13 Feb 2012

Why I Don't Want To Go To Church


My 21st birthday anniversary is in a couple of month’s time, to that end I have decided to start taking my fitness a little more seriously. Sit-ups, press-ups, lunges, and two hour walks.

For the first two days, I stuck to this regime, until I felt all the muscles in my body start to give.

 Day three, my stomach muscles felt like someone was pulling them end to end and hammering tunelessly at them.

So I dropped the sit-ups, I figured my stomach was flat and taut enough.

On day four, I had to ditch the lunges. The muscles in my thighs finally gave, all that tugging and pulling to get toned legs wasn’t worth it, besides who needs exercises when you do not have a car?

I do not.

So seven days later I am down to the walks alone.

Let’s see how long that’s going to last.


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Having said that. Something has been bugging me for the past couple of weeks. I cannot seem able to bring myself to go to church. Hush now, do not start judging yet. Listen.

Every Sunday morning I wake up bright and early with the best of intentions. I clean the house and take up my post just outside the gate. Soaking in the sun... that is what I tell people, when really it is just an excuse to stand and stare at people.

The Gumbo’s from across the street leave for church before everyone else in the neighbourhood leaves the house. They are in the Salvation Army.


But they don’t leave all at once. First goes the son, he is nine and then the two daughters, thirty minutes later, mum leaves. Mr Gumbo does not go with them. Every Saturday afternoon he drinks himself into a stupor and does not wake up until the next Monday.
 Bless Mrs Gumbo for staying with him. You should know that their house is right at the end of the street, packed in between two bigger houses. How all five of them stay together in that house is beyond me. Bless Mrs. Gumbo for staying.




After the Gumbos comes Madzibaba Astriledge, he is an apostle/prophet/headman/guru and whatever other odd title you want to place on him. He will take them all. He seems to glide down the street, his long white robes billow behind him, and his almost two metre long wooden stick always manages to stay at least an inch above ground.

His baldhead waves and winks in the morning sun, and I find men with baldheads fascinating.

When he sees me, he starts smiling from at least three houses away.

 A toothless smile that has flies and other little critters flying in and out of his mouth (I believe I saw some doing that the other day). And his cheeks puff out, black and shiny from Vaseline like he is hiding little clouds in his mouth.

He does not say anything to me though.

Merely waves and tucks back his toothless gums in his mouth. I somehow think that perhaps the smile he gives me is contrived.


Next, comes the woman from my church. If you still yourself (that includes your heart), you can feel the little ripples in the earth with each step she takes. Her hips fight for each lunge, to the right, to the left, in a mountainous motion that has your mouth open a little and little drips of saliva dripping out.
Her skirt flits and stops, flits and stops. The moment I see her rounding the corner I know it is time to dash inside and get ready for church.

But I don’t.

I stand there mesmerised (well that's not entirely true), by her and the couple that follows, the little boy on his way home with a loaf of bread. The little girls getting ready to start playing in the street.

And the excuses swelling in my head, and then exploding into a million others in my head.

The biggest and possibly the most dangerous is that I say to myself in a voice so sage I could, in that moment, be a guru,

“You don’t have to go to church to be a Christian.”

I never admit that I am wrong because if I were, I would know but bottom line, LIES ALL LIES!!

Why do I have to go to church?

The answer to the question, “Why do I have to go to church?” is fourfold:


1.       It is in the fellowship of the church where we find Jesus Christ.
2.     It is in the fellowship of the church where we find protection from the demonic forces of evil and sin in this world.
3.       It is in the fellowship of the church where we find encouragement in life.
4.       It is in the fellowship of the church where we become Jesus Christ to the world.

For the reason that I believe Jesus Christ died for me, for that reason alone. I am ditching my crowd watching, people profiling nonsensical Sunday morning activities. Spending Sundays watching TBN is really not the same as the beauty of fellowshipping in Jesus Christ.

10 Feb 2012

The Misadventures of Bob and Morgan: Part Two


We follow our miscreants (read part 1) as they deal with the demands of sharing power, and office life.

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On Thursday, it was reported that ‘mole people’ had allegedly killed the Bob (Bob) and the Morgan (Morgan) and Zimbabweans could not make up their minds about how they felt about that.

The story was a hoax. However, realising that any publicity is good publicity the two quickly launched into an I-am-braver-than-you fest, with the Bob claiming that his escape from the mole people showed that he was brave enough to lead the people for another four years. The Morgan not to be outdone launched a counter attack.

Asked to describe the Morgan’s bravery compared to his the Bob quickly raised his hands estimated that it was not very high and was the equivalent to the fist of a foetus.


Upon further questioning, the Bob admitted that he had in fact never seen the fist of a foetus.



Upon hearing this Morgan grew furious and demanded that Bob estimate again exactly how brave, he thought he was. Appalled that Morgan had called him a liar Bob quickly called a press conference showing the size of the mole people that had attacked Morgan adding that it did not require that much bravery when was attacked by people that tall.



Realising that it was only a matter of time before the people started thinking him a coward, Morgan quickly called a rally to show that how big the ‘mole people’ were .



 The crowd was quickly whipped up into a frenzy and demanded that the Morgan show Bob exactly how much bravery that required. To which Morgan quickly responded by moving his hands round and round in a circle saying that it required, “mountains and mountains of bravery.”



Bob called in the Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad, who said that the ‘mole people’ who had attacked Bob were very presidential, very tall. In addition, that they were not the same ones who had attacked Morgan. All the while Bob stood by his side trying to show the Iranian president how tall he should make them.



Asked to estimate exactly how many would be sent to attack such a Presidential fellow President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad could not seem to make up his mind, and awkwardly raised his hand to show.



This caused such confusion amongst the journalists as they were torn between three and four ‘mole people’ that could have attacked Bob that the police had to be called in.



Feeling pressure from the journalist over the number of ‘mole people’, Bob took to the podium and desperately began retelling the story by increasing the number to five.


On hearing this Morgan rushed to the conference and declared that, “I can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Bob is a liar,”


Knowing this to be true.Grace hung her head in shame and hoped that nobody would see her. Embarassed because Bob was always making up stories about mole people


An unidentified member of the Bob family embarrassed for her uncle, wept.



All the while, Bob continued opening and shutting his mouth, hoping that some bout of inspiration would hit him and get him out of this mess.



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To be continued

9 Feb 2012

Arm Wrestling With A Lesbian

I have a list of sports that i esteem so low i feel none of them
belong in the Olympics and rightly so.

Arm wrestling is not one of them.
I tried arm wrestling once and I am not sure whether it was the mix of
intimidation and humiliation that made me lose, or that for all the
nineteen years of my life I had lived in a state of heightened
self-delusion resulting in my humiliating loss.

It was not C's strength that I found intimidating; it was the starry,
retarded way her eyes focused on me, like Mike Tyson getting ready to
feed. I didn't even try to put up a fight the first few times, but the
celebratory high-fiving and hooting, combined with half a gummy ear's
torso still stuck to my eardrum, were reason to grow delirious.

"Fine, you fucker, let's go!" I yelled.

Getting into position on the floor while my friend T video-recorded
what would inevitably turn into a violent episode of The L Word. I
hoped I could turn my anger and humiliation into a sort of rabies
strength but was reminded time and again who was in charge.

Losing in conjunction with the stadium cheering was not the worst part; after
she beat each one of us, she would leapfrog onto the back of our
heads, crushing our faces into the tiling, and then spank us.
It was beyond embarrassing.

After that, i could never look C in the eye afraid that she would take
any opportunity to remind me how scrawny I was. I did everything in my
wheelhouse to avoid a one on one altercation. I averted eye contact
and generally made sure that we were never alone in a room.

I have not seen C since then. Everything about her scares me. I
suppose it has to do with the fact that she looks like a transgender
villain, and that at the time she was dating a man with shoulders the
size of a barge and a head like a steamroller.

I suppose my problem with her was that she was an unattractive
heterosexual who acted like a lesbian on steroids. That and the fact
that she dressed like a truck driver and cursed like one too. If
anyone had asked me if she were a woman, I would utter and reiterated
that no, I did not believe that she was female and that if we did any
further DNA investigation her constitution would prove me right.

Although her voice did all the proving one needed, it boomed from wall
to wall, end to end. Shaking the rafters of the house. I suspect she
is the reason why the earth would grow silent everytime she spoke.
Even a whisper from her sounded like a scratch to your eardrum.
I wonder about her sometimes, especially now.

Is she married? Living in a house with a white picket fence with her
children, little man girls with broad shoulders and buck teeth.

Or maybe she realised she was a lesbian after all *place-know-it-all emotican*

--
Vulnavia T. Gura
vulnaviag.blogspot.com

6 Feb 2012

I Gave Birth Last Night

Looking back, I realise that I had a smooth labour; my water broke
whilst I was on my way out of the house.

I didn't panic.

My aunt did. She freaked out. Her scream rang out for miles and miles.
I did not see what the fuss was about; it wasn't like I was not the
first one to give birth. But there she was rolling on the floor and
wailing like a banshee.

Odd, birth is such a beautiful thing.

When mama came running she was clutching her purse in one hand and her
holding her phone to her ear,

"Chiiko!" ("What's happening?") I remember shrugging nonchalantly and
turning to pack my nappy bag,
"Nothing hey, auntie is crying because my water just broke,"

"Oh God, are you alright?" she asked rushing to my side.

"I'm fine mama, it's just I can't find any baby clothes, I totally
forgot to buy, all I have is one of the old nappies you used to use
and a bib, I doubt the baby will be needing that anytime soon but let
me just pack it in case,"

Aunt Gladys was now writhing noiselessly on the floor, occasionally
letting out a ragged sigh.

Her theatrics were annoying.

"Mama, tell her to get out, go call a taxi or something to take me to
the hospital."

"Gladys get up come on, we need to get V to the hospital,"

Mama yanked her off the floor and held her up as she walked them both
out the door. I could feel the baby trying to make its way out now. It
did not hurt though, I just felt like I needed to use the toilet,
through the wrong hole.

"Hang in there," I mumbled running a hand over my belly.

I heard the far away rumble of traffic, drawing closer until I
realised that I was standing on a footpath in the city.

The baby was starting to crown and I wondered vaguely where mama had
gone off to. She should have only been a minute, but it seemed like
she had been gone for ages.

A chair appeared in front of me and I sat down waiting for her. But
the baby was coming and I couldn't hold it off any longer. So, lying
back I reached between my legs let out a little grunt and gripping the
baby by its head I pulled the it out of the safe confines of my womb.

It did not make a sound, neither did it move. Instead it remained
rigid in my palm, ramrod straight and cold as ice. I pulled at the
umbilical cord, and it came right off.

Disconnected I laid the baby on the bench and watched it for a while,
I felt nothing for it. No pulling of heartstrings, no sense of loss,
only a clinical detachment.

It opened its eye's then, mewled for a just a split second and let out
an ear bleeding shriek. Piercing the brittle walls around my heart.
For the first time in my life, I felt love. Total love for another
human being. I was humbled.
------------- ---------
In case you are wondering what sort of madness that is, I will tell
you. That was a dream I had last night. Scared me so much I spent the
whole day pressing my stomach just to make sure was not pregnant. I
circled a pharmacy twice, trying to decide whether or not to go in and
buy a pregnancy test kit. If you have an inkling as to what it may or
may NOT mean, do tell ;)

3 Feb 2012

Why I Should Not Stop Blogging


I suspect, because of the blatant disregard I have showed my blog over the past couple of weeks that some of you have upon realising that there was no new post on the blog tried to put in words your disappointment, at such total disregard.
 If so, you are not alone.
Every morning, I wake up and try to squeeze my head of a little bit of awesomeness. Now instead of my hourly catatonic flashes of inspiration, I seem now to only be getting them in fortnightly dribbles that seem to fade before I can get a firm hold of them.
And because of that the blog has suffered.
Here is what I imagine some guy I afford a comedic reprieve might have gone through because of my insensitivity.

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Dear V,
During lunchtime, today, I tried to read your blog. And so, I waited for my boss to leave, when I was absolutely positive that she had left the building, I settled under my desk with my laptop in tow.

After taking a bite from the apple momsy had packed for me lunch, I logged on to your blog site.

I was puzzled when I found myself staring at yesterday’s post, and so I refreshed the page and patiently waited for the page to reload.

Nothing.

I waited awhile, and then tried again.

Still nothing.
Today was the first day in weeks that you were not there, I was confused. Please come back

Yours truly,
X
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Dear V,

For three days now, you haven’t been on your site.

Why? WHYYY???

MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU IS EMPTY.

My body is too seems to be changing because of it. I began by feeling a bit constipated, then the feeling seemed to move up and settle in my tummy. Initially i didn’t know what it was until this morning day I watched a documentary on Hitler that had me giggling for a bit. The feeling lifted then, but it’s back now.

How does it make you feel knowing that you have me in a funk like this?

What was it I did to you, for you to treat me this way? Abandoning me with no prior notice of intent. Did i not praise you enough? If that is the case, allow me to praise you now;

You are so awesome!

You have such a way with words, so posh, so British. My writing could never hold a candle to yours. The way it flows from your hands, so flowingly.

And your avator, your teeth shine like the moon during a full moon. Upon seeing them I was not surprised that you wrote the way you did.

I realise I could be wrong, so i have come up with a list of other alternative tragedies that could have befallen you.
You said that you liked to sleep in the raw, so i suspect.. and this is just conjecture- upon seeing your marvellous body, the cat burglar who had broken into your house, forgot what they had come for and stole you instead.



If that is so, I shall soon write a letter to your kidnapper imploring him to at least allow you to blog about your adventures in captivity.

Maybe you got mauled to death by a pack of rabid dogs.



Or perhaps you really were Sleeping Beauty after all and have fallen into a deep coma.



If that is the case, I shall soon ask for leave from work and come and kiss you myself. I noticed from your avi, that your head is cocked in the most flirtatious manner, surely you are beckoning for me to come and  claim you. The very thought had me banging my head on the desk as i stood up fast when my boss came in. V you make me so nervous.

Perhaps an evil co-worker did something mean to sabotage your work? You know so much about fashion I am more than convinced that you work in the fashion industry and I know how mean some of those girls can be. For that i cannot help you. I am bullied incessantly at work, it is horrible. The other day one of my co-workers gave me a wedgy and hung me from the company flag.



Perhaps you turned into a cat and got run over by a bus.



Or maybe whilst you were out jogging you fell into a ditch and nobody can find you


Or maybe there was a windstorm in your hometown and a strong gust of wind blew you up a tree?



Or perhaps you are suffering from  severe constipation



I have to go now V, because I have run out of ideas, although I do so hope that none of this has happened to you. Whatever the problem, i do hope it’s resolved soon, because I want you back, I depend on you V.

Yours truly
X