Of Words Over Weekend Coffee

IMAG0015

 

If you were having coffee with me I would say to you “hello on this auspicious day” Well it’s like a regular day nothing auspicious about it but I figured that if I said to you “Hello on this auspicious day” you would feel welcome, unlike if I said “Hello on this suspicious day” even though it rhymes, you would think I was up to something, well I am not up to anything, mostly anyway, besides if I was up to something I would not want to let the cat get my thumbs thus forcing me to let go of the bag and thus let  the cat of the bag.

If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that I love words, but then if you have been here long enough you have probably figured me out. I am a man who loves using words in a manner that if anyone heard or read (in this case) me, they would have to think there goes a man who knows what he is talking about, for a man to use words like that, one must be darn certain of what one is talking about.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you the 3 simple rules to seeming knowledgeable.

  1. Do not talk about what you do not know.
  2. Do not tell all you know.

If you were having coffee with me, I would be reviewing a book that I find helps me define words. See I am in a bit of a jam, I put down the book last night when I went to bed and today I couldn’t find it, maybe the creature that lives under my bed took it, anyway I can’t find the right words to define how I am feeling right now.

I was it rereading for the….. I have no idea, how manyeeeth time, but I keep learning something new. So I am not qualified to be a book critique (what are the qualifications if you do know please tell me so) but lemme share my two cents on this book.

Who writes a book like this?

It’s got unnecessarily big words and then repeats the meanings of the big words using smaller simple words, in same sentence. That’s really really redundant.

The plot is just so disconnected. Like, seriously what happened to the aardvark from the beginning, it was there on the first page and then never appears again.

Then, there is The Title who would name a book The Dictionary. What does that even mean, it’s not a name that inspires one with visions to tear out all its pages and then wrap them up around you and roll the remainder into a cigarette and then smoke all the words directly into your brain. (To be honest no book does that for me in case you are wondering, so do not worry about locking your books away fearing I will smoke them.)

The only reason I am still reading is because I am curious to see how all these subplots are connected.

how will it all end… I always forget its something about a zebra.

When I fell asleep I was at the part about The Blind Curtain called Drapes a shady character, if I do say so myself.

It’s not very original it has been adapted, revised and edited so many times new words keep getting added and now I heard the new words are not words at all the new words are lil emoticons like the smiling emoji or the laughing until tears of joy come out (and its the Oxford word of the year)

face-with-tears-of-joy-1

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that the if I was an emoji I would be this one ^_^ At least now,  years after finishing school, I now know the value of punctuation marks, they are for making funny little faces in text messages and commenting all over the internet.

If you were having coffee with me and you were not at this point rolling on the floor laughing or had not spluttered on your coffee, at least once I would call an ambulance for you, because your funny bone, something is seriously wrong with it, and the best medicine is what you really need.

Thanks for sticking through with my review and hoping your weekend great.

Cheers

~B

PS It must have been an interesting ordeal, to write the first dictionary. Imagine having to think up every word out there and then describe it…… without using the word itself.

Advertisements

Of Thanksgiving

 

Today:

Gratitude Journal
I am counting my blessings
All the little things I take for granted
I am thankful for all my friends and family
Those who drive me crazy
Those who like me cause I am crazy
And those special ones who keep me sane
I am thankful for all those who love me
And I love them
I am thankful for the smiles and laughter, the dreams I am after
But most of all I am thankful,
That we do not have little tv screens on our heads that broadcast our thoughts for every one to see….

stick-figures-tv-head-301010

on the other hand its great being me

Our minds are strange strange places or at least mine is ….. no one needs to see what goes on in there ^_^
Happy Thanksgiving
~B
PS May your Turkey be Wild and your Cranberry be mixed with Grey Goose
Wild Turkey? I’m having flame grilled steak and washing it down with a chilled beverage of an intoxicating nature ^_^

Of The Arrival

Genre: Mystery 

I know a shortcut

Those were the words beginning any unnecessarily long journey. They echoed about in the room as if the person who spoke them was there, with them.

“What is this?” Xinyori asked slightly unnerved

“Keep looking, stare deep into the heart of the bottle, tell me what you see.”“I see people planning for a traditional wedding ceremony, slaughtering a cow, I see many sleepless nights dressing chickens and cutting vegetables. I can feel the anticipation, it’s like watching a film on TV but its somehow different, I don’t know how to explain it. Is this a prediction how are you doing this?”

 

“It’s a little trick I picked up on my many  years of travel, if I told you how it all worked, well I would have to take your soul in exchange” he laughed then added “ I am only joking, don’t be so serious, think of it as a vision, when you look into the bottle, you see a possible future or maybe you see what you wish to happen, or what you fear to happen so much that it happens, either way these events may or may  not come to pass. Whose wedding is it, do you see?”

“I do not know.  I do not see anyone I recognize.”

“Do you recognize anything?”

“Yes, the cow that was slaughtered, the brown heifer with the white spot the shape of a heart, that’s Perfection. I named it Perfection after the soap, its’s mine,  that’s my cow, my grandfather gifted it to me. This can only mean that it is in preparation for my wedding, unless I gave it to my brother or someone else.

I also recognize a walking stick, the cow before it was killed, was hit over the head with the stick. The walking stick has the likeness of a snail’s shell carved onto its top and from that shell, what seems like a flame is coming out. It’s the symbol of my family and tribe.

The people are now just waiting almost anxiously for the arrival of the bride.  The aunts  are ready with pieces of cloth which they will throw on the ground,  so that when she does arrive, her first step into the homestead will not be onto the dirt, but like a queen they will lay down cloth for her to walk on, as they chant “the bride is here

DSCF6277

Whispers have started among some of them they are silenced quickly but now the thought is already running loose in the minds of those who heard “what if she does not come……”

“Where is the bride? Look deep into the bottle tell me if you can see her”

“She is in a car, but something is wrong with the car, no, not the engine,  it does not have the proper registry papers, it’s a new car, a recent import, no license plate, so the driver sought to avoid police roadblocks and the tollgate as the car would have been stopped and impounded.

He is the one who said “I know a shortcut” He took a detour into a dust road track that should have halved their travelling time, but its been raining, he did not take this into consideration, the car got stuck in muddy creek and the is no mobile phone service to call for rescue__”

“Did you see who the bride is?”

“No, her face was veiled with a scarf around her head and she was draped with something like a sheet. “

“Some secrets, the universe keeps to itself.  Right then.” He said taking the bottle away from X, “That concludes the free demonstration of just a little bit of what I can I do, anything extra you will have to start paying, and you happen to be in a money fix, yes?”

“About tha___”

“Ah the world is full of things money can’t buy that is why favours and such go a long way, you do a little something for me, and I do something for you.”

“It depends what you will have me do” alarm in his tone of voice.

“Oh don’t look alarmed, nothing illegal dear boy, well mostly non illegal, maybe the ethics might be slightly questionable but, your family is no stranger to bending the moral compass, yes?”

He winked and Xinyori felt as he had signed away a tiny piece of his soul.

The thing with souls, you never lost a part of it, you lost all of it.

~The End

My entry this week for the #BlogBattle themed arrival…

the story continues from here

Of A Message in a bottle

Genre: Mystery

BlackGirlsCode2

“Hello it’s me”

She had dialed the number a thousand times and hung up a thousand times always before it had started ringing except for the last time when it rang and rang and went to voicemail.

This time it got answered on the first ring.

“Hello”

A deep unfamiliar voice answered,  she almost hung up but she took a steadying breath, she had rehearsed this conversation many times in her head so she decided to proceed as scripted.

“Hello it’s me. I was wonder___”

Hello” the voice interrupted her, “if you would like The Doctor to divine your name please specify

“Hello, it’s Me.  I was wondering if after all this time you’d like to meet. To go over everything, They say time is supposed to heal you, but I aint___”

Hello, if you are in need of healing The Doctor is good at counseling, therapy and meditation you can talk about everything life the universe and its mysteries shall I schedule an appointment

“Hello, can you hear me, I been dreaming___”

Hello The Doctor is a dream interpreter too and dabbles in astrology and other arcane arts, do go on.

“Hello from the other side___”

Hello” she was cut in again, “Séances, clairvoyance and contact from across the veil of mortality is conducted only on full moon after a non-refundable cash deposit.

The conversation was most certainly not going the way she had anticipated it to go but she decided to try and continue one last time.

“Hello, I must have called a thousand times___”

Hello, is it me you were looking for?

hello-is-it-me-youre-looking-for-lionel-richie-t-shirt

“Oh I terribly am sorry” She finally admitted “I think I dialed the wrong number, I had just called to say… I love, no erm I mean I just called to say hello to a friend”

Do not be sorry, I absolutely understand what it is like to be young and in love, I was once, a long time ago.” The deep voice was soothing like something ancient, wise and all knowing. Listening to it made her feel relaxed and trusting, wanting to lay bare all the secrets that weighed on her soul. “You did not call the wrong number, I presume you meant to speak to Xinyori, I am currently in possession of his phone.

“Yes, but we all just call him X, well everyone does except for me, I have never called him before, I met him once, briefly on my first day of work but I knew___” She put a hand to her mouth, to stop herself from talking, she felt a warmth in her cheeks and could not believe she was blabbing away, to a stranger no less.”

You are in luck; we have in stock a bottle of love portion, really strong muti, a sip and the object of your heart’s desire falls hopelessly and helplessly, head over heels in love with you.

love-potion

“But, I could never do that!” she exclaimed, “I want someone to love me, because they love me, not because of some portion. Besides I have heard such stuff makes them lose their will and personality and other unexpected side effects and its permanent right? What if I decide, I no longer want an enchanted lover?”

Ah, I see your concerns, I also have a bottle of another type of muti, very powerful herbs, this one gets rid of unwanted people, and just one drop, one small sip, and they will sleep and sleep forever

glass-bottle-poison-27296855

“That’s a bit extreme, you are beginning to scare me” She said but in truth she was not scared not even a little, she was if anything curious and surprised at herself for having continued this absurd conversation.

Well you could__

“Or could just leave a message” this it was she who cut in.

That is what I meant to say if you had let me finish. I was saying you could leave a message in a bottle, I will pass it along I expect your friend here shortly

“Yes I’ll leave a message” this time she felt a little uneasy as if she her strings had been pulled just like a puppet. She shrugged the feeling away “Please tell  X to call me back I miss him, wait do not tell him the last bit just tell him to call me back, thank you.”

That’s perfectly fine. I will pass it along, have great day Gloria

“Wait, how did you know my name?” she asked but he had already hung up.

She thought about calling back but decided for a Friday the 13th she had had enough freakiness; she crossed herself and whispered a prayer for the protection of her soul.

Caller ID is a wonderful feature, he thought to himself chuckling, as he hung up the phone. Oh what sheep people were, a lost flock looking for a shepherd with answers and direction.

There was a knock at the door.

“Right on time” he muttered. “Coming.” He yelled.

“Hello my man X” he said, opening the door. “Come in, come in, I have been expecting you. First thing, first I have something for you” and handed him a bottle, he had grabbed from a shelf full of an assortment of bottles.

A bottle with a paper lodged inside and sealed at the top.

original_tiny-message-in-a-bottle

X unstoppered the bottle and a familiar voice filled the room.

Please tell X to call me back, I miss him” and then silence. He pulled out the paper inside and the same message was written on it, in a neat handwriting and signed Gloria at the end.

“What’s this?” he asked

“A message in a bottle.”

brown-glass-vintage-chemists-bottles_mini

 

~~

My entry for the #blogbattle this week themed bottle

A continuation of sorts previous story here

~B

Ps yes incase you are wondering, I might have listened to Adele’s new song  Hello as I wrote this and I had lots of laughs reading the #hellochallenge on twitter.

Fun freaky fact if the first of the month is a Sunday, the thirteenth day will be a Friday, you are welcome.

of some weekend coffee and On The Other Hand: a book

coffee and a book

If you were having coffee with me we would be trying something different, we would be trying iced tea. The weather is stifling hot so a hot beverage would be all kinds of  awkward…. I have never tried iced tea, but the golden colour is so rich (maybe I should drink my tea in a clear glass mug more) and the ice cubes  a nice cooling touch ( but if you think about it ice cubes are kinda hard core imagine floating around in a mug the size of a bathtub  full of your own blood…)

I do apologise for the visualization, but yes my mind is a scary place sometimes, and I like to broaden its horizons, see where my thoughts lead me.

If you were having coffee with me, I would be telling you of my review of one of the last books I read On The Other Hand The Little Anthology of Big Questions, by  Renée Paule

Good Book + Iced Tea

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you what sort of books you read and what was the last good book you read. I would tell  you that I like fantasy, I read to escape, you see, to world of fictional characters  and at least for a little while forget how cruel we as a race can get  to each other all the war, pain and suffering we inflict on each other, all in the name of freedom, justice and even religion.

On The Other Hand is not a fictional book, it’s a self help book, actually no its not even that it’s a book of questions, it doesn’t even have the answers, only questions. Through the Author’s journey to learn who they are we also ask ourselves challenging questions about the things we have always accepted without question.

I am a fast reader it takes me little time and effort to zip through pages of a book, especially when I like the story I go through it faster, I mean to slow down and enjoy the plot, but I cant help myself I rush through gouging on every page, like its my last supper, sometimes forgetting to sleep. But this book it’s a little book with a  modest number 216 pages, it took me almost a month to read and in between reading it I finished four other books.

Its not the easiest book to read, its true “He who conquers others is strong; He who conquers himself is mighty.” – Lao Tzu

According to this book:

We are happy to wait until we die to find out answers to questions we have forgotten how to ask.

Human beings are diligent when it comes to searching for something they dont really want to know or see; we know where not to look….

The truth is there we just have trouble facing it.

We are given a blank sheet of paper to create our world on and we have scribbled all over it in the most horrible way; now we cant read our own writing..

 Who were we when the paper was blank? Where did the piece of paper come from?

So many questions and no answers well I didn’t have them (the answers) but asking them to oneself puts things into perspective, you don’t ask whats wrong with the world (because whats wrong with world is we happened or maybe we let happen) what you ask is how do you save yourself and others, because we are worth saving.

It was challenging to read this book but I am glad I did.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that I don’t think I like iced tea, (maybe its an acquired taste) you can have the rest of it I will fix myself a nice cold beverage perhaps add a dash of something slightly intoxicating just for laughs and lots of ice. The weather is stifling the heat is oppressive, I cant help wonder if the rapture occurred and now we are left here to burn, for failing to save ourselves or is this a prelude of things to come if we do not change….

That is why we pray for rain #RainMustFall

iced beverage

a lil what what

~B

Ps I just heard a clap of thunder and I smell rain *cheers*

Of Tough Love

Genre: Mystery
The Tormented man

He sat on a park bench in the Town Unity Square his head resting on his hands elbows pivoted on his knees like a statue of the Tormented man.

“How could his father, his own father do this to him” he thought.

A little earlier he had been on a date, a romantic date with a potential lady friend, he always called them lady friends, it made the strings easy to sever, he never committed to anything or anyone. He had not been sparing any expenses, as he had long since learnt that flamboyant display of wealth easily made up for what he lacked in charm. Everything was going to plan till he signaled for the bill.

The waitress had brought out the swipe machine, he told her to add a generous tip to the bill provided she added her number to the bill and winked shamelessly at her, there was enough of him to go around he thought as he ignored his date glaring at him.  She had graceful fingers he noted as she swiped the card on the machine and there was a hint of a smile on lips that held promises. He could get used to eating here

“Your card has been declined Sir”

“Oh, I am sorry, that’s one of those new executive cards you do not swipe it, you just tap it to the machine” He took the card from her and tapped it like a magician does his wand to the top hat just before he produces a large rabbit from the hat, “voilà” he said

The machine made a beeping noise and flashed a hostile red Card Declined notification. Try this card he said producing another card from his wallet, the result was the same. He knew better than to try a third one. “Must be a problem with my bank, let me just make a quick phone call.” He tried to sound casual, but he was getting worried. He took out his smart phone, just looking at it unlocked its screen, it had cost him an insane amount of money.  “Bank” he said and it automatically started dialing the bank and vibrated when the call was picked up

“Hi it’s Xman I seem to be experiencing problems with my bank cards”

“Hold on I’ll put you through to your father, he requested that we do so, as soon as you called, please hold”

“Listen here son” his father begun without preamble, “I told you, you needed to learn some discipline…..”

The rest of the tirade his dad delivered was lost on him, he just zoned out phone in hand and then pressed the disconnect button. The waitress had discreetly vanished and his date was perceptive enough to realise that if she did not want to be stuck with bill, making an exit now would be a very good plan, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, but they both knew that they would most likely never meet again. The waitress came back with the manager in tow who greeted him with a pained expression “Good day to you Sir, but the rules are the rules if you are unable to pay you will have to work shifts in the kitchen till you pay off your bill.”

Just then a man materialized as if by magic from one the tables behind to stand right beside X. “Begging your pardon gentleman” he said with the smile of natural born opportunist  “I will take care of your bill, in return for your phone”

“My phone is worth more than the bill it’s the latest version, its voice activated, the screen recognizes me__”

“You seem to forget my friend you are up a proverbial creek and I am in position to provision you with paddles if you should so accept my services.”

helping hands

He barely managed a half nod and quick as you please the bill and his phone vanished from the table. The strange man slipped a business card into his hands when they shook goodbye, and practically just vanished into the day.

“You are free to go” the manager had said to him and his tone really meant “leave, now or be thrown out

He left.

He sat on the bench in the town unity square wondering what to do with himself.

His father had used words like family image, being responsible; it’s for your own good but basically. It just meant that he was being cut off from the family’s purse.

He could report his phone as stolen it had GPS tracking, and then when he got it back he could properly sell it, he knew a guy, why had he not thought about that sooner. It felt like he had not been thinking at all.

That’s when he remembered the mysterious man from the restaurant had given him a business card, maybe he could hunt him down and make some sort of better deal to get his phone back.

He had stuffed the card into his pocket without so much as a glance at it.

It was a glossy black card with the words The Doctor embossed in silver at the front and neatly printed at the back in white font was the following:

Lucky charms
Love potions
Lottery numbers
We bring back lost lovers
Remove unwanted persons
Miracle Money
Shenanigans
The Doctor solves all your problems

“Desperate times” he thought to himself “call for shenanigans” He would pay The Doctor a visit whats the worst that could happen. He would go there now……

To Be Continued

~B

My entry for the #BlogBattle theme shenanigan

I would have kept going but 1000 words ^_^

ps  its a continuation of sorts.

1

2

Of Celebrating Africa With Afrobloggers #WeekendCoffeeShare

Afrobloggers AwardAvuxesheni avuxeni (hello hello) If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that I was #GuestBlogger for @Afrobloggers and they nominated me for Afrobloggers Recognition Award. This is an award to showcase African Bloggers. They believe Africa is rich with African creativity and they offer a platform to share such work.
If we were having coffee we would be celebrating Africa with Afrobloggers.
If we were having coffee, it would take a bit longer for the water to boil as the electricity is out (load-shedding) so can’t use the kettle. We would have to wait for the water to boil on the gas stove. They say a watched pot never boils so while we wait for it to boil I will tell you the little that I know about my culture.

kettle on stove

I am Machangana or Shangaan, a tribe of the Tsonga people. The origins of these my people is steeped in controversy. People use the term Tsonga interchangeably with Shangaan and to further muddy the waters the same language XiTsonga is spoken but it means not the same thing. Before the were Shangaan people the were Tsonga people, who hailed from East Africa part of the Bantu groups of the Ronga, Tswa and Ndau who slowly migrated south of the continent, in search of greener pastures, literally, for their livestock, they were pastoral people.

The water should have boiled by now, hey if someone “invented” glass pots, you know you could see the water boil? If we were having coffee, we would be having herbal tea, in coffee mugs.

I would continue my tale of how the Tsonga, finally settled South of Africa and then along came the Mfecane (time of trouble/ forced migration) as Shaka The Zulu consolidated the Zulu Empire. Soshangane an army general “fled” north crossing the Zambezi into Rozvi territory (what is now Zimbabwe) with some of “his people” finally ending up in Mozambique.
The name Shangaan is derived from the name of Soshangane. Somewhere along all that, we came to be here.

If we were having coffee, I would ask you try the biscuits I made, well they were supposed to be scones but I think the heat was too high and I left them a little too long now they are dry and crunchy just like biscuits. You could dip them in your tea to soften them. They have little hashtag symbols on the top, my niece made that with a fork.

If you were having coffee with me, I would show you a photo of my grandfather and I. He taught me some of what I know about who I am, my totem the praise song for my people.

generationUya chisa mlilo
Hikisile chauke
Chakungedzele ribweni
Loki uchiona chiehixele
chifile katika
Chihanya hlungwani angahlinga
Aukhosi wahina u’nzilo
Hi mina Beaton
WaGilbert
WaTsamwisi
WaMzamani
WaNdalega
waNgwena
WaMatsena
Wa Bhangwani
wakanga nzela ribwe.
Xikovele xigombeeeeeeeeee
I imagine people dancing around a huge fire as they say that.

Shangaan village

I am not entirely sure of the spellings or what that all means I know its something about an ode to Fire (my totem) I have been using the internet to learn XiTsonga if you do know please help translate

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you about yourself, where you come from.

In the spirit of UBuntu I am because you are…
Let me nominate a few blogs for the afrobloggers recognition award:

The Baby Steps Of Sinawo Bukani

Bookenies

Kuwe Nkosi

Bantu Voice

Naughty Notties

The Spider Blues

Curious Chido

From Tokyo To The World

Here are the guidelines on how this award works:

  1. Once you are nominated, make a post titled CELEBRATING AFRICA WITH AFROBLOGGERS.
  2. Your post should share a brief on Afrobloggers and the work they are doing. Also thank and link  the person who nominated you.
  3. Celebrate Africa in the way you feel is more appropriate and in line with your blog”s overall theme.
  4. Nominate 5 -10 other bloggers who you feel are worthy of this award. Let them know they have been nominated by commenting on one of their posts. You can also nominate the person who nominated you.
  5. Ensure all of these bloggers of African heritage.
  6. Lastly, COPY these rules in the post and include the link to this original post

Of Footsteps In The Dark

Genre: Mystery

the nightly visitor unseen but not unheard

I have never seen a ghost but I have heard one, in hindsight maybe it was not a ghost at all, but an invisible man, or it was all a dream a recurring dream shared by six random strangers brought together by fate.

The story sounds more mysterious when I begin like that, have I piqued your interest? The six strangers, they were not strangers nor random at all, but students. Students who resided in the same dormitory, J17. One might argue that on the first day of school, they were strangers to each other. They did not pick to be roommates, I picked them, five names from a list. To them, I might as well as have been fate but I was only their dorm prefect and their senior by a year.

A year before this, would have been my first day of secondary school at a mission boarding. I remember the boarding master welcoming us, telling us we were grown up, our parents no longer looking after us, although he would be our mums and dads.
All I heard was welcome to hell and I am your jailer.
The senior students did not help matters, terrorising us with stories of how the form one hostels were built on a graveyard, how if you went to the bathrooms, at midnight, you would find ghostly nuns playing basketball with the referee’s head, whilst he, the referee, just stood there. Whistle in hand and headless.

I did not sleep that first night, but I heard nothing I saw nothing.

The year passed in a blur, I watered lots of flowers, killed several chickens and attended classes. I explored a mountain behind the hostels, found a cave with old bones, they looked human, skull and all, could have been a monkey but I left them in peace, in case they were.

I got picked to be a dorm prefect, DP for short. A DP’s duty was to tell people when to wake up when to sleep and to ensure cleanliness of dorm and hostel area. The perks of being one, were you got to sleep at the hour you wanted, which was not 8.30pm and wake up when you wanted, not 4.30am as everyone else did. You didn’t do chores, only supervised them and always had the biggest piece of meat with your supper.

On the first day of my new reign I regaled my form one subjects with the crazy ghost I had heard, even made up a few of my own including the skeleton I found in the mountain cave at the back of the hostel.

I told everyone to go to bed switched off the lights and proceeded to fall promptly asleep in the comfy bed with springs that was the DP’s privilege, while the rest settled for the standard, hard, unyielding beds, that felt exactly like sleeping on the floor, except you could fall from them, you can’t fall off from the floor.

I am sure they had trouble sleeping or slept none at all, I slept like a baby, a dead baby until just after midnight when something woke me up. I have always been a light sleeper, the slightest of sounds wakes me up. Good luck trying to sneak up on me.

I was awake trying to figure out what had woken me up. Then I heard them.
Footsteps.
I thought it was the boarding master checking up on us, I peered into the dark to see if I could make him out, nothing. The light switch was just beside my bed I flicked it on, and then the was light. Still I saw nothing, maybe, I thought to myself, he was walking in the corridor outside. I got out of bed opened the door looked outside, nothing. Maybe it was a dream, I finally concluded as I switched off the lights and got back to bed. I was drifting to sleep when I heard them again.

Footsteps
Slow, rhythmic, purposeful progressing from the far end of the room to mine, whenever they reached a bed the footsteps stopped for a bit, you heard its occupant shift, to change position, as if they were being tucked into a new comfortable position and they would breathe heavily and deeply, then settle. The footsteps would resume.

eyes

When the footsteps were close to me, I sat bolt upright, turned on the lights and saw, nothing. I switched off the lights and lay huddled in my bed facing the wall. I prayed. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because next thing my 4.30 alarm and it was time to wake up the others to go bath and start on morning chores routine.

I asked if anyone had heard anything strange in the night, only one heard nothing. The rest had heard footsteps, thought it was me since they had completely woken up when I turned on the lights and walked around. I told them I heard them too, that’s why I turned on the lights.

The following night, it happened again as before except this time I turned on the lights twice more than before and I saw, nothing. In the morning everyone confirmed the footsteps in the night. Except the one guy who had not heard them the first night, who was being pretty hysterical, for someone who heard nothing. He ran to the boarding master’s residence practically forming at mouth, screaming ghosts.

The boarding master was not amused being woken up by screams at 4 in the morning. “The are no such thing as ghosts” he said but he did offer to move us out of the dorm and squeeze us into one next to ablutions block.

I sought out the previous occupants of J17, the boarding master kept meticulous records so it was easy. The former DP told me about their similar encounters with the footsteps. The boarding master also made them a relocation offer, but one simply does not choose to willingly reside in a dorm next to communal ablutions block, unimaginable. So they opted to stay and move out only if they had to, they never had to.

We all also opted to stay in J17, all that is except the one guy who heard nothing.

Footsteps.
Slow, rhythmic, purposeful.
We heard them that night, the night after and all the nights we were residents of J17.
Ghosts, I have never seen one but I heard one.

~~The End

~B

This week’s entry for the #Blogbattle theme cave, a ghost story of sorts. I got so engrossed in telling myself telling you the story my word count went a little bit over.

Of My Blogging Progress Report Card —Mostly Ds

10378953_10152209494649811_6695678800352429430_n

HI I am B. and I am a blogger.
(everyone says hi B)
I will share with you my blogging journey. If blogging had a report card mine would be graded with mostly Ds

Phase 1. D is for Denial
I never thought of myself as a blogger. Bloggers (to me) are those major moguls with thousands upon thousands of followers, who post frequently, get quoted in mainstream media and win awards actual awards with medals and ribbons and prizes and and and have published books on the bestseller list with rave reviews.

I am just a regular guy, who has a blog and sometimes I post.
I have instagram account does that make me an instagrammer? how bout twitter.. am I a twittererer…erm never mind thats not even a word.

I write for myself I write what I like as Steve Biko put it.

When I am not writing I read 🙂

Phase 2. D is for Doubt
So I was writing to myself in my own lil world never expecting anyone else to be reading or that I would be good enough, that anyone, apart from me would want to read.
Imagine taking a selfie of your naked soul and doubting that it’s not good enough or it’s too ugly for anyone to see. You bare all you are and doubt makes you stand awkwardly and try to cover up.

Phase 3. D is for Disinclined Acceptance
Imagine my surprise when I find people recommending my blog to others or saying they are fans.
All these people can’t all be crazy right. So reluctantly I am inclined to accept I am what I am. ^_^

You know how when you spend hours in the kitchen creating a masterpiece of a meal by the time you are done, you are no longer hungry….

You only know the meal was great because those you served, wiped their plates clean and asked for more…. Just like Oliver Twist

And you The Cook, you only nibbled on your serving.

You are not hungry because while you were cooking, you were taking lil bites (to taste mostly, right?)
Unfortunately you were “sampling” the rough draft checking,
if the seasoning in the word stew was just right,
if the plot of gravy was thick enough,
enough salad dressing on the metaphoric salad,
and how about a touch of colour on the plot twist Hmmmm a dash of beetroot perhaps?
As with my cooking so is my writing by the time I am done, its simply just a well punctuated grammatically correct string of words, and I am no longer hungry.
But every time someone comments (constructively.. hopefully) you look through their eyes and for a second you see what they see Sometimes they totally miss the point you were trying to make, or they find a new point you did not even know you were making and you look at it and think, yep that’s about right.
If enough the people tell you, you cook well, you best believe it.

Phase 4. D is for Dedication
And so slowly I realize I like it when other people read what I write, like what I write, I want more of this, and helps to resolve my dedication to write more.
Dedication makes me consistent, keeps me in line, drives me(insane but in writer kinda way 🙂

Never trust a skinny chef!

Or a bartender who has never ever had a drop of alcohol

When you ask them what do you think is good and they recommend something because that’s what most people order and it’s just so happens to be the “discounted house special”.
Well just because other people like sipping on liquid razor blades chased with lemons that’s their business, don’t mean I like it.

Phase 5. D is Deliverance
When I write I exorcise the voices in my head, the thoughts I never speak about but they are there buzzing around. If you stumble onto my blog and like what you read leave me a kind word, (or healthy criticism) it’s one of the best parts about blogging since I rather live off compliments (but shhhh that’s a writer’s secret.) I have also made many interesting “friends” who have inspired me in many various ways, from my comment field.

I am getting the feeling I am getting addicted to hearing good things about me ^_^

Writing just like any sport takes no skill to do it absolutely horribly while some effortlessly dribble words past a field of critics and sink one in the best-sellers list.

Well I try to have fun and I laugh out loud as I write, true story.

The more I write the better I get and that book idea, well its deliverance seems more and more like an obtainable goal, beyond that impossible is nothing.
The storyteller never lies,
A story told never dies.
and so too its teller.
That is why I write.

~B

Ps have coffee with me thats when I had the idea for this post when I was preparing to be a #GuestBlogger for Afrobloggers.