Tuesday 3 July 2012

Once Upon a Time Crushes

I remember a time when I liked you all of you your every word however retarded hanging on every grin blowing on every… joint. I remember when I liked you gosh I do; why I don’t know, I never know half of the reasons why I like probably all the beings I’ve like, liked. Okay maybe I do, maybe there’s some deep seated taste they, you leave in my mouth the scent of their, your aura.
Does aura have a scent? Yours does. It makes me tingle, I mean ‘made’; it ‘made’ me tingle. Past tenses remember, I remember a time, very long ago when I liked you right? Because I don’t it totally shows don’t you see it? I only patrol your Facebook profile when I’m bored please note, ‘when I’m bored’. So big deal I follow then unfollow you on Twitter; it’s a sign of how much I no longer emotional affiliation with you. Your relationship doesn’t affect me … anymore!
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We had something you and I I’d sit on the grass as you serenaded me with John Legend covers as I tried to chime in the duet-like parts; blurry in focus once again I’m day dreaming of a time when I liked you and thought you did too. Wait a minute You liked me! I knew it the whole time; those deep looks you gave me, compliments that made my heart break dance against the cage of my ribs, you liked me but wouldn’t admit it to yourself. Surely it was ‘your’ denial and not mine, you had a chance to mark this territory…but you didn’t, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. You won’t, cowardice I’ve well assumed.
 I remember a time, it doesn’t feel so long ago now that we’re taking this little stroll down memories lost and I have unfortunately found you, them, again…at least for now.

I Like Big Trees& I Cannot Lie?!


Sitting outside the here on my own, drifting between day dream and 14hour travel fatigue-sleep, I realise what I ‘really’ missed about Zimbabwe when I was/ am in Namibia.(family and friends please don’t be offended) I look up and feel the streams of little bits of sunlight filtering through the trees! Yes! TREES!! Greenery, lush shrubs and most importantly grass! I imagine how ridiculous it must sound to hear someone refer to missing ‘grass’ and ’green’ who’s not remotely referring to drugs but believe me when I say I mean it (the vegetation that is…well maybe both?!) there’s something about vegetation, it’s a symbol of hope, fertility, promise, opportunity, life. Don’t get me wrong though there is grass in Namibia, for the minority who can foot the expense of maintaining kickass landscaping and erhm the government parks of course. I would camp at the park but I’m not homeless, I would go to sit in the park and read a book every other day but , although I may not be homeless I still am a student who can’t afford to indulge such longings(unless alcohol related) at wrong times of the month. Back to the point, I love you Zimbabwe and I missed your ass, I meant grass, I missed your grass.

Two Moments in Sesheke





This guy made it a point to feature in BOTH my photos
Oh there he goes again!
At the Zambian border in Sesheke during the peak times, one is torn between, frustrations; disgust and pity, confusion then utter awe. The first is first instinct drawn from the ins and outs process that mostly involves shuffling at the risk of being pick-pocketed only to scribble random information into both a gigantic and tattered book. Its pages seem to hold the stories of it writers or filler–ins if you must, their travels, destinations, experience according to the age of their passports, slant of their handwriting, shade of their ink and pressure of their hands to paper. Crammed to sardine capacity are people from different walks, within four walls where varied scents continue to tell tales on who can afford the luxury of a daily shower or that of being rooted to one place; the luxury of calling one place home; this a basic human need but often too extravagant for many. Women, women and girls, so many of them, I guess it is true then lesbianism should be justified there are definitely more women than men in the world. (Indulge my bad humour) There’s a ridiculous level of fertility and oestrogen in that room, with girls turned women, swollen they look like the slightest movement might make their water break and yet they toil; fully packed with goods for mouths born and those yet to be fed. Don’t get me started on the not so golden oldies, women who should be retired, grandmothers, great grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers, toiling. Toiling when they should be retired ‘should’ be taken care of but the reality tells all. Children nestled in bosoms or wrapped onto backs, howl and whimper, for attention, out of frustration, discomfort, hunger, I choose not to assume. Tourists from as far as the Netherlands and Japan are thrust out of their comfortably air conditioned coaches, to walk out onto the sandy dusty paths in warm welcome from the black market money-changing hustlers, to join the shoving, I like to think they get the glimpse of the ‘real’ third world they’ve been told of; thought here there is more, there’s better to be seen but alas this, unfortunately is what they see. Then like a twisted joke by Mother Nature or a quick save by God (depending on your beliefs), as you disembark from the post towards, Livingstone/ Lusaka; you see it, it tells its own story then represents the true beauty Africa deserves a real ambassador I’ll say. A vast concrete bridge stretching across the width of the Zambezi; she sits proudly, her curves on which tyre is guided by road. I’d be a little arrogant too; the people in the bus can’t contain their ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ with consequent camera clicks and flashes as Katima Mulilo Bridge strikes a pose. Like clock-work the stuffy four walls are forgotten and even after a couple of literal potholes Africa once again gets its well deserved acclaim.
That is defo the Highway to my Soul!