:
https://unclerwamiti.com

Your move.