Chronicles of Fly

I hate Mondays. I open my eyes, just to realise that I am not dreaming, that sound is my alarm going off. I set the stupid thing 6 hours ago, but it feels like I've only been asleep for 20 minutes. I reluctantly drag myself to the shower (I am now taking showers under 10 minutes, miracles do happen),   my mind fully aware that I have a bus to a catch, while my body keeps screaming, “F*%k this S**t, take me back to bed.” Unfortunately, sanity and the mind prevailed. 15 minutes later, I'm in the kitchen, yelling at the kettle to hurry the f**k up or I won't have time to finish eating my breakfast, again. I'm distracted for a moment, I walk to the couch to put my shoes on, my feet have realised what I've known for a while. Winter has arrived. In fact, it's sitting in a spinning chair playing with the dials on the weather machine, probably asking itself, “Let's see what happens in Windhoek, if I make it rain in Cape Town?” I’m stirring the sug

The victorious Brave Warriors class of 2015 (Cosafa website) The team hoists the coach up in the air (Cosafa website) One day, I will be a father. I will tell my children about the 30 th of May 2015, the day the Namibian men’s soccer team won the Southern African Soccer Championship (COSAFA) cup. In my head, it goes like this. Daughter: Dad, tell the story of how the Warriors won the COSAFA cup, please. Me: Guys, I’ve already told you that story twice this week. Son: But it’s our favourite! Me: Well, it was the year 2015. We have just changed presidents, his Excellency Hage Geingob and his swag were on the warpath against poverty, Gal level had since long broken up, and Xenophobia was still a thing. We had put faith in Ricardo Manneti as our coach, and his misfiring team had shown promise, albeit flashes of it. Sometimes it was working, and then there were times where it was like watching Bafana Bafana . How were we to know, that Benson Shilongo