Chronicles of Fly

Life teaches me many lessons. It ’ s taught me some hard and painful one's, like how you should never ignore your woman, because while you are ignoring her some other Tom, Dick or Harry is making her smile. I usually learn by stepping back, removing myself from the situation and observing closely, with wide eyed couriosity like a puberscent teenage boy getting his first glance of an exposed breast. Picture this scene; it ’ s 3 AM in the club on a Saturday night. Right now your mind should be doing that thing in movies where they warp the picture to take you back in time or when someone tells a story. Imagine bright lights flickering viciously like police lights, loud music thumping through the ear drums *cues dirty kandeshi remix* and scantily dressed young women gyrating their bodies like a cross between a belly dancer and an exotic dancer in the climax of a drug fuelled striptease. Add to the mix the distinct unmistakable aroma of cigarettes, sweaty Homo sapiens and malt wh...

Monday the 3rd of September was like all other Monday's, Dissapointing like prematurely ejaculating with a girl that you had been waiting for forever to nail (excuse my French). No need to explain any further on how much I hate Mondays, I was running close to being late for work. As I dragged my bag (field bag) like a lion dragging a dead springbok, I saw an old man and 3 young kids rummaging through the rubbish bins from the apartment complex I now call home. Those kids should be in school, yet there they were. Scavenging for anything nourishing from what those better off threw away. It was a sad moment for me because it reminded me again how lucky I am and why I should stop complaining like a bride shopping for a wedding dress. I got in the cab and went to the office like nothing happened, sad but that's how we humans are, for as long as we are comfortable, the tales of the struggles and hardships of others is just that, tales. We just blame the government "epangel...

This story occured back in the day when villages where real villages, not these psuedo villages of the modern day with water taps in the homestead, nicely painted concrete buildings and the modern day manifestation of witchcraft that is electricity. back then wood had to be collected from the forbidden forest to provide fuel to cook food and warm cold bodies during cruel winters, water was to be fetched with 25 litre containers from a common water point that was so far it seemed as though it was in another country. Back in those days you owned only one pair of shoes and they were only worn on Sundays to church, those were indeed medieval times. I went to visit my mom during school holidays; I had to reconnect with my roots. Our homestead was right next to my grandparents homestead, after my father passed away my mom moved back to a mahangu field neighboring the village headman's field. The village headman was none other than grandpa, Paulus haMumbala. My earliest memories of g...