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At the Beginning

By Sibo Maphosa All Rights Reserved ©

Adventure / Other

CHAPTER ONE: AT THE BEGINNING

Two jokes were published in one of the local publications and they went on something like this

The Queen of England, George W Bush and Robert Mugabe died and went to hell. The Queen said to the devil, I want to make a call and find out how are the people of England are doing back home, she phoned for two minutes and the devil said it is going to be ten thousand pounds. George W Bush said I want to phone my administration and find out the progress on Iraq, he phoned for three minutes and the devil said it is going to be sixty thousand US dollars .Mugabe not wanting to be out done said I want to phone my wife Grace, I want to talk to my cabinet, my cousins and everybody who knows me back in Zimbabwe .He phoned for six hours and the devil said it is going to be one (Zim) dollar. Mugabe smiles searching his pockets Ah –a-a-a-a-a-a only one Zim dollar, and the devil replied yah-a-a-a-a-a-a-a, from one hell to another it is local.

Another one went something like this…

Nelson Mandela, PW Botha and Robert Mugabe survived a plane crash and found themselves on a certain island with a different kind of people. The King of the island said, I would let you go if you pass a test, which is in two parts. The first part of the test is to go into the forest and bring with you three fruits of the same type. They set out to go and first to come with three apples was Botha to whom the king explained. The second part of the test is to swallow the fruits as they are without making any expression and release them at your bottom. Failure to that I will kill you, if you pass you are free to go. Botha swallowed the first fruit, the second one he failed and he was shot dead. The second to come with three strawberries was Mandela, he swallowed the first one, the second one and on the last one, he laughed his lungs out, so he failed and he was shot dead. Later that evening Botha and Mandela met in hell and Botha said to Mandela, you should not have laughed you almost made it man to which Mandela replied, I could not help it man looking back I saw Mugabe coming with three huge watermelons!

The clouds that had engulfed the sky that morning posed no immediate threat to pedestrians and motorist alike. It was rather dark for an August Friday morning and the streetlights were already light in anticipation of the immanent rain.

The city was alive with traffic noises, a common thing at that hour of the morning particularly in that kind of weather. The runner grass that was planted beautifully along the tresses leading to the Library Gardens was beginning to show signs of life after the merciless winter. Somewhere not a long distance from this marvel of nature, some kids were skateboarding falling and rising again, falling and raising with the same level of passion and enthusiasm leaving me in absolute wonder.

It rather took me back to my own childhood, growing up as children, we were not limited and our world had no boundaries. We were creative too; our imagination was untamed like wild horses. I remember clearly, most of our toys were a creation of our own imagination; our parents could not afford such luxury un-necessities for they had much more pressing issues on their loads.

This morning however, I had a load of my own. I had come to the library to conduct a research on the profile of two companies, which had scheduled me for interviews during the course of that week. It had been almost a month since my last employment and the scope of financial responsibilities was beginning to give me sleepless nights.

There was a grave silence as entered the more secluded part of this 1950s architecture. Something caught my eye; it was a publication on a tattered peace of a Newspaper that was just lying on the floor. I squatted trying to put the pieces together and reading at the same time, when I felt the warmth and the smoothness of her hand on my neck, I turned around and my eyes landed on her legs, which seemed to be going up forever and ever. She had this deep smile, which I could describe as infectious for lack of a better word.

When she asked me, why are you crying? I gave her that foolish look and answered, “I am not crying, I have got a problem with my eyes.” O-oh God who was I fooling, but then again how could a man not cry when his country is on fire?

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