Chronicles of Fly

It’s just after 10 a.m. and I’m bored out of my skull. By now I would be high on caffeine and deadlines, instead I’m at a restaurant, wasting a perfectly good Thursday morning. Two Afrikaner dames in front of me fill the air with annoying chit chat. How many times can someone say “pragtig”? I indulge in people-watching, as I wait for my cup of java. My first warning came nine months ago. The director screamed it across the newsroom for everyone to hear. “Saara! You don’t shit where you eat!” The saliva splatter hadn’t even dried, before he thrust the letter in my face. A written warning – evidently writing about the gambling habits of high profile government ministers was not something I should have been doing. So much for “transparent and informative reporting” – the company slogan. My editor got off with a slap on the wrist. The waiter brings my coffee. He flashes a smile, and asks “Sorry for the delay. Will that be all?” He’s fishing for a tip. Sanette and Saartjie burst into high

Having siblings is weirdness on another level, especially when you have many of them. The strangeness is in the relationships, or lack thereof – some siblings are so estranged that you wonder if they even shared the same womb. But there is always that one sibling you are incredibly close to, most likely it will be the one that followed you out of the womb. There is an intimacy, an understanding, and a bond that words cannot quite describe. The hardest thing you can endure, is losing that sibling. Probably only eclipsed by losing a parent. It hits you hard, so hard that it might take you along, you might lose the will to live and follow them to the grave. I’ve seen it happen. It takes time, all healing does.  It takes courage, and it will require a friend to pick you up now and then. But, eventually you overcome it, you learn to live without your sibling. But, you never forget them. Once in a while you stop and cease everything, they’re all you think about, and the memories s

They say that politics is something that is so complex that it is better left to those best equipped for it – politicians. In Africa it is said that politics is a realm for those who dodged colonial regime bullets, and their descendants. Which is why I am particularly intrigued by the curious case of one Donald Trump . Donald is not a politician, he’s a businessman best known for a reality TV Show (The apprentice) and his hair implants – which look like they’re impersonating dog fur. Yet, the Donald is the Republican Party’s presidential candidate, even science has no explanation for that.  I have colleagues who are fascinated by the Donald, they say that he gives off a sense of power and iron will, he says what he wants and feels. Hitler also said what he wanted and felt, look how well that turned out? Trevor Noah found it fitting to compare Trump to an African dictator and that shoe fits perfectly, he should just buy up a country in West Africa and declare himself presid