November 19
11:09
You can look me in my face (I ain’t got no worries) x3
See the sh-rooms keep me up (I ain’t got no worries) x3
I don’t like this song but somehow I found myself repeatin’ this hook in my head as I got dressed and ready to get to out the crib. As if the DJ on the station I was tuned-in to read my thoughts, he puts the song on! I got real worries but for some reason this Lil Wayne song jus wouldn’t leave me alone. I flipped the station to the good old’ BBC and I heard an interestin’ story about a boy. The story held me down for the next five minute…
Sometime in the 80s
A few days to Christmas
Wee hours of the morning
Somewhere in Nigeria
I remember quietly tossin’ and turnin’ on my mattress on the floor while the world rested peacefully in the arms of Morpheus. I remember the wind blowin’, the crickets chirping (horny male crickets tryin’ to score with them females…I bet y’all didn’t know those chirps you hear at night are male crickets tryna get some some, huh?). I remember how the grandfather clock on the wall ticked and tocked the night way while a nonchalant world slept on without givin’ a fuck about the battle a lil’ boy was fightin’ in the middle of the night. The people of the world jus’ didn’t give a rat’s ass about my fight and even if they knew what I was goin’ through, they’d pro’ly be like, “fuck it, lil boy! There are more important shits than your lil battle” I remember layin’ still, quietly talkin’ to the Man upstairs to help bring my “agony” to a predictable end. I valiantly fought the urge to get up, get dressed and walk into the night screamin’ “look at me now. I wanted to get out there so much and tell the world to get their freakin’ Kodak cameras out and take pictures for the memory. I pictured myself tellin’ whoever cares to listen that they can’t fuckin’ keep a good child down.” But then again I thought, I wouldn’t want my granny to have a heart attack if she happened to wake up to go take a leak and she discovered I was nowhere to be found at that time of the night. All night long, I held myself back, willin’ myself to hold on till the break of dawn but there was so much a lil boy could take, so after several hours of fallin’ in and out of sleep and debating the pros and cons of my impendin’ action (if I got caught) I finally succumbed. I got up and covertly crept to where the loot was…
London, England
Wednesday November 14
14:21
John Samson, a twelve-year old Malawian had jus met Her Majesty, the Queen of England. Not only did he meet her majesty, he also had the enviable honor of presentin’ the queen wit’ a gift (a tablet containin’ somethin’ life changin’.)
If, nah, make that when, I get the chance to coincide with the old lady, my gift would be for her to go read my blog. Huh, how does that constitute a gift? Well, only cool mutherfuckers get to read my blogs and the old lady is out of date. Allowin’ her majesty to get up on my blog is a gift! Ah…I know. Lmao!
Some journalist asked John how he felt meetin’ the queen, his simple but profound reply was, “I feel good.” Hearin’ John say he felt good kinda made me feel good too. Happiness, jus like sadness, is contagious. I caught the freakin’ vapor!
When asked what he wants to be in the future, “a pilot,” he replied
“And what type of aircraft would be you be flying?” a BBC journalist probed
“Malawi Airline” answered John. To this, Mrs. Marie De Silva and others in the room chuckled. I must admit that got a smile outta me too.
Outro
Today
Tuesday November 20
02:15
The John Samson story took me back to many Christmas past, when as a lil boy I would anxiously wait for Christmas to wear my best clothes. Days before Christmas, I would wake up in the night to go check out the clothes pops had sent me and sometimes I would even try ‘em on in the middle of the night!
On several occasions, I’d even prayed that God would fast-forward Christmas.
Here’s how John Samson’s story got me blown.
John is a “standard 6” student at the jacaranda primary school for orphans somewhere in Malawi. He entered the Commonwealth (junior) Essay competition (that’s 54 countries and 8,500 entries) and like you already guessed, he won! And nope, that’s not the amazin’ part of the story.
What John wrote about was what blew me and everybody else who’s heard the story away. His essay was titled The Day I Wore My Best Clothes.
The day he wore his best clothes wasn’t on Christmas (unlike me) or New Year or any of those festive seasons…John Samson wore his best clothes the first he stepped foot in school. His best clothes were his school uniform!
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