the silhouette

“And oohh how did you say your name was again?” I asked him, and with kindness at the corners of his smile; “Brienne”…

I returned the contagious smile; “Like Brienne of Tarth then” I grinned. He laughed a little, a full set of gleaming white teeth, “Yeah I guess you could say that, although me and her are different for the obvious case of our pronouns”

“Of course,” I returned the knowing grin,”of course”


 7 Hours Till The Present 
“I just got off the Uber,” I spoke into the phone, clouds with every breath like a steaming kettle, only cold. I had left the warmth of the Uber only a minute ago where the lovely Arab gentleman had the AC cranked all the way up, bless his little cotton socks.
From a distance a door opened and out came a blare of party music, the person waved. “I see you,” I said into the phone.
I walked in with him. A 2 storey apartment complex with 2 houses on each floor, as far as I could tell, all exceptionally quiet on a cold Friday night, except the one apartment we were heading into of course. Darkies

Not being much of a party person I wasn’t too sure what to expect….I’ve come to honour an invitation, I kept telling myself as if trying to justify booking the national express at short notice to cross a fair bit of the country to attend a strangers party upon a friend’s invitation.

30 Minutes Till The Present
I’m in a dark room, lying on my back, one foot on floor and the other dangling over the bed, shoes still on…Is my phone still charging, let me check. I curse the pixel for the short battery life. Its 4 in the morning. I can hear the music thumping through the bedroom door, but its quiet in here, one of the reasons I’m here. As I’m rustling through my thoughts, the door suddenly comes open and I see a silhouette of someone walk in, the glaring lights behind him, door closes. My eyes were already accustomed to the dark so I could see who it was, although I couldn’t say much for the guy…blind as a bat, he took a couple of deep breaths, like someone trying to collect himself, believing himself to be all alone in the room, but alas!

It was the frizzly haired guy I had spotted a couple of times out there where its all happening. The universe with its sense of humour. Here we were, probably the only two people who’d never stopped to acquaint, now in a dark room, alone, by ourselves. And as if to prove a point(the Universe), the boy dropped prostrate right next to me on the bed with his right hand lucky just grazing my arm. “Oh my bad!”, realisation, “I thought I was alone in here” the boy said, apologising profusely for some time. What I didn’t expect was the number of times the boy was going to ask me whether or not I’m ok. A great deal of thoughtfulness and kindness. That’s when I learnt his name…Brienne

We talked for the longest time…so many things in common, even geeked out about the pixel series. Now how bout that. I thought my time at the party had ended a long time ago. But talking to this guy, it felt like the fun was just beginning, like this had been the main event all along. Later that night, wait, it was morning now, he walked me into the corridor and waited for my Uber with me. “Wait in here, there’re some shady looking dudes over there by the curb,” he said, “plus its warm in here.”

Now many months later, I still talk to Brienne, whenever I get the chance to.

the 7 minute story

My eyes slowly came open, blurry, the quiet hum of the bus and the dark night outside. I remembered I was on a bus to go be part of the parade. Parade? Yeah I think that’s what he said. I was going there to honour an invitation and not much else. He told me there’d be a little house party before then, someone’s birthday he said. Alright, I’ll just attend the party, don’t know bout the parade.

When I got there, it was lovely to see some familiar faces, some I hadn’t literally seen in almost a decade. So much for keeping in touch. I had long reconciled myself with what I felt was a natural occurrence; were we meet to only part later in the many crossroads of life, and that maybe, just maybe, we may meet again. Even if no effort is put in, the finite space of earth and Brownian-motion-like-forces of the universe make the chances of meeting again plausible.

I had been chatting with an old friend of mine by the kitchen chairs at the end of the room and kept looking over the chatter of younglings having the time of their life by the oven, over there at the other end of the kitchen, who periodically opened the oven door to check on the chicken sizzling inside, spewing clouds of gaseous white mist each time they did it, to much jolly amusement.

From among the pack had been the one guy with the frizzly hair. A lot of the signs made him out to be the life of the group, very chatty and animated. But for some reason or other he’d at times blank out. He’d laugh a few seconds later than his colleagues, as he’s eyes seemed to flutter to the kitchen door, expectantly waiting for someone else to show up maybe?

And sure enough, when a fair lady walked in, the eyes of the frizzly guy lit up like a thousand stars. He stepped over to the lady…the lady took notice of him and came over with a brilliant smile on her face…minute 1

I couldn’t tell what the two were talking about, only that they were enjoying each others company and that the frizzly hair’d dude was having the best time of his evening thus far. I turned back to be part of my conversation again. Took a look at the watch, gotta be heading home soon, I thought. With everyone chatting away and the music playing softly in animated slow motion, I was somewhat depressingly reminded of someone I care about back home, and how it sucked that they couldn’t be there with me that very moment, let alone that it would be weeks till I could see them again. I decided to turn back again towards our youngling couple, if only to remind myself what I missed. The flow of conversation had ebbed as the fair lady was preparing to leave with her loud friends, to another house party I suppose? The two waved goodbye to each other. The frizzly haird boy stood there, countenance changed…like a little boy whose icecream had fell right off the cone….minute 7

The Herdboy In Easter

I had just arrived at the cattle kraal with my brother, when I met the boy.

It was towards end of the hot summer season and so all sorts of flies under the sun had reached the summit of their population. They were everywhere and in everything; the rich smell of frothing milk and fresh manure created a sort of paradise for the little devils, which seemed to descend onto this place from all parts of the country. I greeted a cousin of mine keeping guard at the kraal entrance, and then I saw him. He was coming towards us with a bucket of fresh milk in his hand and so much purpose in his steps. His quick glance at me had turned into lowered eyes although his journey towards us remained resolute. There was so much happening on this young man’s journey to empty a bucket of milk. Those strides, purposeful. He gave me a generous smile as he got within reasonable reach. That sculpted face, carefully measured countenance and eyes that seemed to scream of untold tales contrasting with his outer calm. [Lets give him a name, Sven]

Later that day Sven and I were herding a dozen or so calves from a neighbouring waterhole, herding them towards an old farm were we would lock them up to graze. Albeit being younger than me he led the way. It would seem that the way of life in these parts of the country toughened you up and made you a man at a much faster rate than life in the excesses and comforts of a city. Despite that I could sense a tenderness about him. I could sense him trying to make things easier for me. I don’t know how exactly I could tell these things but it was in the look in his eye, the apologising smiles, the lift of his brow.

We were returning home after locking up the calves in grandma’s farm. To be honest it was more of a barren piece of land with decades old fence made of cut-down thorn trees that was shrinking by the year, giving way to the subtle but effective elements of decay. And again he led the way. Walking behind him, the style of his walk was all I could focus on. One foot in front of the other, sway majestically, repeat. There was a hypnotising rhythm to it. Resolute, sure, steady. I asked him a bunch of questions, subconsciously trying to find reason for the manner in which he walked. You may think my intrigue was bizarre, and I honestly probably wouldn’t protest. Perhaps ‘twas because I imagined those legs clad in the latest fashion jeans and Air-Jordans striding through crowded city streets with waves of young fashionable crowds out to have a good time. I could imagine those legs striding into a marbled office, clad in black Giorgio Armani pants and a shiny rolex on his right wrist were now stood some rubber-bands and colourful plastic wristbands. Yes I imagined a detailed alternative life for someone I had just met and knew very little about…but thing is, I felt as though I had met him before. Surely I’d seen that captivating stride someplace before; on people he would probably never meet, in places and worlds he would probably never get to see nor visit. And here again was that same measured stride, wading through a sandy meandering pathway, among shrubs and thorn bushes in the middle of a near nameless outpost of the country. And yet still, there was purpose in those strides, nothing about them was diminished.