Chronicles of Fly

When i left namibia for france in july 2010 i was anxious but not afraid. in my mind i knew that this great adventure that i had undertaken was goin to change things for the better, and i would get to learn french "women love dudes that speak french, makes them go dizzy". When me and my partner in crime arrived (identity withheld), we were given a proper namibian welcome that made home feel a little closer. The namibian crew that was already there had finished their stay and gave us the lay of the land. My boys rudolf and Abisai gave a few insights on the french ladies, apparently the more strange you look the more attrative you are to white women. they called it the first law of attraction, with my dreadlocks i had killed two birds with one small stone.I got a few style and gadget tips from Nerago, she suggested my new alias Filemon_Fly (maybe i should name a daughter after her?). but the most profound piece of advice came from from Ndapewa Shipopyeni, who is so full of wi

I usually begin with some philosophical material laced with a joke or two to break the ice, and then I tie my introduction to the main theme of my article so the reader can connect the two before I deliver the sermon/make a bit of sense. But since its #Nam December (new name for festive season) and most of you have weddings to crash, ceremonies to attend and generally things to do, I will just get straight to the point.  I have four sisters, three belong to number 1 and one to number2 (Confused then read this one first (click, then read) ). I call them the awesome four, personalities and moods swings that would make a plot of a martin Lawrence comedy. These girls have made my holiday interesting; shall we name them and shame them then? Okay, you ready?, set, let’s go.  I will use code names to avoid getting killed with a cooking spoon or a pair of heels. The oldest is P (as in the letter P, pronounced P-eeh), if her height is not intimidating enough her no nonsense approach will

I’m on holiday, did I hear someone say “you lucky bugger!” Well yes I am. Most of my friends have to work over the holidays so they only get 3 to 4 days of over Christmas, and most them envy me. They also want to wake up after 8 AM and clean their mom’s fridge out. Well that was how my holiday was supposed to pan out, but those weird individuals called parents don’t have the same view. When they hear the word “holiday”, they start imagining all sorts of time consuming, energy sapping chores for the extra pair of hands home from Varsity. Sometimes I think they even have meetings to make sure that while there is extra help around the house, it is imperative to maximise and exploit it (okay maybe I’m going overboard, but yaa’ll know what I mean). So my holiday has turned into a working holiday, now I’m not being a sissy but I was not built for manual labour, my body is just one of those that do not respond well to physical exertion. 20 minutes of shovelling dirt and my hands turn