And so it starts…

He stares at the sky. Tries to make some sense of it, but he can’t. This is different. He looks at the sheet of paper before him and utters a sigh. No one had foreseen this. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The newspapers were filled with stories of strange happenings. “Miracles”, was oft the term they used. And now as he stared at the sky, the large star shining so bright on this, this silent night, he reaches out for his cellphone.

Elsewhere, in a field not too far away:

Life’s been tough, making ends meet hasn’t been easy, but what does one expect? Indeed, what does life expect of a person that lives to look after a herd, or a group of people. So as they sit, tending their flock by night, they are not prepared for what’s about to take place. Stories are exchanged, tales narrated. Someone points out the star glowing overhead. Someone opines that it must be a sign of some sort. Laughter rains down on this theory. As they stare up ahead a second light appears. It glows bright and it moves towards them. The sheep go on as though nothing is happening, the shepherds know better. For what was once a glowing light moving towards them has taken on the form and features of what is, without a doubt, a man.
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A couple of months past:

She is a young lady in love. She is in the prime of her life and she is happy. She is also, not quite prepared for the light that comes seemingly out of nowhere and the man that steps out of it. She is also not ready for the news he gives her.

“Pregnant?”. It’s as much a question as a statement. He can’t believe it. He knows she has been true to him. Bless her. He is but a mere carpenter, but she loves him so. But she is pregnant and hardly making any sense. She says a man appeared to her in a burst of light and told her she was carrying “The Messiah”. He doesn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he loves her, is crazy about her, on the other; she’s pregnant and as far as he can tell, it’s not his child. Then he too sees the light…
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He looks at the screen on his cellphone after he hangs up. He tries to comprehend what he has just been told. A star shining so bright surely signifies something. And not just anything. This could very well be the savior of whom the people have spoken. He stares at his monitor and then makes his mind up. He sends mail to the third in their little group. “The Wisemen” is how they are oft referred to. Tonight this term takes on a whole new relevance.

It starts tonight and life as they know it, as we all will is about to get some meaning…
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The story so far…

The story so far…

The power company did me in. I realize it sounds like some song now, and yeah, I’m with you…I am SO SICK of it, but that’s what happens. Called them up and they told me the situation was under control. I think that’s code for, “You are sooo f**ked!” coz that’s exactly what I was for a week. The story kept alternating for the first few days and then they just stopped trying. Their creativity waned shortly after telling me I resided in a high priority area and as such should be have my electricity back within a week. Truth be told that there is the breaking point. I mean, the wonderful Americans freaked out after they had no electricity for a couple of hours not too long ago. Conspiracy theorists figured it was some terrorist ploy…oh sure, if we make it such that the infidel can’t play his video games, surf the net and slice his bread he will fall to his knees and know that we are the shit!

Actually, while we are still talking about terror, one of the customer service attendants went in for the Shock and Awe approach that ensured that I was both;

  • Shocked
  • Awed

She told me she understood what I was going through and that it is very bad not to have electricity (no shit!). It is very bad not to have electricity? That’s it? An eternity spent on customer service training sessions and that’s how you quell a pissed off client? What next? Gee mister Lion, I realize the conditions are very harsh here in the jungle, in fact its very bad to be a starving king of the beasts…gee Osama, it is very bad that those infidel continue to trample all over you…Gee Oprah, its very bad Mr. Cruise jumped on your sofa…Gee customer service lady, it is VERY BAD that that’s all you can come up with…

I told her she didn’t have a clue what I was going through. That my entire livelihood depended on electricity. Her response; “but even us we are not making money coz we are not billing you…” I don’t remember her name, so in as much as I’d like to spit venom and bile I don’t have a name to go with it.

When the electricity did come back my PC was dead… in a way that only PC’s can pull off. I switch the thing on and the monitor stares at me as if to say, “Go on, do something, I haven’t got all day.” The PC on its part is humming contentedly, in a way I can only describe as being smug. I found out from a specialist that that is not a good thing. The best kind of PC is the discontented sort that, immediately after starting up, makes all these noises that kind of sound like an electrical appliance is jeering at you. They also sound like beeps…not the attractive kind that I think of whenever I look at a Pussycat Doll…these things are downright freaky, like some catastrophe is around the corner.

Met a pal the other day and he asked me whether I was done with the university. My reply; “isn’t everyone?”. For those of you that don’t quite get it (seeing as it is immensely cryptic) The university was closed thereby forcing us to go on an unplanned holiday. It’s a bitch really coz I’d not counted on this kind of freedom- it’s a little different when your class-cutting days are thrust upon you and are not of your own making.

The Lecturers are pissed off because they are not being paid their dues; the students on the other hand are upset because they, hehe…they..heh…I’m sorry, but it’s a little too much, you will probably agree when I do type it out…the students are miffed coz THEY ARE NOT BEING TAUGHT! (What did I tell you, priceless isn’t it?)

Honestly speaking, I feel for people that think they are getting a raw deal as far as payment is concerned provided they are not Members of Parliament or The Power Company or Telecom companies or…well you get what I mean.

Thing is, I don’t think anyone has seen how far this thing will play out, besides, there’s some lecturers that stress students loads and don’t deserve a pay rise reserved for those hard working upstanding individuals. One of my lecturers for instance.

In other news, I think I need an office type job, you know, the kind where I can quit after a while or crave a new job or sumthin’…So there you have it, that’s what’s been happenin’…

What’s up with you?

Pickin’ Up The Pieces

Like most tales, this one is about me. And yet, when you think about it, as oft you must have, the lead character in this tale could just as easily be you. For you see, sooner or later, we all get high. For some it’s a mild thing that has them fall to the floor and try to wrestle the damn thing and grinning stupidly with satisfaction that it (the floor) has conceded defeat and is making no attempt to get up. Others tend to react a little differently. They find their voices and at that point in time realize that they have some untapped potential as musicians.

The night, as most nights go, was young. Still progressing at a crawl and ever so often stopping and wondering where it was going. As is wont to happen, I too wondered where it was heading. The plan had been to hook up with my buddies and do a gentle drink. The word “gentle” is used here in the most liberal of ways, for the agenda did have the idea of inebriation. Suffice to say, the agenda was drawn up when we were still sober and the word “inebriation” could still make sense.

Every so often, I wondered when last, I’d had a meal. The answer, more often than not, was dinner the night past. Something kept trying to convince me that it was perfectly natural to feel the way I did before binge drinking. In fact, there was a word for it. It left it hanging and if I’d taken the time to process the message, I’d have known that the word… the feeling that wouldn’t go away was DREAD.

I met up with my cousin shortly after he was done eating. My brain took my reluctance to get food as an indication that I was fine and my stomach was content with its enzymes and all. (Unbeknownst to me, my stomach was pissed and was planning to do me in…in a collaborative move with the liver)

We joined a pal of ours who in turn introduced us to her pals. The conversation we had with her pals will go down as…well; I reckon I’d have had more fun watching a blade of grass progress through various stages of infancy…its first fold, its realization that photosynthesis was actually a good thing and the fact that it happened to possess both male and female organs was not weird, it was just expected. As the night went on, I looked around for any solitary blade of grass that wanted some attention.

Our pal on the other hand showed a great deal of concern at our pseudo discomfort (quite like discomfort, but attempts to disguise itself as a smiley face). But we downplayed it for the “normal” occurrence it was. So we got to drinking. Triple Distilled Smirnoff was our poison. I suppose the fact that it’s distilled three times implies, to those in the know, that it will floor you thrice.

A few moments later, another friend turned up. He is not much of a drinker and…actually he is not any bit a drinker, I’m being kind. He suggested we go to Al Zee (there’s product placement for you!) and take in the Rock that was…

We picked up more alcohol; because that’s the sort of thing people do…THEY MAKE MISTAKES DAMMIT! So there it was, my mistake, staring me in the face like a reflection off a rapper’s gold tooth.

I went on to drink…and drink some more. Somewhere along the line, the words Bottoms and Up were uttered in a mostly not-so-perverted way. And I think that single-handedly led to the abrupt end of my night out. …As far as I can tell.

See, I’ve been told that we left Al Zawadi and went on to Mateos and The Cheese Bar, but I haven’t the faintest recollection. I have also been told I spoke to a couple of friends at Al Zawadi, but even that does not register. I do remember handing someone a business card, but for the life of me I can’t remember why I did it. I have an idea of why I gave it away some time back (at a time when I didn’t have the prowess to fashion a note that would have had hearts melt and…stuff)..

So here I am, Picking Up The Pieces….