Leaving traces
I was lying in bed, crippled by Sunday morning laziness. I was too tired to get out of bed, but not sleepy enough to drift back into dreamland. I was in quite a pickle, what to do? I decided to listen to radio, and not just any radio station, I tuned into ‘The’ radio station. Fresh Fm. They have this disc jockey who hosts the morning show on weekends, Walla bantuan, “die man met die plan om af te gaan.” He’s a cross between a philosopher and a love guru, playing love songs and filling the role of agony aunt at the same time. It’s a great show though. So a girl calls in, actually a young woman. She was pissed that Walla was going off on young Namibian women, he was complaining about their lack of domestication. “These Instagram girls, they just know how to take pictures of outfits, but they refuse to cook.” Walla was fed up that young women just don’t want to break their nails preparing a meal, they will demand that you order a pizza or something. Clearly Walla was fed up with take awa