Yesterday, I was just like you. Pretty much. I thought that girl was cute, thought she had a wonderful smile, that her smile lit up the room that she took my breath away. That there were endless possibilities, if I could just gather the nerves and tell her… but it’s too late. Too late to regret. I went out just as you did, hang out with my pals and had a great time. As you undoubtedly did I don’t even know how it happened or when it happened, but it did. It may have been that sip I took from the glass, the one I joked about not being strong enough, as the hours pass me by, I wonder am I? Am I strong enough? It may have been from that suggestion that we share that last drink, that we pass the liquid from one to another, because I was shy, but now I find I may be shy no more. In the end may be that’s what being shy is for… was for.

I got home, feeling a little tired, feeling spent. I retired, in anticipation of the hangover that would undoubtedly come. My last thought as I closed my eyes and drifted off, “I’m getting too old for this shit”. Now I don’t know whether I was right, whether my assessment was spot on, I will never know.

I woke up bathed in sweat, with joints hurting in ways suggestive. I should have known, perhaps I did, but denial was so close, I reached out and it’s the course I took.

I called up the boda-boda guy, told him I needed to go to the clinic, asked him whether he knew where it was. He had a rough idea. Good man.

I presented my health insurance card to the lady at the reception, she took it from me, with her gloves, she appraised it. She looked at me, didn’t seem to think I was a threat, asked me to go to the waiting area. I did.

I pulled out my book, the novel I’d got from my friend because I hadn’t read for ages and because I hoped it would inspire me. Inspire me to go on, to fulfill the promise I’d made not too long ago when I’d been inspired.

My chest hurt a little, but I figured it was a cough, my sister had only just recently recovered from one, it only made sense that I should have one. The waiting area was empty, may be because it was too early, may be because people didn’t want to take any chances. In the corner, looking at me, a mother and her child, on the chair next to mine; a grandfather type with his impatient son. Once or twice I’d catch the glance of a nurse, pretty and brown and I’d smile. Then I’d realise the futility of it all, she’d know what I’ve got and her assessment would not favour me.

I buried my head in the story I was reading, my thoughts with me. Then the doctor called out my name. Seemed pleasant enough. I started to pack my book in the bag when my  reality and my denial came crashing into each other. All it took was a drop, one drop of blood as my nose let it out and the truth hit me as more flowed. Hit me so hard I was blinded to the panic around me. I didn’t see the mother grab her daughter and run. Was deafened. Didn’t hear the son shout out that they should go, didn’t hear the little girl scream.

It all happened so fast, I am now in a ward, isolated, alone and abandoned. I see my family. But there’s a glass between us. They daren’t come in. I don’t blame them. But that they are here means a lot to me, makes me wish I could fight harder. Be stronger. But its too late. I’m not alone in here. Some are far worse than I am, closer to meeting their maker than I, but in the end we will meet. We shall compare notes, wonder how it happened. For now I feel a tinge, a tinge of remorse. Dreams not fulfilled, hopes not achieved. So much left unsaid. If I’d be allowed a moment, a few seconds to make good I would. Lord knows I would. I’d say I’m sorry, say I was wrong, say I loved you. If I had the chance I’d say it all, but now I can’t and to think, yesterday, I was just like you.


So I’m Grabbin’ My Hair And Tearin’ It Out

What she wore was blue,

It matched the mood,

A lump formed in a throat,

No emotion expressed,

But they knew…

ReinBo Flaffi Bani

And now a tale about my visit to the barber over the weekend… It goes without saying that no pictures will be posted.

Ever felt that your hair is getting unruly? That try as you might it just won’t look “kempt”? It takes on an appearance like there’s clusters on your head. I suppose this shouldn’t be a bad thing, but the society we live in seems to be big on hair. So I went to my barber; a guy that always makes me feel like I have forced him to postpone an appearance in a music video.

He dresses up like one of those hip hop types and fortunately doesn’t grow his nails to levels that suggest he may be one of those touchy types… you know the kind, long nails, a hint of a lisp and behaviour some may construe as gay…just some, you realize. In some parts of the world, its absolutely normal for a man to…. actually at some point even in some churches… moving right along.

So we get into some conversation over soccer. I’d like to state that there are some discussions you do not get into with people holding sharp objects to whom you have entrusted your “looks”. Soccer discussions happen to be at the top of the list. The other things usually pale in comparison. I was fortunate that he did not take offense to my suggestion (appalling in its very nature I now realize) that he was a Chelsea supporter.

Then the electricity went away. No one knows for sure where it goes during such occurrences, for you see, the power company justifies this action by telling us that people in other areas have been given our electricity for a bit, whereas said people claim to have absolutely no recollection of having seen our, or anybody else’s power in their locales.

Thanks to the miracle that is technology, power can be derived from a box. Not large amounts of power, just a little…enough to get an electric device going. The barber’s box however, a generator if you will, seemed to have a certain shyness about it at first. One I suspect it derived from suddenly being yanked out from under a seat. However after adapting to its new environs ( right in the middle of the path to the bathroom) it gained a new lease on life and roared some.

In hindsight, it appears, that’s what it did best, for it barely produced power. So little was the electricity, it couldn’t spark a conversation. However, I reckon it was just enough to power up the radio, where I’m sure the Barber keeps sound bytes if barber-y equipment in action. I came to this conclusion at that moment when he was attempting to trim my moustache and all I heard was the sound but experienced no cottage of follicles.

Without warning, the electricity returned from its stroll, and my haircut was concluded.

I glanced at myself and realized I was in dire need of something to get rid of razor bumps. I asked him for a recommendation and he said something that sounded like Bum patrol. Given that he had no long nails or a trace of a lisp, I can only assume that it was in fact Bump Patrol. That anyone would name a product thus makes no sense, then again nothing ever does…this piece serving as proof of that.

* SPOILER * This piece barely makes sense. Happy reading. * END Of SPOILER*

A state of contemplative repose : The Text

Dennis is jealous. I am not. . .and yet, its a better place to be. For right now, I am confused. A little. Some things you just can’t explain. Like taxi park incidents.

Take for instance, those times you are in your taxi, minding your business and this dude tries to break the window so he can sell you a watch. Seriously now, if you’re going to inflict some sort of damage, offer me something I could use. Like an English-Luganda dictionary. That way I can hurl obscenities at the taxi conductor,erm, person when he inflates my fare like he thinks I’m a CHOGM delegate.

Or the times there’s a dude going around selling stuff like combs, earrings and all that when suddenly, he looks at you and all of a sudden he is selling toothpaste and drugs to enhance your manhood… WHAT IS UP with that? I know I am not alone. This **** happens to everyone. Its like the gods look down and think, heh, look at that dude, let’s have some fun with him.

I might have lied at some point. . . I could be jealous..I may not care to actually acknowledge it coz that’s what I do. I chill and refuse to acknowledge stuff and watch as stuff goes by…

… I’ll be mildly preoccupied, thinking of nothing else when I’m hangin out…I’ll look for some sort of distraction, but that won’t work. And even if I did feel something, and i just might…I’ll never tell….I am The 0ne

In a state of Contemplative Repose

I didn’t break my promise, yours is coming up soon…