Pining For a 3 Year Old’s Attention

I love kids. The best part of that has to be the fact that they always love me back. Unrequited love is another hard situation. Kids are easy to please. Just get down to their level and engage. If they are still at the illegibly mumbling stage, I always just go ahead and engage back in natural human language. (Of course true child lovers in touch with their inner child will know the kid is actually making loads of sense. Those of you that have fully been assimilated into the growing up trap have lost your childhood magic, I maintain that I still have mine.)

Sam’s Jacket

Several moons back, as I was leaving work and headed home, I bumped into an old friend of mine, Sam. Dear old Friend. Sam and I were AIESEC Vice Presidents during the same term, albeit at different universities. We were in-charge of the same portfolio at our different universities, so we met relatively often at several events. Sam also went to high school in what happens to be the ‘brother school’ to my former school. (Who decides these things? That schools are now brothers and sisters? Who are their parents? Is Sam, and all other guys from my school’s brother school, now automatically in the friend zone? Brother zone? Does anyone know if that’s how these things work?) Point is, I know Sam from way back!

Haba na Haba Hujaza Kebabs…(My auto-correct is an idiot)

Why is my auto-correct an idiot? Well, like they say, if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it’s stupid. Does this not definitively determine that my auto-correct is an idiot? Its one job, ONE JOB, is to make the people I am texting think I never err on grammar or spelling. More often than not, it introduces errors and makes me sound like an idiot. Let us not even start on the, perhaps the Kiswahili threw it off argument. I refuse. It is an artificial intelligence. It should pick up Kiswahili as well as it does English. I hope you are reading this auto-correct, I am disappointed.

The Girl Who Cried Gecko (Yes, I Have an Overactive Imagination)

I have this deathly fear of geckos and lizards and all their other reptilian relatives that look a lot like them. I am afraid of many such things, creepy crawlies, but I have a hunch that my fear of geckos is magnified 100 fold because I am confronted by them so often. I should look into where and how they nest and why in the world they feel so at home among human beings, because they practically live with us. Shamelessly! In full view!

Beginnings and Endings

“Raisa!” called out her mother and not for the first time.

“What’s taking you so long?” she added although she already knew. In the living room was a guest, a guest that any 18 year old girl would dread… a suitor. Her mother hoped this would be the one for her. Rashad was kind and respectful. Hopefully, this was not just a front.

The Waiting Room

The TV drones on in the background. Requiem mass for the former first lady going on. What eyes aren’t glued on it are glued on phones. What did man do before there were screens to affix ones eyes on? Heavens forbid we have to look each other in the eye and talk. I am in a hospital waiting room. Well, kinda. An out-patient facility is more like it.

Perspectives of a Rainy Day

Rain. Downpour.
I’m listening to it right now. Thick, heavy, voluminous rain. Rain that seems like it came with a jam-packed agenda. It’s not raining just because…this rain knows what it came to do! I can tell from the quick succession of explosive thuds on the roof, on my bedroom window, on the ground.

Any Given Afternoon

Wednesday afternoon, Dan, Ian and Joe traipse out of their mid-morning lecture inexplicably more tired then they went in. Why inexplicably? The lecture did not happen. Big shocker. This lecturer had a reputation, and it was not good. Prof. Likhanga had taken them for yet another unit last semester. He had shown up to class only 3 times in the whole semester, that is 16 weeks, 14 if you disregard the two for exams. He had issued no cats, not sent any hand outs with notes, and yet the university considered the content taught. Exams were done, some people passed, others failed, by what basis this was determined, we can only speculate.