We are all present, let’s start

Hello family! It has indeed been a while. I am glad we are here, but sadly, in anxious moments. Our world is united in mourning. Countries are losing their citizens. Economies are strained.

But we can make it a little easier for everybody, can’t we?

It takes choosing differently, opting to be on the side of the those who calm the storms. Our world is scary already and does not need any more gory stories. Please join me in dedicating April to stories of hope. Look around you, find goodness, spot people acting kindly, celebrate them. 

There is little to no interaction with the world, this season, but may we go deep into our hearts, to search for good moments, for stories that made us. We may also have to think hard before we share the next story. Will it further dim or brighten the readers’ outlook.

Let us be the reason people want to try again, why they want to be alive tomorrow. Let us rekindle hope. Be here, this month, to share in my real stories, my thoughts.

Author in her home library

Botswana goes into a State of Emergency, from midnight, April 2nd, what will you be doing in your houses, with only your immediate family, for a whole month? I have a few things lined up, we will see how it goes:

  • I am a member of ‘The 5am Book Club’ and our April read is ‘David & Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits and the Art of Battling Giants ‘ by Malcolm Gladwell. You can join our digital book club with the link below and be part of our reading and discussions https://www.facebook.com/groups/552228005527480/
  • Writing and editing (my one day to be published book)
  • Doing Free Online Courses with LinkedIn
  • Creating a new courtyard garden
  • Sleeping more
  • Doing my 30 days skipping rope challenge
  • Playing with my family

What is your plan? Let us share.

I lived to tell the story

A few days back, we escaped from prison.

One of our chiefs, had locked us up in a Guantanamo Bay kind of detention camp.

It was a huge population of us, subjected to hard labour and inhumane treatment. Very sad and heart drenching experience. Hard even to see so much suffering on the faces of fellow inmates.

It didn’t seem like help would find us. The camp was in a jungle, hidden under a thick canopy of mahogany trees.

One afternoon Dintle and I escaped through a tiny opening on the fence. A laborious escape.

We ran for our dear lives, but alert that our lives were in danger.

We hid behind shrubs, some too small to do any hiding at all.

Not a word was shared between us. It was a solo and emotionally draining journey.

The thought that troubled me through this escape, was the chief who locked us up in a Guantanamo Bay Prison style camp.

He comes across as a level headed being. Kind and reasonable. An arguably progressive man. I worried, in this dream, whether I was dreaming, and whether this really is the man, I have admired from a distance.

The sound of hoofs hitting the hard gravel road, distubed my thoughts and swallowed our hope.

We could see him from a distance, riding a blood red horse, its face and underbelly decorated in splashes of white.

On his right hand, the chief, held a solid and long black shambok.

He was coming for us.

We held our breath.

We were dirty, new sweat dripping down old sweat marks…

The horse came to a stand still, the chief looked around as if to ask,
“Where are they?”

I have never been that scared, never had I encouraged my heart to hope, like I did that afternoon, under the unforgiving harsh African sun.

My heart hasn’t ached in a dream, like it did the afternoon of our escape.

Did we escape? I don’t know.

I was crying when I woke up. Scared. The dream stayed with me for a week and each time it crossed my mind, I panicked.

Thankfully it was just a dream.
A bad dream.
Ijooo.

Eish but I hope I don’t meet the chief until the dream leaves my thoughts 😅.
I might run for my life.

Going home

Peace goes to bed with war, wisdom with folly. 
The troubled world is also, quiet tranquil.
Hope inhabit the same soul that often fights despair. 
Beautiful roses share spaces with ruthless thorns. 

Our imagination of home, gets complex when we imagine it, inserted in perfection.

The world that embraces winter nights, prepares, with the same vitality, for the long and sticky summer nights.

It is a twisty  road

You may take it as a group, but you have to still walk – and feel the unevenness of the road, maybe even hit your toe against a stone. Sit a while, calm the sting. But beware, home is not yet in sight, there is a distance to cover, but the night is fast approaching. 

Walk on. 

Home is being emotionally present, while embracing the ever evolving subtleties that frame our meanings.
Home is made, it is personal. I am home, yet going home. 

Home is probably always moving, maybe even imagined

There is probably no destination, it is a place in our mind, we occupy yet still going to.

Home.