Mankhokwe...

In this city, there is a man who is driving around with a bomb. He might be your driver, neighbour, boss, husband, father or drinking buddy. But, most likely, your drinking buddy. Because, he drinks. And loves his drink. And, he loves music. And dancing. His favourite song, for now, is not état-major . But, at some point, it was. He does not understand French, does not know what the song talks about, he just liked the shouting and clapping at the beginning of the song. It laid a good ground for showcasing dance skills. That time he was in love with that song, he still had the bomb with him. In his favourite drinking place, having had asked for état-major , he would dance. Sway his hips. Place his right feet there, have the hands clasped together as in some prayer, while the left feet stood rooted in the ground to give balance to the waist that would be tossed up and down as if in some dingy on a chaotic Mediterranean sea. Spectators would abound. The new ones would buy hi...

Perhaps, this should be understood like a demon. An impulse. Something you don’t want to associate with yet, when you least expect, it shows up. Like some shadow. It might be a friend – or fiend. That person you do not really like yet when you see them and are trying your best to look away and pretending to focus on something, they see you. And shout your name. And run to embrace you. “At that time, you cannot shrug them off. They are your friends. And they embrace so tightly that you actually think they are your part – an extension.” “That imagery of a shadow?” I asked. She said yes. We were not talking in person. We were talking by phone but could see each other. Via WhatsApp. It started with a text message. “I can’t do it anymore. This is it.” I saw it minutes later. I asked what the matter was. She said this and that, this and that, and in the end did not say the actual thing. “When did it start?” I asked. “Maybe a week now, I have just bee...