I got a haircut today. So close to the general elections, it’s easy to think there’s a statement being made, but there really isn’t. I figured I was a tad too hairy for my liking and decided to do something about it. Plus, I really can’t stand it when my moustache tries too hard to socialize with my meals.
So, again, I just thought I was due for a change of some sort. No political statement there.
Quite naturally, I found myself pulled in to a discussion with the barber.
Usually we talk about concerts and local music and when that well runs dry, we move in to suck up mode. The concerts thing was a pretty cool routine in as far as my relationship with the advertising industry allows me to know what’s coming up when.
The idea is to fan the flames, dangle a carrot and not let on too much. Just enough to get him excited about what my client has planned.
It works on two levels;
The second part of the routine would work much better if he kept punctuating his statements with the hashtag #nohomo.
I want to squirm when he goes on about just how amazing I look and how I will draw stares when he is done with me.
He has gone so far as to suggest that a bride-to-be will think twice should her gaze wander away from the altar and rest on me. I can’t squirm, though, because he has a dangerous appliance dangerously close to my jugular.
As luck would have it, there are no concerts around the corner and, thankfully, the barber wasn’t in his usual suck up mode.
The discussion didn’t veer to who I’m planning to soil my thumb for, but rather the aftermath of the elections. He figured things are going to get immensely chaotic, and even let on that one of his customers had mentioned flights to the UK have been fully booked over the past 3 days. Given my own experience trying to get a visa ages ago, I have to admit I’m a little impressed by how easy it was for people to up and leave. More impressive though, is the fact that there were a couple of foreigners in the salon being attended to, which made me wonder just how insane things would get.
My barber went on to talk about how much support the leader of the opposition has managed to garner. “If he told people to…. They would do it unquestioningly.” His words exactly, he actually trailed off at the point where he said, “if he told people to…”. I was supposed to fill in the blanks, I guess, but I really couldn’t be arsed.
The Electoral Commission has asked people to leave their phones and cameras at home when they come out to vote, so of course conspiracy theories abound. A situation not helped by the EC not offering a solid explanation why.
On the other side of the coin, one of the arms of security has told people to leave immediately after casting their votes. Now, that should go without saying, shouldn’t it? I mean, why the heck would anyone want to stick around after enduring long cues in the sweltering heat? Speaking of which, is it just me or were we not promised the return of El Nino? I sort of feel like it went the way of most anticipated series. Were the rains cancelled?
Right, so, two sides to a coin; one says no cameras and smartphones (which is also annoying because that’s where my details are ie, Voter Number, Polling Station, so I’m going to be forced to actually ‘remember’ things) and the other says “Vote and GO”.
But the candidates have also decided they want in on the coin proggie and have asked voters to stick around till the polling stations close. So, in other words, if you have proggie, shelf it that democracy may have a shot.
As I understand it anyway.
I really was there for a haircut, not to talk about matters of the state, so I’m sure you can understand my relief when we switched things up and started talking about dandruff.
The panic shoots through her body yet again.
His body lies there, motionless. What blood remains trickles slowly from the gaping wound, flowing to the corner in which she has sought refuge.
She can’t escape him. Not even in death. This was supposed to make it all go away. All the bruising, the pain…. It was the only way.
The blood draws nearer. She retches.
She gets up and slowly makes her way to the bed that was only minutes ago, the scene of a most harrowing act of lovemaking.
He is still hard, but she can’t tell for sure if it’s the rigor mortis setting in.
His hand lies outstretched, almost like he’s pleading. She picks the bloodied pair of scissors and places it on the dressing table. It’s all she can do not to look at his reflection in the mirror.
It shouldn’t have come to this.
And yet it had.
She is yanked out of her thoughts by the sound of a car pulling up outside.
She hasn’t had time to clean up.
Footsteps, then the sound of key in the door. Her door.
Her mouth goes dry, the knots in her stomach tighten.
The handle turns.
More footsteps, the bedroom door opens and he walks in. A smile on his face.
She looks at the bed. There’s no body. The scissor’s sit by the bed side. Clean.
He advances and she flinches… instinctively.
He smiles, almost menacingly, “You’re gonna be the death of me, babe”.
Thank you for your letter. I was touched by you (no homosexual). It is not usual that a person in the newspapers supports a fellow artist, even less usual is when that person in the newspapers is on the internets.
I much appreciate you becoming a page in my facebook also. It feels me with happiness. My manager told me not to answer, but I told him, who I am I to say no to a fun?
I did not want to do what I did, but like you said, he was there asking asking for it.
Me, as you can see on your television or your tubes, I kept cool. I kak’d….kwegamba, na-kakana. You get? I even asked him to listen to me…but like a real Kasuku he real kept talk talking.
I can understand his reluctancy given that not everybody here is a fun of the words coming out of my mouth. . .but you know who is? Ellen the generous. That woman who is like white Oprah. You know who else likes me, Puffs Daddy. I have never even met them and they are not in my country, but they feel me nice.
Anyway, I won’t lie you that I felt good after what happened. In fact, I even felt bad remorse. As I lay their in the arms of what will soon become another local artist, I cried tears. Some people cry tears of joy. Me I had sadness.
Those tears were burning me like Kaloli pupu. I know I have projected an image of a person who is not afraid of loss, but come on Earnest. Unless you are Eminem, you can not be there nga you’re not afraid.
My funs look up to me and I have late them dawn. When I pass through those slams, all those chewdren who would like to be in my next video say… you know what they say? They say Kenzo, toil boss. I am not a manager, but to be honest, I thought my dreams were also valid.
I think it is the cost of being famous. The more fans you have, the more your temper. Look at Chris Brown, Tyra Banks, Judas Iscariot… those things. I might have to enrol in anger management, but that is if Charles Chin is also a fan of my overhyped video…if not, those are his, as they say.
I used to laugh at Seya and when he would be there as a bad word sayer, but you know what, kiba hard. . .but what do people expect. English is not my tribe.
Thank you for reaching out Bazanye, it’s nice to know you feel me, actually I feel you too…No homosexual…maybe…
Time check: 5pm
I’ve been staring at my watch like I expect it to entice me with a strip tease of sorts. The seconds barely moving, outpaced only by my anxiety. I need to leave the office. I glance outside, squinting at the clouds as though to say, “don’t you dare!”. It’s been rainy these past couple of days and today is not the day I will accept Cumulo Nimbus’ ice bucket challenge. I’m just not in the mood.
Shit. There’s no way anyone would miss me if I snuck out right now, is there? What purpose lays befor…
“Hey, lend me your charger”
Fuck! So close. What am I going to say? “No, I was on my way home….eventually”?
The battery in my workmate’s phone is not easily aroused and I can already see that my phone charger’s valiant attempts will go unrewarded for the time being. It might as well be a paper clip trying to get intimate with the pages of a dictionary.
What the hell? Is this the day that time forgot? I’ve looked over some work and proofread an ad. 6 times. Perhaps my watch is faulty…. maybe the hands on the clock go to the same book club my friend’s battery goes to. My gaze strays, landing at the clock trying to hide from me at the corner of the screen. The traitor! It’s minutes behind.
We’re making progress. We have moved forward with the resilience of a tiny third world country. The sense of urgency is lost on the reluctant battery which seems to be operating under the impression that if it showed any sign of excitement, its master might think it wanton.
Sod this. Maybe if I engaged someone in some small talk…
“hey, what do you think of our chances in today’s game?”
– “Man, I hope it doesn’t rain…”
Crap! The anxiety returns from it’s trip.
The clouds seem to be in a foul mood, but I really can’t tell whether their darkening has been brought on by the passage of time or the retention of something they would rather release. I know I’d be equally pissed if I was pressed and I was forced to just sit around doing nothing. Where is that blasted crossword puzzle.
I seem to have resigned myself to the role of BINGO announcer instead of puzzle filler, what with the way I’m just chanting the numbers besides the clues. This sort of thing would come in handy if I were to play Battleship.
Let’s see… I think I know this one. 8 Down, 4 letters, “moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops…”
Screw it. I’m sure my workmate has just enough juice to see him crossbreed pieces of Candy in that infernal game.
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go….
This has got to be the slowest descent these stairs have hosted.
It’s like walking through the pearly gates. Except that this particular structure is in fact black and has nothing pearly about it. It’s not even sitting atop fluffy clouds. There’s puddles next to it. Why on earth would I make that reference to the pearly gates?
After flagging him down in a motion that will render my wrist useless for a some time whilst also ensuring a higher life expectancy for that bottle of special oils, we commence negotiations….
I’m ready to go.
Then a rain drop escapes from the heavens.
Lucy, in a nutshell, is a movie about a young woman
(portrayed here by Scarlett Johansson with the worst nail polish job captured on the silver screen) going to college somewhere in Asia, who gets suckered in to being a mule by a guy she’s only been dating for a week (it was the first time I was seeing this guy and the IMDB page for the movie doesn’t have shit on him…). Read more
It’s 11pm. The apostrophe key on my laptop seems to have developed sentience and figured there’s no real reason it should exert itself on a public holiday.
I’m all for breaks, but I don’t really care for using the full form of a word when I can bridge the gap with a bloody punctuation mark.