Scribbles

My fingers are itchy, my pocket is empty, and our   Honourable   Finance Minister called our President a murderer. Parliament was shocked. I was delighted. maybe finally someone we'll start a revolution! The accountant wants to rape the president's daughter; I am appalled and amused at the same time. No means no. But my wallet has been raped TIME and AGAIN. E very time   I pay more than I should,it cries out, "no!". So I laugh at the accountants boldness and pat him on the back, and applaud his bravado...  Rape the president's daughter, indeed. I told a man, to remove his hand from behind me today. I told him to release me from the grip his yellow coated foul smelling armpits had me in. Perhaps he expected me to ease back and lean on him. Or perhaps the bus made him feel comfortable, at ease. Perhaps he was making a statement. I know he made one to me, "check your armpits before you leave the house." heck make that the bathroom!

I went through so many of these i felt like a junkie How do I put into words what was going through my head when I wrote my first and only book at 14, a romance novel at that. I was going to send it over to the good people at   Mills & Boon . After all, their books followed a simple enough plot.  An older man in love with a much younger woman.   Believe it or not that is still my idea of an ideal relationship, but let’s leave that for another day. What I wonder though, about my book, is where I got the content from because believe it or not, I actually got to page 60. Now, I had no idea what went on between a boy and girl let alone a man and woman. Oftentimes I found myself wondering what all those people talked about with their boyfriends for hours on end. I asked Carol once, and her reply was a mixture of bashfulness and secrecy. Only years later did I figure out what that look meant. My one attempt at romance during my 14 th   year was with one Peter who ha

i did something with my life. i climbed to the top of the Delta building and erected a Castle Lager sign. No fear of heights for me. I expected to see smog, settled over the city but it's safe to blame developed countries for global warming. the air above Harare is clean..even if you happen to be right next to a beer boiler Man gazing at signage, the pull of Castle Lager is phenomenal. The view is breathtaking, and the wind fights to push you over the edge.  but like someone  once said any aerial  view is priceless. Moreso for someone like me who has never been on a plane. this is the sign that Vulnavia built and that is the man who helped Vaal build it. gratifying to know that something you made will be seen by  a lot of people. even if those people just flick their eyes to it an look away. my vanity couldn't stand me being left out of this montage. so there i am with one of the little elves that helped. sweet o

I am no fan of violence but there are a couple of things i'll give concession to: 1. A conductor (Hwindi) being beaten up by a woman,  2.Hwindis beating each other up,  preferably  to a pulp. That is what I call gratifying violence. Or better still 3. a civilian coming up to a hwindi and beating the living daylights out of him. I mean what fun? What joy? For me and everyone else around.  Imagine us piping in.A bite of the foot, savaging of the clothes, hair coming out in clumps, a resounding clap to the left ear. Nail scratches from one cheek across the lips to the other. The crack of bone chilling crack of rib bones cracking. A heavy  thud and a yell from outside bring my thoughts back to the present; it seems there’s been an accident. Some woman dressed in red is howling hysterically. The car she was in just got hit by a fella on a motorcycle. In his  defence  I doubt he actually saw her, the poor guy must have been seeing red. And like a moth to

I like the way everyone is so philosophical on social networks. So witty they are, and if it's not natural they fake it.   It’s not their fault though. The world is cold and intolerant to stupid people. So you click on a post full of clever little sayings and poetry... not forgeting quotes of famous people...you slink away in shame. Hoping and knowing that nobody noticed that you passed by. You slink away because really you can’t make heads or tails of those quotes. And those poems, really? Who talks like that? Heck it’s ok to be dumb as long as nobody's watching. But just in case somebody guesses that you passed by. Do what I do. Click on the like button. Heck it’s  The Emperor’s New Clothes all over again. (Gotta love that dead dude Hans Christian Anderson for such a great read)

I once had an American pen pal who kept asking me if I saw lions in my front yard and rode bareback on elephants to my bush school. The Africa she knew was confined to silly Eddie Murphy movies and doccies on Discovery Channel that focused on the plains of the Serengeti and the Masai people of Kenya.  ( i fought the temptation to send her one of these) I too knew nothing of where she came from, save for what I had seen on telly, not the documentaries which then I had no access to. In this way yes my home was backward.  I only had access to ZTV for information. And the place she came from was fantastic, who could blame her for thinking that the world was my urinal and I had no access to tap water? Or for the pity that seemed to ooze through every word, every punctuation mark, “how is it,” she asked “do you stay warm at night?” “Do you sleep around the fire in your hut?” Far be it for me to say that our house was a solid brick construction with asbestos roofing. Much li

Homeless man, have you been to a tap lately? Your face looks hard and caked with dirt. Do you know the coolness of water on your face? Do you look forward to its lingering caress down your cheek like I do? or do you go on, without a care and your heart content. Is your belly filled like mine? With tasty treats and spicy meats. Do you scrounge and scavenge for emptiness to fill your stomach? Do you sleep at night like I do?  Warm, safe. Or do you dread the cold fingers of the night as they caress and stroke and engulf.  Do you worship the African sun like I do? Or do you dread its heat? For you cannot take anything off. Like a snail you carry all your belongings with you. Saddened and burdened. Tired and hungry. Why do you dress like I do not? In old clothes tattered and torn. In rags and dirt and plastic bits. Do you not worry about the seasons? The colours I wouldn't be seen in? Do you preen and admire your reflection as I do? Or do you turn away in di

I dressed warm today, bundled myself in a coat and packed a flask of hot hot coffee. The sky was overcast and the wind was doing its best to blow me back, I was ready for it dressed for it. Too bad I had to suffer the conductor who refused to give me my change. Had me holding on to my handbag whilst I ran after him. Flustered and panting, fighting to sound firm authoritative whilst rearranging and arranging my clothes.  I gave him a good talking to, but that didn't get me my change. Amazing how 40c can cause such a hysterical foul exchange of words (foul on his part and hysterical on mine).  I got it in the end. With a curse and eyes brimmed with tears. Female manipulation still works on these buffoons. So I left with my coin in my purse and my dignity left in the mud where he stood with a curse hanging on his lips… I cursed too, as I fought to wipe the mud of my shoes. In my head I cursed him to hell and back. I grabbed him by the collar

Outside my window ... a parked car, a dark wood shed and an unkempt lawn. A cold wind blows ceaselessly, and a shy sun peeks throught dense cloud cover.there is nothing else to see save for a potholed road and the odd car going by. I am thinking ... coffee, warm fires and long baths. I am thankful ... for letters from the grave, strangers and the lessons that are thrown at me everyday In the kitchen ... an old man tinkering away at the pots, water boils over. The smell of beef fills the air. A loud curse and a rush to the sink. He’s cut himself the old man has. My tummy rolls, I guess I’ll pass lunch today. I am wearing ... a red overcoat and fine hounds tooth slacks. That’s all you can see really. Inside I am dressed for summer. Ready for the sun. I am creating ... a thought. To form a word. To become a habit. To become me. I am going ... to listen to music, to dispel this cloud that lingers around me, that makes me shiver so. I am won

Make big promises. Burn your boats. Set yourself up in a place where you have few options and the stakes are high. Focused energy and serious intent will push you to do your best work. You have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. (Better than the alternative)

I'm normally not much of a mascara wearer as I have quite thick eyelashes already (it was the first thing my mother noticed about me when I was born! Forget ten fingers and toes, it's all about lashes!), so I oftentimes don't see the difference with or without. coming from a family of large eyed females, i've never felt the need to draw further attention to them. save for a dash of neutral  coloured eye-shadow, all this to draw attention to the colour. and not so much the surface are they   take up. also.  besides women wear make up for romantic reasons. or more  importantly  the peacock parade. i cant use that to make up my mind either. ever since i started having relations with my boyfriend his feelings on wearing any have ranged between indifference and a sloshed revelation...he thought it made me look sophisticated, but that was once long ago. so long ago that i sometimes think that i made it up. although he did once send me a text asking me not to wear any.

Once you wake up late your day is bound to go downhill from there. You can’t find anything to make lunch with, so you ditch lunch and suffer your first hunger pangs the minute you walk out the door. You can't seem to get a bus and when you do get on the fare is doubled and because your luck is so bad you get squashed in between two fat ladies, who in your opinion should pay double. A fitting punishment for people who fail to realize that their weight affects not only themselves but everybody else who has to suffer through their heavy breathing and constant wheezing. Not only that butt do you have to go through the agony of contact with their skin which seems to have a perpetual sheen of sweat! By the time you get into town, you smell just like them. Sweaty and stale. You are relieved because finally you can get off the bus but appalled at the time. All that suffering was for naught. And all those great sayings of the ages seem to mock you. No, there is no ligh

I feel like someone put me in a washing machine and forgot to take me out again… Or perhaps  I feel rightly like someone who just experienced a public holiday placed inconveniently at the beginning of the week. Lulling you into a no-work-yeay-fun lassitude. Which is abruptly overridden by a hectic midweek start of a working week. Because of that, I have the worst type of hangover.  It is not alcohol induced so I cannot blame it on some vile chemical downed during ill thought out drink to impress weekend festivities. No, it is my brain that is hungover. It just won’t compute.  Like the brain of a 6year old pumped with too much mathematics…Or an abacus which simply does not understand the way of standard deviation. it is in a mental rut, So used to the inane nature of television, twitter and facebook that it refuses to call forth a single accounting standard, or the reason for my being here at work today asides of course the forced activity that is br

Hwindi - (shona) an uncouth conductor Karma is an Amazon of a bitch with a sense of humour. Everyone complains about how hwindis always manage to tuck them under their armpits and try as they may, to get away they never quite manage. I felt sorry for myself the other day when I sat next to a fella who was hell bent on reading my eBook with me. Mind you it was on my phone, which made it awkward when i had to scroll down before he was done reading. Mind you the awkwardness of our situation was not helped by his insistence on breathing with his mouth open. Nothing wrong with that if you are familiar with oral hygiene or the occasional mouth wash. With their foul mouths and the things they spurt you would think that once in a while a hapless mum/ wife/ aunt would at least take the time to rinse out their mouths with soap. but nobody bothers anymore everyone goes about their business not caring that once in a while you need to take that pail of soapy water and give y

i have verbal diarrhea, which comes out through my hands. i say things and then i think later. lately i have been saying a lot of things. posting a lot. the best form of escapism. a thousand followers and all of them dote on me -except for my sister, but thats a story for another day. so there i am social-networking. talking to my cyber crowd. there lost in my made up reality i forget all about the real world. about my real relationships.and the people that really matter. here they don't matter, hapless pawns i use to embellish my avatar. the fuel for my likes, my comments and my pokes. everybody wants to be friends with me. this is my reality. it doesn't matter that i hurt the people that matter. this is the one place i get my flashing lights and my red carpet. the Picasso to the life i want, the spider to my social web. reeling them in. becoming their go to person. i love to be loved. i love to be referenced. to have them all come to me. their oracle. i blame it on my chi