Scribbles

My 21 st 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. --------- 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

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

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

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 i

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. ------------- 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 logg