I want to be understood; but most importantly I want to be misunderstood- it is the only way to stay relevant. Why else is God such a big deal? Do you really think anyone would care to find out what God was about if they knew ‘IT’.
People always want to question. They are intrigued by such things as are by defination mysterious. Sublime. Like their own existence. Life. Time. Space. And all such things that our minds deem unfathomable even though our best brains attempt to fit them within our ‘limited- dimensional’ realm of cognition. But even the most eminent of physicists can only imagine what is out there.
Frankly, I am not one of those that claim to know what is out there. (They that claim such esoteric knowledge through the studies of physics, metaphysics or good old ‘bone and dice’ chicanery’). Infact, I always say that I have never been dead therefore I cannot vouch for the existence of the so called life in the hereafter- or the lack thereof; but I have lived, and it is of the living that I am best qualified to talk about.
See there are lives and LIVES. Lives that a significant portion of any demographic group can label: ‘Well lived’, and then those that can only be branded as ‘Lowly Existences’. Lives so empty they earn no more than an ‘Unidentified Black Male’ toe- tag in the morgue of life. I do not know much about the former but of the later, I can attempt an exposition. If it were to sound too much like a personal experience, then who knows….Maybe.
This is the story. The story of a mid- twenties Kenyan guy trying to afford his next shot of Liqour. A young man who, maybe by the circumstances of his lowly birth, individual failings or the caprice of The Fate Sisters, has found himself staring up success’ posterior end.
This story is not easy to tell but someone has to tell it. It has to be told because it is the story of any boy in any urban neighbourhood- from Cape Town to Cairo. The story of a life that exists in the past of “yesterday I got drunk” and has no apparent hope of a “Tomorrow is my first day at the new job”.
It is easy to think that those of us- yes we are more than a crowd- living this life want to be here. Well, maybe some do and some don’t. I cannot tell you about some. But I can tell you about me. The only story I know how to tell is that of the one, the only POTASH.
In the end, as I always say, the only person I owe the truth is myself. These are my memoirs that you read in priviledge. Need I say more…..