Chronicles of Fly

Ah, the end of another year. The way calendar years just sprint past, you’d think time is on steroids or something. Anyways, due to the fact that I am neither famous nor notorious enough to make the Namibian newspapers list of personalities for the best and worst of 2014. I have decided to follow Job Amupanda and just do my own thing, right here on my blog, my little republic where I am dictator and saint – at the same time. So here goes. 2014 was? The year I sold my imaginary dankie Botswana, started over and decide to follow my passion – becoming a fully-fledged grammar Nazi. 2015 will be? Hopefully the year I gain some fame, notoriety or a government tender. Just something to make me special, city of Windhoek plot eligibility type of special. Strangest dream of 2014? Same weird dream I have every year, I am still in UNAM and don’t have enough credits to graduate. Not strange to most, but to me, it’s terrifying. Weirdest place you woke up in 2014? It really wasn

I have a friend, no – not that kind of friend. The platonic kind, a normal friend – as normal goes. She’s a geologist during the day. But, she’s a fashion designer and photographer in her spare time. She has a side hustle. An alternative income generating activity that not only pays the bills but it feeds the creative hunger. Bills don’t pay themselves. I have a lot of friends who have side hustles in addition to their main hustle of a 9 – 5 job in their chosen profession, even I have a side hustle. Three guesses what it is. So why to graduate professionals have side hustles? Why do they moonlight as Disc Jockey’s (DJ’s), stand-up comedians, writers and fashion designers? Are they greedy? Why didn’t they just study music, performing arts and literature? Did they sell their dreams for a paycheque at the end of the month? Epangelo nali talepo nawa mpo. I’ve been a geologist since 2012. I make a decent living, I am good at my job. But, I would hardly say that it makes me the happiest pe

I love December as much as I hate it. My memories of December's past are a cocktail of  irony. It's a melange of the best and the worst, although the latter prevails.   My uncle Abed died in December, unexplained and under a cloak of unknowns. he was my favourite uncle, it sucks that I never got to know him intimately. I inherited his favorite pair of shoes (Don't ask), the finest made pair I'd ever had. I had them for a year, never dared to wear them until I had to. Somehow I naively thought he wouldn't like me wearing them. What if his spirit still lived in them? Ah, the naivety of youth. So they collected dust until I couldn't patch the holes in the soles of my school shoes - the result of too many 7 aside soccer games on the netball court. I hate December as much as I love it.   My younger brother Natangwe died in December, unexplained and under a cloak of unknowns. Just like our uncle before him, he left this world and we still don't know the intricac