Chronicles of Fly

I was scrimmaging through my belongings the other night, I found my notebook. Little book with a brown and blue cover, I opened it and dust sprung from the pages like the cobwebs from an old cupboard during a Saturday spring clean. In between the pages I found the first letter that she ever wrote me. She was right, seeing her handwriting is very weird. Seeing it again after almost two years makes it even weirder.  Every word made me nostalgic, I read with the concentration of a kid in first grade made to read aloud to his classmates by an evil scheming teacher. Every sentence hurt and every paragraph was more unbearable than the last. It hurts; it still hurts and even though I’m over her it still hurts. I could die and be resurrected 200 years from now, reading that letter would still hurt. Her words although simple are very moving, time could pass and their effect would not fade. She was adamant that I was the one guy who she could not stay away from or forget no matte...

Unless you live under a rock, I am pretty certain that you were captivated and enthralled by the sporting spectacle that was the 30 th Olympiad, hosted by those cultured and well behaved brits. I am also sure that most of you now know London intimately by now. Most of you know who Usain Bolt is, how fast Micheal Phelps can swim when chasing after Chad Le Clos, Mo Farrah is british even though he could pass for an Ethiopian and that beauty and elegance can run and damn! Can it run! Just looking at Alyson Felix makes me think naughty thoughts. Who can forget the opening ceremony, which was pretty much a world geography lesson. Who would have thought that Micronesia existed? Everyone was catered for, women swooned over David Beckham (even I swooned, did you check out the dudes Tuxedo? Twas pure class), James Bond and her majesty the Queen did some espionage (the real Queen, not DJ Zinhle), Rowan Atkinson did his best Mr Bean performance to date, I found out that it was a brit who invente...

In 2008 I helped out my lecturers by assisting them on field trips for the whole year for free, i volunteered so i could learn by teaching and passing on the little i know. Best decision i have ever made. At this moment in time, I am one very content and deliriously happy young man. I could jump on a couch, scream I’m in love and just go berserk. But just look at how well that turned out for Tom Cruise, so I’m going to take a rain check on that. It wasn’t always like this though; I wasn’t always smiling from ear to ear. Before this moment there was heartache, there was struggle and there was frustration. Things went through a slump longer than Kim Kardashian’s marriage. This is the story of perseverance and patience, there is no romance in this story, but there is only reality. I graduated in 2010 at the top of my geology class; I was the cream of the crop, la crème de la crème as the French say. So it was no surprise when I bagged a full scholarship for further studies in Fr...

A few weeks ago after another frustrating week in the windy corner, a place that brings grown men to tears and make’s grown women want their mommies, I decided to leave for some fresh eastern air and head home to cattle country. A home away from home, where the grass is ample and the cattle fat. Where meat cost less than an arm, and where living won’t cost you a leg. I like it for the tranquillity, far from the fast paced confusing nonsense and dirty Kandeshi’s of the windy corner. It’s a place where one can compose thoughts and devise a plan. This time though after the congratulations and the well done son on your new job, came the sit down (don’t worry twas not a mafia sit down, nothing illegal). Usually a sit down with the parental figures make a young man anxious and nervous, my palms start to sweat and I start chanting “not another awkward sex talk, please not another one of those, I get it now!”. Fortunately it was not one of those, rather an enlightening discussion that left my...

I am not really much of a poet. Unlike blogging, poetry requires creativity and the skill of stringing words together. Most poets are good writers, however most writers are not good poets. But now and again when I run out of material, i dabble in the dark art that is poetry. I have to warn you all though, because my poetry comes from a dark and very twisted place in my imagination so you will not find a lot of smiley faces in it. Welcome to WHK  Welcome to whk, the city of dreams The indigenous people call it shelter from winds Home to a few rich and the majority poor Who are confined to a place they will never call home If Namibia was a planet then this would be the core Infested by greedy stubby politicians who hunger for more They come here from all sides of Namibia’s borders For their chance to make it big in the windy corner They are lured because everything is shiny and glittery Only to fall into the clutches of poverty and misery Many a dream has...

  I’m sure most of you are familiar with monsieur’s Alfredo Hengari and Citizen Nahas Angula. Just in case you’re aren’t let me refresh your memory, the former was a PhD fellow in France, he writes a column in the Namibian newspaper with such an elevated level of English that you need a dictionary to read it at times. The latter is the honourable Prime minister of Namibia. These two gentlemen are not seeing eye to eye right now, it reminds of another school yard fight Alfredo Hengari had at the beginning of last year with Jocken Becker, that started when Jocken told Alfredo to write in simple English (He added a few other comments but we don’t have time to ask who threw sand in whose eyes first). The political warfare that followed was cataclysmic. Mr Hengari was at it again in July 2011 when he wrote a piece about our capital Windhoek, that ruffled Robin Tyson’s well groomed feathers (No pun intended). As you can see Alfredo hengari is a young man who is not new to controversy. ...

  With all the talk of potential candidates for the Namibian presidency being hushed and silenced, I thought to myself, would it not be great if I could create my own republic, become its president and choose my own cabinet from my facebook friends and twitter followers. So I let my imagination run wild and the results are below (keep reading). I hereby create the fictional sovereign republic of Namtweepia. Since this republic is a figment of my imagination I hereby pronounce myself president of the Republic of Namtweepia, I promise to uphold the highest office of the land to the best of my abilities, till god say’s otherwise, blah..blah..blah. Did I hear someone say, why me? Are there no elections in Namtweepia? Again, my imagination, my rules! In addition I declare elections an expensive time consuming exercise. The constitution is sacred and shall only be changed to allow me another term or to make me president for life. But do not despair, in true African tradition I am a dicta...