Of Blogging Every Day

 

For the past month I have been part of a team of bloggers who pledged to blog every day for the month of September.

One of the objectives of this challenge was simply to see whether it could be done or not, in the way some one climbs to the top of the highest mountain and then when you get to the top you find another mountain to climb.

standing top of mountain clip art

You look like ants from up here

The main objective was to give voice to the African narrative to share posts that help put in to perspective the reality that is my world and if we have enough people telling it, Africa’s voice will be heard this is My Africa and these are my Words

MyAfricaMyWords

#MyAfricaMyWords

It’s not easy, to write everyday but it’s not impossible, life will intrude, it always does but you can either make time or you can make excuses.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned from this blog everyday challenge is that my creativity is boundless, as the sea the more I write, the more I have, it is infinite (Did I low key quote Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, perhaps creativity is like being in love).

I have always had a fear that I am like a precious bottle of creativity and I must pour out each drop carefully, sparingly, the way a miser begrudgingly hands out each coin as if it’s the last; I felt it paid to hoard, lest I find my supply diminished and my precious creativity depleted.

………….Now I will pour and pour and pour…….

When you write every day, it forces you to think about writing, every day. You pay more attention to conversations around you, a sentence you read in a book, a quote from a movie or TV series, a leaf falling softly, to the soft brown earth, everything is a story waiting to be told; no one listens more to your story than the person who will write it down and no one reads it more than one about to write their own. The symmetry of the reader and the writer, one can be a reader and never a writer but a writer must be a reader.

I have interacted with interesting bloggers taking part in this challenge and seeing how they write has helped me to define my voice, to write as the stories should be told, to write as the story teller I am.

Goodbye September and Welcome October

~B

Day 30 of my blog every day challenge

Here is quick way twitter moment of my past posts.

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Of Memories Of High School

 

High school memories

 

Vincere caritate Gokomere High school

Vincere caritate

 

It was the best of times,

it was the worst of times,

it was the age of wisdom,

it was the age of foolishness,

vincere caritate

Form ones you are farm animals, you have tails and my job is to cut those tails” those were the first words my agriculture teacher said as he introduced himself to the class. They are burned into my thoughts, I can still recall the chemical humid smell of the agriculture classroom; and the teacher was an imposing man, both in stature and presence.

He carried with him, in his right hand, a rubber whip, the way a king carries a scepter, and as he made his chilling introduction he punctuated every word, with a sickening thud, as the the whip connected with his left palm. He went around class asking students their names with a loud thwack as he brought down the whip on the front desk, almost as if in warning that if you answered wrongly the next blow would land on you.

I spent the next two years being deathly afraid of the agriculture lesson time and no I did not escape unscathed, nobody did. Sooner or later Armstrong tasted your flesh. The whip had a name, his name was Armstrong.

“Bend down touch your toes and…. Smile” he would declare as the whip whistled through the air to land on your bottom. I remember this lad crying out “My God” begging him to stop. And he replied;

I am not God, I am the devil____ touch your toes

I am fairly sure the school let him get away with terrorising us because he was single-handedly responsible for maintaining discipline through out the school. He was the headmaster’s chief whip no pun intended and any teacher having difficulty with students simply threatened to report to the agriculture teacher and the change was instant.

I loved English and literature class, maybe because I was really good at it, I always scored the highest, even got a prize or two.

prize giving

My essays were read out in class and pinned up on the notice board as an example of how you write an essay,  boy did my poor head almost burst. You can imagine what happens next, probably not so I’ll tell you, I free lanced my writing skills, no not anything as crude as cheating on assignments I was straight shooter. I “helped” people write love notes to woo their prospective “girlfriends” and in return they paid in snacks and other commodities valuable to boarding school students, and of course to never reveal my identity.

Who knows maybe back in high school, that boy who swept you off your feet who passed you sweet little notes during study breaks, who left notes in your textbooks and had letters posted and your name called out during dining time that you have mail, that could have been my words you were falling in love with. Ah yes getting letters was quite a big thing then, some people even wrote letters to themselves just to part of the letter receiving click. I wrote lots of letters and got lots of letters back I was king of that click.

Thinking about it I am surprised it only one person actually caught me out. My best friend had the hots for this girl and he asked me to work my magic, which I did. I was usually careful to try and tone it done and write the way said person would write even ask them to present a sample of the letters they wrote, so I could copy their writing style. The girl was a difficult conquest and I could see we were losing her  but I love a challenge, so I pulled out the big guns and wrote like I had never written before, I surprised even myself, and my friend was this close to getting the girl…..

Until out of the blue, the girl tricked me into a conversation which I inadvertently revealed my hand by making reference to something I should have no knowledge of.

I secretly hoped it was you all along and you have just proved it…..” She said as she hugged me.

My best friend walked in, looked at me like I had a shiny sword in hand and would stab him in the back, he walked out back wards….

What came after maybe a story for another day….

~B

Day 28 blog every day challenge

How was your high school memories like?

You can find snippets of my other adventures; playing with fire HERE and something about ghosts HERE

Of Pure Love

A Guest Post
My name is Rachel and am a Nigerian. Am a wife  and a mother of three. I have tried to participate in this challenge but failed. This may be my only contribution to this challenge (sorry B I tried). I don’t have a blog so am sending this by e-mail. I don’t consider myself a writer, but I love to read, well it’s worth mentioning that Big B, as i like to call him has put in two of something I wrote on his blog as a guest: (Coffee With A Musing Stranger and Blessed woman)
I love acting especially in Church; smiles :). I have written a few gospel stage plays and I acted in one film. Two of my poems were published in my department news paper during my university days. But I love to  read, even though I need to revive my  reading culture ( being a mother is not easy) that brings me to the main story,  sorry for the long intro…. .
AWKWARD CONVERSATION AND PARENTING.
How are you mummy?” l always answered “am fine“.
I remember an incident with my elder son “Jojo”. We had traveled home to my grandparents place, he was about four years old. At night we all went to bed and he was all so sleepy, but insisted on the ” how are you mummy” question he always poses at me. He loves saying that a lot and I do my best to answer him each time “fine dear“, I answered, but  this time he kept repeating it and each time I answered  “am fine”, then he said, “Mummy say how are me” meaning I should also ask him how he is,   “how are you dear“, I said, immediately after he answered fine and was already asleep soon after.
It is my younger son ” Isy” that made me realize what it all really meant, it means “I love you mummy”. So whenever they tell me Mummy how are you, my answer will always be. “I LOVE YOU TOO“.
i-am-blessed
THE JOY OF BEING A MUM. “You get paid with pure love” 💓
Day 24 blog everyday challenge.. A special guest post by Rachel
~B

 

PS Thank you Rachel ♥♥

Of A Dear Beaton Letter

Confession: I have always wanted to to be immortal. That is why I write.

but maybe its not such a hopeless dreams:

dear beaton letter

Dear Beaton   By Mable

My dearest Beaton;
I want to immortalize you in the only way I know how, so I have decided to write you a letter.

A letter, I promised to write a year ago but life, adulting and good old plain procrastination got in the way.
Finally, the way is clear, the time is now and the  dictionary has yielded flowery words that I can use, flowery words worthy of you.
I had to dig deep into those dusty old pages….I was crossed eyed this week, thankfully my glasses hid my eyes. Glasses that make me look like a sexy librarian, I’m told….But see only the best will do for you. Donald Trump does not have the best words. That honor belongs to the dictionary, as I found out this week.
I’m rambling…..I tend to that a lot when I’m nervous…
Have I ever told you how much I love That Writer Chic? Well I do….I really do. See, I first came across your name, Beaton, on her blog. In her comment section to be exact. And thus the stalking began….And I quickly fell in love with your style of writing. I mean head over heels, poetry spewing, boom box over my head kind of love….. It was/is more than just a writer’s crush, you see.
Why? you ask… Its the effortless humor. The way you draw the reader in make them (in this case, me) feel like there’s no one else you’d rather be having coffee with. The way you make the most mundane of activities seem like an adventure. The stories you tell…..its also the way you encourage people. The time you take to not only read my attempts at putting a point across but to also comment. Its your friendliness and your big heart. It’s the fact that even never having physically met you, I consider you a good friend (no, I have not friend-zoned you).
I would call us kindred spirits. Do you agree?
Do you believe in reincarnation and past lives? I do not, however the kinship I feel towards you must mean that at some point, in a past life we knew each other. Because even without really knowing you, I feel like I know you (does that make sense?)…
May be we were (and this is the first thing that comes to mind because I’m a hopeless romantic) husband and wife.
I can just picture it in my mind’s eye; In the Africa-of-old setting. You’re a king and I’m your third, but definitely your favorite wife. The first two you had to marry for political reasons and I was your love match. You spend all your time with me talking and planning and laughing, which is frowned upon by the elders because no man should talk to woman like that, let alone a king of a mighty tribe……but you and I, we are rebels….because that’s what we are, rebels.
Or, may be we were twins, born at a time when twins were an abomination, thrown away into a forest, raised by monkeys and surviving because that’s what we are, survivors.
Or may be you were the mad man in the village square, the mad man that could carry a tune and would sing sad songs with a beautiful voice and I was the village damsel who had a soft spot for the mad man. And the only one brave enough to step close and and sing with the mad man. And the villagers would call us crazy. They’d go saying things like, “Mzee Ngundi’s daughter has been corrupted by the mad man, she is now crazy.”….
But we wouldn’t care because that’s what we are, slightly off kilter, certifiably insane, absolutely crazy.
Its the romantic in me talking again; perhaps we were star crossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Layla and Majnun (pretty interesting story)
Or perhaps we caused too much havoc together that the universe decided to separate us this time around, putting quite a bit of land between us but the universe did not count on there being a way for us to meet…social media. WordPress to be exact where you were busy becoming the muse and I was still experiencing growing pains….and somehow, our worlds collided.
Shifting from blogger to wordpress is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made…it goes without saying that the outcome has been very desirable, the amazing people I’ll call my forever friends, I found here one of them being Beaton  *insert shy emoji here*
You’re such a cool person, Even your name is cool.
You know that question that is usually asked to people that have fallen in love? When did you know that you know?
I’ll answer it with this story. This is when I knew ..
You have no idea how much your words have come to mean to me. They have gotten me through many a dark day.
I look forward to finally meeting you physically, giving you a big hug, objectifying your abs (I apologize in advance for that), tugging your hair to see if stretches and helping you count the white in your beards. Yes, I’m crazy like that.
Keep writing B….keeping being the awesomeness that you are.

All My Love
Mable

Confession number 2 I happen to really really love letters too

~B

PS Mable I hope you dont mind but I had to share this letter because I heart this ♥♥♥

Of Watering Roots

Of Watering My roots

From the Earth we are born to the Earth  we return

–Dust to Dust

I have always found a certain poetry in the symmetry of life…. (Truth be told I see poetry even in the most mundane of places)

my roots firmly anchored

blooming where I am planted

The ground beneath our feet, the ground we walk upon, we have a special connection to it, it nurtures us in ways we cannot begin to fathom. There is a reason why where you come from is called the Motherland;

it gave birth to you,
it mothers you
and when your journey is finished,
you return,          
where it all started,
to the beginning,
a child of the soil (Mwana Wevhu)
or as my friend Masimba would prefer we call it Soil Child (Mwanavhu)

 

We are no less children of the Earth than the plants and the trees, with their roots digging deep, anchoring them. Our roots, start where we come from, it’s a part of our identity, our heritage, past and beginning. How can you truly know, where you going? If you don’t know where you have come from and why you are where you are now?………

Your roots just like those of any plant need watering.watering garden beetroot

For us culturally, it’s a natural question to ask when you meet someone; where they come from, (kumusha) to find out if you are possible kin and possibly get an insight on what to expect from you. Yes, a geographic location by itself wont define your character but generally people in the same locale tend to behave in the same way, speak the same dialect have similar beliefs, its the psychology of socialisation.

When you are asked where you come from (unobva kupi?) its not simply asking you where your home is or where your parents are? Its asking you where your family tree starts, where your kin are?…..

I come from Masogwe; Neshuro in the Mwenezi District of the Masvingo province; Zimbabwe.

Africa Earth

neshuro, Zimbabwe, Southern Africa

Google maps can even zoom into our family homestead,

Masogwe eshuro

its impressive and just a little bit scary. No one is there now, but this where my paternal grandparents lived. We would visit every school holiday and every Christmas, without failure.

They are departed now and the family doesn’t meet as often as it used to. Mostly we now meet there for funerals, that’s the sad truth. The last time I was there was Christmas 2016, it wasn’t a funeral it was just to meet and catch up, a cow was slaughtered and for a little bit felt like the Christmas of yesteryear….

cooking a traditional feast

We made promises that this year we would visit more, but its been nine month and I haven’t returned, I feel like a prodigal child sometimes. It might be because its just a place and no one is there anymore, or its even worse or we slowly forgetting were we come from?

Have we lived so long in the “modern” world, we cant go back to a place where there is no electricity, (but there is a cellphone network service), it is drought prone area, in the natural region 4 and 5 temperatures are scorching hot all year round.

masogwe

That means water is hard to find, you go to a borehole quite far away to fetch water and when it rains you give thanks, because you water is life.

Borehole Bush pump

There is a mountain, it is quite mysterious, it seems volcanic in nature although they say in Zimbabwe the are no volcanic mountains but I constantly wonder about this one.

Zhanje Mountain, Neshuro

Zhanje Mountain, Neshuro Zimbabwe

When it gets really hot and dry, smoke can be seen smouldering at its peak, sometimes a red glow can be seen on a moonless night, as if its about to erupt and every time it does this you know it will rain soon, it always rains…..

I worry the next generation will forget this little intricacies and the meaning behind all these mysteries, my grand parents took all their secrets with them and I write a few of them and that is why I write, so that I never forget and one day some will remember……

This is how I water my roots

~B

Day 19 blog every day challenge

Of The Birds And The Bees

 

The night before I was to go off to university, my mother came into my room, while I was packing.

“Beaton” she said

She spoke in that way that could only mean you are about to talk about something serious. You start wondering if you have done anything wrong, if you did all your chores, left the toilet seat up, if she saw the empty bottle of Johnnie Walker you were drinking with your friends to celebrate going to varsity, that could be a problem, but hey you are over 18 it was for a good cause…. You quickly line up a of string apologies and explanations

“Beaton”

She used my full name, that cant be good, and the time in between, from when she said my name to when she finally starts talking, there is a silence which says a lot about the seriousness of what is coming next. My mother usually just speaks her mind but when its something serious, she will choose her words very carefully…..

“So…” pause

“ …..you are going off to Uni” silence

I am here thinking she wants to tell me to study hard, focus on my books, not forget what I am going to school for, the usual pep talk, it’s a serious topic but I can deal with it, I am really quite relieved much ado about nothing. I nod my head and wait for her to continue.

“I have something for you…..” she says and she clears her throat and opens her handbag and takes out a 100 pack box of condom.

“Do you know what these are?”

Earth swallow me now…. Take me now Dear Lord… End this. I am having The TALK with my mum.

Birds and bees

I don’t trust my voice so I just nod again.

“Good” she says, “Pack them in your bag, study hard and stay safe…”

I nod again and she gets up to leave, end of discussion.

When she is at the door she turns and says “when they are finished just call me and say mama that stuff is finished and I will make a plan, ok?

[Exit mum]

Me: “Gosh that was awkward” I packed the stuff and quickly decided come what may, I was most certainly never ever going to tell my mum that I had finished a box of 100 condoms……. This conversation never happened again, I would guess it was awkward for the both of us.

I was 18 I studied biology in school, I knew my reproductive health. But these days kids are getting exposed to sex so blatantly and parents are being forced  to decide to have The Talk at a really early age. Have you ever set down to watch something you thought was an all age movie with disturbing steamy scenes, unexpected nude scenes that have nothing to do with the plot. Even a regular TV soap suddenly gets a bedroom scene that drags longer than it has any business doing.

Don’t get me started on music videos, the dances are risqué, the costumes are skimpy and it seems like the trend is to see who can be the most provocative. I know sex sells but to what end, we are growing up with children exposed to sex as soon they are old enough to sing along to songs with blunt sexual references, and then we get surprised when we learn how shocking early children sexual debut is.

There was quite an uproar when someone suggested condoms be issued to school children about how it would encourage them, but the truth is they already engaging sexual behaviour and we really should not postpone having The Talk with your children lest they learn from somewhere with less conservative  views.

~B

PS And the internet is something else together sometimes……

Day 18 blog everyday challenge

photo credit Birds and Bees

Of Mental Health

mental health awareness

Mental health is a mostly avoided and greatly misunderstood topic in African countries. Some of the beliefs are steeped in years of cultural practices that make opening up difficult, when you read and hear the stories people have to share, you realise people struggle by themselves.

Generally speaking, when you speak of mental health it is assumed you are referring to the kind of mental illness which leads to one being committed to a mental asylum under heavy sedatives or roaming the streets in ragged clothes in deep conversations with the unseen. Word on the street is this caused by anything from genetics, stress, taking drugs, committing murder or adultery, witchcraft, as a sacrifice in a money making ritual or forsaking  your ancestral kin.

If you randomly ask someone about their mental health they will look at you as if you just asked them if they are crazy……..

We all have that or have heard of that uncle or aunt whom nobody really talks about who occasionally gets whisked away to get treatment and medication, when the moon is a certain way. I remember reading something a long time ago about how the moon affects lunatics not exactly quite unlike the way of werewolves.

They say Lunatics comes from Lunar…. (The lunar lunacy effect)

Moon howling

Even William Shakespeare had something to say about this in Othello:

“It is the very error of the moon.
She comes more near the earth
than she was wont. And makes
men mad.”

Othello Act 5 scene 2

I have an uncle, he taught me Latin when I was six years old, I thought we were speaking gibberish and I indulged him because as I understood it he got headaches. I only discovered when I went to a Catholic boarding school that I could recite the Lord’s prayer in Latin. He is a genius, he studied at a university abroad, on some scholarship in the 70s, smoked some weird stuff and never got quite got back to himself.

The last time I saw him, he was trying to build a resonance machine, which would vibrate your brain cells at the natural frequency of a genius mind and if you had not studied mathematics at high school level your brain would blow up, leaving a world of only intellects…….

Conversations with him are always intriguing, I understand what he is talking about sometimes, maybe because I know how resonance works; someone else just listens and decides he speaks gibberish, when he actually speaks fluent German. No one quite talks about it, I don’t even know what he studied. Sometimes I worry I have those genes, a crazy genius who might take a bad trip and never come back?

Then we have the silent killer Clinical depression which has a list symptoms indistinguishable from what people generally call being moody, sad even lazy and yet battling darkness at their core. Its easy to look happy, when everyone wears a mask. I have seen people who refuse to accept that depression is an actual medical condition and not some made up excuse to be sad

Smiling Mask Sad Face beneath

No one seems to take it seriously right up until the time someone ends their life. Then suddenly people are trying to understand when you got such dark thoughts or how they didn’t realise that the extent of your depression was not just sadness but something deeper darker…..Needed treatment/therapy not just telling some one to man up or be positive or simply try harder

Unfortunately no one ever really knows whats going on inside you, the case of The Strong Silent Man.

It’s Ok to say “I am sad and I don’t know why”……… nothing to be ashamed about. You could even write it down, it’s a form of therapy, some of the best writers are really tortured spirits and paper was the only friend that listened and offered no judgement.

~B

Day 14 of my blog everyday challenge

if you are in Zimbabwe and need to contact someone you can try The Samaritans.

Samaritans – Bulawayo
PO Box 806
BULAWAYO
Contact by: Face to Face – Phone – Letter:
Hotline: (9) 650 00
24 Hour service:

Harare Samaritans
PO Box UA 267
Union Avenue
HARARE
Contact by: Face to Face – Phone – Letter:
Hotline: (4) 726 468 – (4) 722 000
Hotline: Toll-free: 080 12 333 333
24 Hour service:

The Samaritans
MUTARE
Hotline: (20) 635 59

Or Find other free organisations in the post by The Quarter Wife

If you know of any other please add them……. What are your experiences with mental health like?

Of The Voice Of Music

What is music? Beats, bars and notes fused together into a rhythm so much more than its sum total.

“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.”

-Bob Marley

The soul of music

I think man has had music in his life from when he could first talk, before that even; when he could not talk only hum and grunt or even way back from that moment when out of curiosity he clapped his hands for the first time…..

Music was our first voice, our first story…..

Here is a free tip: if you want to predict whether a song will be a hit…. Play it for kindergarten toddlers, if they start dancing, without anyone telling them to dance, you have yourself a chart topper……. simple

Music is the first voice you hear, I don’t mean the words to a song but the song and its story in all its entirety; how it all blends in and makes you feel… that voice….. And then we grow up, we start trying to pay more attention to the lyrics, to make sense of them, or the beat and trying to dance to impress, like someone is watching…

Are you surprised, you willalways look back on music from yester-year and say, that’s when they made good music….?

Music is dynamic, music changes but the voice is always the same you grow up and cant hear it anymore.

I remember this old song barely but my sisters loved it, when it played they danced their little hearts out it. I used to pick them up after school and we would walk home and this one day the song was playing loudly from the speakers outside a shop, we stopped and they danced. A small crowd of people gathered, they even threw money…..

Ndochi by Papa Jose…… shamwari tamba iwe (dance my friend)

No party was complete without this song.

Growing up, waiting impatiently for Thursday nights, because that’s when ZBC TV showed the music program, Mvenge Mvenge; Mutinhimira weMimanzi Ezomugidho (translates to The Sound of Music) My brothers recorded the good stuff on the VCR so we could watch again and again.

James Chimombe and John Chibadura were popular favourites. Years later I am all grown up and I realise some of the songs had a weird touch of melancholy they sang about death, heartbreak and loss and we danced to it on Christmas holidays.

As a country I don’t think we have had a particularly distinct music sound that is ours and ours alone,  the most popular genre Sungura started as a spin-off from the popular rhumba ndombolo music from the DRC.

In the late 90s the government instituted a media blanket which only allowed airplay of 100% local content, partly to help boost and encourage the local music and others less benevolent reasons. It left a void for those who loved western type music hip hop, the rhythm and blues, and the gap was filled by a genre of music called Urban Grooves.

Artists who rose to fame then were David Chifunyise and a collection of artists from his Shamiso records studio and the man who did the beats Delani Makhalima

David Chifunyise – Tauya Naye

And then there Pax Afro a group sponsored by the then Minister of information and publicity who was the writer and composer of the songs too, the jingles were catchy though

Let it play – Pax Afro

One of my all time favourite local songs Chidzoka by Rocquie

I will still dance to this.!!!

And today a new genre is talking over inspired by dancehall music from Jamaica. Zim Dancehall to the world, its fast paced, the new youth culture, the new voice of music….Popular Artists  include Soul Jah love, Tocky Vibes, Bounty Lisa, Winky D

I love music by Jah Prayzah, I don’t know what genre his music is but he has various local award and nominations.

Hello – Jah Prayzah

 

And it my list would not be complete if I did not mention Oliver Mtukudzi, he has been churning out hits from before I was born… and still going strong, now that is legendary!!!

Oliver Mtukudzi

We are born loving music and dancing,…..then innocence is lost

 

~B

PS How could I forget to mention this song, I really loved it and I was gravely crashed while looking it up to find out that’s it’s a cover….

Rusike Brothers – Cecelia

Day 7 Blog Everyday Challenge

photo Credit Oliver Mtukudzi

Of Tomorrow: A Place A day Away

Tomorrow comes, when tomorrow comes……

tomorrow loading button

I dream of tomorrow a place better than today and then I wake up tomorrow is today, tomorrow never comes……

The future is filled with tomorrows that become today, a day at a time.

Life is a poetry of possibilities,

Fused with expectations and uncertainties.

Tomorrow comes. And how often can a man say that? “Every night, because tomorrow always comes everyday, after every night”

I live in a world where planning ahead is hard. Our economy is burning, hard cash in hand is worth more than money in the bank, and everybody is running a hustle. In 2008 a bank apocalypse happened; savings and pensions eroded in value to nothing; overnight, and everyday feels like a day away from the same thing happening all over again…..

Tomorrow comes when tomorrow comes.

Tomorrow never waits.

By the time my parents were my age,

they had:

three children,

 two cars,

 one house

and a dog named Bingo…..

I loved that dog, a German Shepard big and mean looking but gentle as kitten, unless it felt we were threatened, strangers, suspicious characters, the odd postman. Today I cant afford to keep a pet, I cannot even afford to feed myself three square meals plus snacks, the kind of diets we had growing up.

My parents had this life thing on track, they had life policies, invested in shares and those pension plans which pay out a windfall 25+ odd years later. The economy crashed and all that turned to a little less than pocket change.

Today I found a dividend cheque in the mail, it should have been paying my mum a neat little windfall back in the original economy…. but today it pays out USD$1.40

Dividend.jpg

Cheque.jpg

And I ask myself where do I even begin to plan for my retirement, one day I would like to do something really nice for my mum, like by her car to replace the one I know she sold to send us all to school but never told us about… maybe tomorrow I will.

Next year we have elections… the ruling party candidate is the current president, he has been president all my life, he turns 93 in February. Zimbabwe will decide and it seems everything awaits that; what comes after…? Politics in Africa is a messy affair.

And still I dream of tomorrow, a place not like today, or yesterday… a place where things are better…

~B

Day 5 of my blog everyday challenge

 

Of Trapped In The (Water) Closet

I hate to ask, for directions, advice, help……. I am probably on my way to my destiny right now and I am lost or trapped somewhere, but I will get there…..

When you visit someone one of the things you must casually find out is, where the bathroom is located, if it works, and any special procedures you might need to be aware of… and also the Wi-Fi password.

Not all bathrooms are the same, some have no running water and you may need to go fetch by way of a bucket, maybe it must not be flushed, not ever, and special quirks you really ought to be aware of…….

Its awkward conversation to have but believe me, but it will save you from death by embarrassment, unless of course you plan on not using any other bathroom but your own. Good luck with that.

There I was visiting a friend, conversation was great and the effects of the large mug of tea, we were enjoying started kicking in. I excused myself for a quick bathroom break. I took a wrong turn or two, saw things I shouldn’t have, but that is neither here nor there. I may have poured some gin into my cup of tea, to break the ice, which is why, I was all zen and calm as if I open wrong doors all the time; you mumble apologies and walk away….

I located the water closet and locked the door, the key was there in the door’s ignition. I even checked the handle to make sure the door was locked, it was. I am a private person I value my privacy. Even if I had gone into the toilet to just spit, the gin was giving me a touch of nausea, I would have still locked the door.

Finding the bathroom was easy enough, getting out, not so much.  The key wouldn’t turn and so I tried jiggling the door handle around… and it came right off and I heard the distinct sound of something falling, on the other side of the door. ……. It meant only one thing TRAPPED.

trapped clip art

I laughed, because sometimes if you don’t laugh, you will freak out. Don’t Panic, I learnt that from The Hitch Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy. I tried not to panic,and put on my Rose Coloured glasses, I assessed my situation:

Door out of order

Door Dead.jpg

 

windows barred

Window copy.jpg I had left my phone on the table, in the lounge, next to my cup of gin and tea tonic, so I couldn’t call anyone for an emergency evacuation…..

I knocked on the door softly, too soft, no one could have heard it. I couldn’t bring myself to actually shout for help, and decided at some point someone is either going to come to use the bathroom or  start looking for me after, figuring out I have been gone for far to long. If I had carried my phone I would have had something to do, instead I busied myself reading instructions on the detergents…

domestosmutlipurpose  Bleach

Who knew this is multipurpose ….. you learn something anywhere if you put your mind to it…..I even hummed R Kelly’s Trapped In The Closet quietly to myself, the man has his issues but he knows his music….

After what felt like forever, who knows how long it was, my phone tells me the time, and I didnt have it; eventually help arrived. I had been “missing” for far too long and a search party was calling my name. Am I the only one who finds it odd, to respond from the bathroom when someone calls your name? So I stayed silent yet hopeful. By deductive elimination, they figured out I was the one trapped in the bathroom.

Someone knocked on the door.

Yes” I responded sheepishly

“But you are not to lock the door, nobody does, the key has issues.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

You should have asked…..”

The End

~B

Obviously I got out…. eventually, they had to remove the door by hinges, it was like an episode of Prison Break……..

 

PS This Day Four of my blog everyday challenge

 

 

image credit Clip Art Panda