You came to me, hair filled with wood dust and fragments of wood shavings, and those smells of the furniture workshop that stuck to you like a tick. I sunk my face into your chest. What is in the plastic bag, you asked. You have to guess, I replied. Those huge nostrils of yours could not miss the smell of peanut butter. A slice of a smile appeared on your face as you told me there must be some peanut butter. I was happy, and delighted, and so eager for you to taste my cooking, I just blurted it out, not waiting for you to keep guessing.
We went and sat under some nearby trees. You took a big stone to sit on, and I admonished you for sitting on these stones which made your buttocks so dark and hard. Not that I minded. We ate and talked, and watched a colony of ants, masvosve, follow each other up a tree. It was a marvel to see the order, the diligence with which they passed a piece of an object from one to the other. There is that saying, kuita mubatirapamwe semasvosve, you reminded me. Working together like ants. If only our government were as diligent as ordered as masvosve. Or even as tiny, then we could just crush them! We laughed at the misery of being governed by fools. READ THE FULL STORY HERE.