Chronicles of Fly

The say that time heals all wounds. That’s not exactly true, Don Williams said that some broken hearts never mend, hence some wounds never heal. They just hurt less over time, you get used to the pain, till you’re almost immune to it. Losing a sibling is one of the toughest things you can experience – a painful, and emotionally and psychologically excruciating process.  Time relegates moments to memories. That’s all that’s left when someone dies. People die, fact of life. They just die, they cease to exist, and you can’t control that. But, whether or not they’re forgotten is up to you. They say that people don’t really die, they just cross over. They’re still alive, inside us, with us. In our memories. If we hold on to our memories, we keep them alive.  Today I remember my little brother, my mother’s last born. Natangwe Japhet Iiyambo would have been a few weeks short of his 26th birthday. Rest in power little brother.

Be a good neighbor and borrow out some sugar. “Christy-Lynn, open your legs,” Julian said, disdain etched on his face, as he watched Christy-Lynn clumsily attempt to get out of the car, torso first. “If you’re going to insist on doing it that way, then put one leg on the ground first and use the door frame to pull yourself up.”  Gracefulness wasn’t one of her redeeming qualities and Julian never shied away from bringing it to her attention. She closed the door and watched as he sped off up the road. “Boys and their toys,” she said to herself. She loved Julian’s customised Honda Civic, the grunt of the engine sometimes made her nether regions twinge. Nestled on a hill in Rocky Crest, Eagles Nest typified Namibian middle-class suburbia; sprawling apartment complexes with high walls and electric fences. “Windhoek is rising,” Julian always said whenever they discussed how the city was growing. The housing units were double storey duplexes, walled off in pairs, to gi...