Monsters I’ve found under my bed.

Monsters I’ve found under my bed.

I’ve learnt a lot about myself in the last couple of weeks. Ive learnt that my dreams are a direct influence of my fears. Although i like the term” I’ve learnt my dreams are the bitch of my fears” ,teehee! I’ve learnt that my real fears are inescapable disease & ugly puppies. These are also illustrated by my dreams.

I also know that deep down i have a desire to ride a bike in a summerish manner & blog whilst I’m wearing a grass-weaved out hat which has a pretty flowery ribbon around its middle coupled by a deep & thoughtful expression on my face as i ride and type away!

I’ve learnt that I’m a die hard dillatante who now has a keen interest in acting. (Who knew such fun put in loads of un-fun work?!)
The sound of my mother crying is a sound I’ve freakishly memorised in my head. This has become a fear with me as well. Mostly accompanied with an even bigger fear of approaching bad news.

I’ve learnt that indecison keeps me up at night and i passionately love speaking. Yes! I’ve learnt that speaking is the only thing i haven’t half-done and grown out of quickly.
I’ve spoken almost all my life,although mostly to myself but you get the point.

I learnt that i do have a number of fears. I just realise them differently because of my numerous defense systems.(Nigel will understand this part the most)
My fantasy of being abducted by aliens(minus the probing) when i was 7,has catastrophically turned into a fear of being kidnapped,because i don’t have the time now & i have shit to do in the morning!

I’ve learnt i still haven’t done as much drugs as i think i can because the possibility of being a crackhead excites me whilst its still just a story in my head.

I’ve learnt i’ll always question & I’ll always avoid ugly puppies.

Magritte lovers

Magritte lovers

You,my love, are the centerpiece of my garden
You’re the existence that shuts down all of my fears
And makes the snake one a geographical experience
I’m in love with you all through the day and that’s something that will never be wavered
And at night i go to bed with a proud hope that you’ll be there tomorrow morning so I can admire you more
Forgive me when I get distant
Or when my weaknesses send me far from you
Its nothing powerful enough to dethrone you
I just get lost sometimes..
And my aura gets worn down by the times
I struggle with grief,I struggle with pain, I struggle with the silence in my head at these times
Its not about you, my Dearest…

White hair.

White hair.

What I think? I think at some point we’ll barely see each other age. I think, at this country’s life expectancy rate, old age will become ‘new’. And white hair will be something we tell our kids about at 35 and die at 42. I think at some point all we’ll remember are our younger versions and there won’t be any evidence of us growing old because we won’t. I think we’re losing old age. I think very few of us will wear white hair.

Empathic Guilt.

Empathic Guilt.

Running work errands has made me blind to people’s faces in the street. I barely hear the vendor’s angry voice when I mistakenly step on the edge of their floor mat. Nor do I notice the Mshika-shika (illegal transportation, but sure to ensure survival of  driver’s families) that is 5 seconds from making me a dead pedestrian. Not to mention the blaring voice in the road-side megaphone advertising gingivitis medication and roach solutions. But not today. I saw three of them. All in one walk. It was in different streets so I am quite convinced that they were not related.

The first was about 8 years old, lying down on the roadside, next to a prominent chicken inn in Zimbabwe. His eyes were drenched in tears and he had his arms cupped around his flat stomach that barely showed through his baggy black t-shirt. I have an eye for detail so I noticed that his t-shirt had a quickly fading image of mickey mouse and my writer’s brain went into a whirl of suggestive symbolisms that this held (Thank you English Literature lectures for crippling me). A fading childhood. A dying innocence. It was also quite ironic that he was obviously crying from hunger but he was sitting rigjht outside a food outlet filled with consistent client traffic and yet none had offered even a naked bone of their chicken. Yes, most Zimbabweans prefer to nibble the bone to powder but there must have been at least a new couple that had just met and didn’t wish to cause embarrassment to themselves. I also blamed the indoor waste bins that were quicker to reach than the fast disappearing street dustbin.

The second boy was older. Likely about 12 years old and I didn’t catch his outfit but his eyes left an impression on me. His stare lingered on me as I walked past him trying to avoid his eyes. He called out, “Sister, please”. And that was all. He knew I knew what he was asking for. He only wanted food and that was it. Not money, or a home. Just food. I shook my head sadly and looked away. This was a terrible day to not have any coins with me. With my heart heavy and my pocket empty I trudged forward to fulfil my corporate duties.

The last boy. God. He was staring at a couple that was carefully placing their daughter in the car seat. I slowed down my pace a little to get a better view of what was gripping his attention in this manner. He carefully watched their every movement with careful precision till they started their engine to leave. At this point the boy sniggled but wiped away a tear that had escaped his eyes. Time seemed to stop for me at this point. I know what he was crying for. A family. He just wanted love. A huge dark man suddenly interrupted this scene by yelling at the little boy to move out of the way. Apparently the boy had gotten distracted standing in front of his vehicle. The man vomited insults which I decided to omit from my brain in this particular memory. But the boy’s response is what stayed with me. He quickly oogled at the man without moving. The man then went ahead to rev his engine loudly and the boy backed up immediately. His facial expression displayed frustration and anger, then he said, ” Ipapa tiri vana venyu muchienda kunorara pakanaka mudzimba dzenyu isu tichirara tichirohwa nechando muroad. “. This is translated in English as ” We are likely your child(ren) but you go home to a warm bed whilst we die of the cold in the streets”  The man laughed it off and drove away.

The way the boy yelled it out was humorous but it went in deep. I’m sure the man mentally traced his past coitus sins looking for any possible evidence! It hurt me that I had to see these boys cry all under an hour for the same reason. This was a rare show of emotion, in my case. Most days we think we have these children all figured out. That they are numb to pain now because of the hardships and crime they have experienced in the hard streets Harare. But humanity can’t be wiped off just like that now, can it?

I would’ve explored the town more but my empathy drains me. We have a lot of givers in this city but they have lesser to give now. I had to move on. I had my corporate work to do.

Living with allergies and a fondness for flowers.

Living with allergies and a fondness for flowers.

I first discovered I had allergies when I was 6 years old. I sneezed a little more than the other kids & my eyes mantained a dullish shade,almost like a brown but cleaner. My young skin easily got irritable and I wasn’t allowed to roll around in the grass.

Then came my fascination with colors! Oh my! I may have been left brained on my numerals but I had a strong fondness for colors that made me seem like a retro hippie. Plain material and setups never made me comfortable. I demanded rich colors all around me. And which better resource granted by nature dripping with colors than flowers?!

Flowers in trees,flowers in the bush and flowers right next to the rock.

Flowers in bloom,flowers in a room and flowers close to the dock!

Flowers were my first touch of poetry. I indulged in romanticism as if my life depended on it! The mind orgasm I processed through those descriptive stanzas had me fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of the beauty of poetry, a few of the poets & flowers!🌹🌸🌺🌻🌼🌷💐

But darn it,they made me sneeze! My eyes got duller and i felt more and more light headed but the fondness was heavy and more intoxicating. A visit to the Doc left me keeping my distance. Trust Doctors to keep you from the best things in life. Cakes,Soft drinks,cigarettes,red meat and alcohol. Bummer.

Atleast they can’t stop my flower blogging but I still can’t roll on the grass with the other adults.

All In A Day’s Work

All In A Day’s Work

In my last post I was ranting about how I felt that I deserved a seat in an office somewhere deep in the capital’s CBD. Well, interestingly,a few days after that post I landed myself an administration job in a start up agency. The thrill of starting something new can always be likened to how I respond in all my new relationships. That honeymoon period is priceless and no other feeling can match it. Overtime, however, love begins to see and what it finds is almost always an undesirable. On the ride to work this morning, I was deep in thought thinking about how its almost hilarious that we all wake up so early every morning and wear our ‘work faces’ just so we can become camouflaged from poverty. Like a face we put on to hide our own tired, dreamless and scared face.

I miss breakfast. The kind you sit on a table surrounded by family and feast like that’s all there is to do. The kind where you stare off into space as you nimble on a fresh strand of bacon or polony or whatever it is that your new face has been able to afford you. Life is dreamy that way. But never in an office. I can’t dream of brighter days in an office. The walls cage in my imagination. Outside is where its at. With the many faces and the sea of trees. That’s where my dreams come alive. This post is exactly what happens when you put a hippie in an office! I laugh at this thought and consider for a little while on whether I can properly be categorized as a hippie. I’m not easy to box up. The attempts made to do so seem to satisfy me in their failures

I haven’t blogged in a while because (no, this is not an excuse as my boss would already be accusing) I’m flooded with inferior (Yes, I said it!) forms of writing such as business proposals, reports and strategies. This stifles the soul of my writing and reaches out to my very own. Understand how office robots are manufactured? Stifle the soul. Or don’t install programs that can be substituted for souls!

My cousin thinks I’m ungrateful, aunt says I’m lazy but my mom thinks I’m a star. They are all terribly wrong. I am grateful as fuck! Don’t administrators put in the most work in organisations? I completely adore my mother.

Yes,my thoughts are in shambles and no it is not yet that time of the month. Perhaps this is something to get used to in 3rd world countries. We all have our place.

For Nigel: Our Venus

For Nigel: Our Venus

Today I recorded all the smiles you gave to me mentally

Like when I said those dumb things and when I sunk you deeper inside,especially

I’ll let you know that I fell deeper in love with you today
Like the child within me had fetched the one in you to play
Our love grew a vine of pretty little flowers
Or if we were a superhero we added some cooler powers
You fight hard and in this I feel your passion
The way in which you wear your heart is an attractive trend of fashion
Don’t ever let me slip away whilst in your rage
Allow us to grow and be trimmed as we advance in age.
As the sun rose and colored the sky I felt my soul paint into yours
And that little star rekindle flames past our flaws
The liquor drove me closer to insanity
Then you drove me closer to your lips
We may have locked lips with uncertainty
But your arms around me are definitely for keeps.