Feel like a member of the 76ers now

Hola peeps.

Haven’t blogged in so long I don’t even know where to start. Hold on, it says here last blog entry was August 6^th, 2020. Yikes. Talk about procrastination. How do I fit in all that’s happened over the last 6 months?! There was my trip to Turkey in August; my month-long lockdown in the UK in November, where I spent more time with Chief (cumulatively) than I must have since birth; finally got my last will and testament notarized and still tempted to change it every other week after mostly less than stellar FaceTime calls with my daughter. Oh, also had my very first therapy session with a clinical psychologist 2 weeks ago. Yeah, maybe I should talk about that first. Nah, best to get on with recent events before I forget.

Tried to access online church this afternoon via YouTube and saw a link on homepage for the last scene from Whiplash. Peeps, you know how folk talk about stuff then open YouTube and there’s a link to what they had just spoken about? That’s happened to me several times, so I am no longer shocked by that. Thing is I never spoke about Whiplash recently, I dreamt about it last night! Couldn’t even remember the name of the movie when I woke up, and yet here we are. The masters of the internet have either found a way to read our thoughts or I now talk in my sleep. I mean, how else does one explain a niche movie from 7 years ago appearing on my YouTube suggestions?

Speaking of sleep, last night I had the best one I have had in a long while. Aminarrghhh (aka Hands of Steel) drained me yesterday and didn’t get to nap afterwards as had to attend a mate’s shindig. Went to bed about 10pm and woke up fully refreshed. Great thang about Aminarrghhh is that though there’s loadsa pain one’s quite sure it won’t end up pervy. Couldn’t say same for a massage I had in Nairobi while transiting to Juba from Lagos 2 weeks ago. Spent 3 days in Nairobi as had some meetings and decided to get a mani+pedi and a massage. I had suspected it would get pervy with the way the masseuse rubbed my butt, but I was glad at my misprision of her ultimate intention. I kid you not, no one’s spent that much time on my butt ever; even doubt my mom did when changing my diapers as a kid. Before the massage I had decided I would give her a 10% tip after the job’s done, but every time she touched butt, I’d increase the tip in my head by 1%. The lady musta read my thoughts (or moonlights designing algorithms for YouTube) ‘cos she spent over 20 minutes on my butt. First butt caress, hmm, a 10% tip is too low me thinks, maybe I should make it 11%......5 mins later, this lady is still on my left butt cheek?! She must be dedicated, I think I will make it a 40% tip…...15 mins later, wow, my butt’s never felt so lissome, I bet I could twerk now if I put my mind to it, oops, seems to be a spray fart coming out, best tell her to concentrate on other parts of my body…she’s definitely getting a 100% tip. Good thing there was no ATM at the spa ‘cos I reckon I’da withdrawn extra money for her. Don’t look at me that way, at least she didn’t ask for my number unlike the other masseuse I encountered in Nairobi back in October. The tales I could tell.

Skipped out on what woulda been first kickboxing class in the year so I could get tormented by Aminaarghhh, ‘cos yesterday morning I ran 28.4km with a mate. Last year on her birthday she did a full marathon and this year she plans to do 34km to mark her 34^th birthday. Yup, this is what Juba ennui does to folk. Since 2 members of our long-distance running quartet have relocated from Juban Juba, I remained the only guinea pig willing to tag along for such craziness. Somewhere around the 20km mark she wanted to quit but I convinced her otherwise, the same happened about the 27km mark. Once we got done, I was so drained by the Juba sun I took a boda home when I’d usually walk the 2kms from the finishing point to mine.

While contemplating whether to still go for kickboxing class, I started wondering what my main problem was. Who am I trying to please/convince with these physical exertions? The Saturday before I ran 14km and did 22km the day after. Why?! It ain’t like I am on social media, so I can’t boast about these activities; so why exactly am I doing them? It can’t be just physical fitness ‘cos we had done 20km before my mate offered to quit. Why didn’t I quit then, after all I am not the one with a race coming up? Last Sunday, a few running mates decided to attend a music concert and I bumped into an acquaintance. While catching up, she told me she’s quit weight training to concentrate solely on calisthenics. Then, she showed me a vid of her holding a pull-up bar with one hand while flipping her feet up 90 degrees and holding that pose for 10 seconds. I fell in love right there and if EJ didn’t exist I woulda stalked this girl for the rest of 2021. Long story short, I signed up with her coach in Nairobi for virtual calisthenics lessons and had my first session this morning, before kickboxing class. Again, what am I trying to prove? Maybe I should discuss this with the clinical psychologist during our session next Wednesday.

 

Yeah, so I have had two sessions with him till date and not sure I will continue after the 5 sessions I paid for run elapse. Don’t get me wrong, it ain’t like it hasn’t been helpful. It’s just that I find myself staring at my computer clock often, waiting for the session to end. I signed up in the first place ‘cos EJ suggested I talk to someone to get at the root of my on/off aversion to having more kids, since it wouldn’t be fair on her for us to get hitched and I then inform her I’ve changed my mind about kids or resent her for “forcing” me to have one with her.

 

The takeaway from my first therapy session was “trust the process” and forgiving myself. Told the therapist about acrimonious divorce and how I still get heart palpitations before each FaceTime call for lack of what to say, or possible dejection at daughter wanting to get off phone soon as the call connects. He pinpointed my unresolved guilt at marriage breaking up, especially not being able to be there for my daughter as I would love to, and wondering if this void I experience on FaceTime woulda been different if I was still married and actively involved in raising her. Dude said there is no way to confirm if things woulda been different, re communication-wise, if I was still married and suggested I read up on cognitive development in adolescents.

 

Now that I think about it, I was not particularly tight with my folks even though they were very present during my early years. I recall getting anxious at the thought of what to say to my dad when we travelled to the UK together for the first time and I knew I would be seated next to him on the plane. In primary school, I vividly recall asking him to lend me money so I could buy school supplies the teacher had asked of us. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly smooth communication then, so maybe therapist is right and I should cut myself some slack. That said, I now prime myself with vids/pics of times my daughter had fun when we were together. It’s to remind me that the sometimes-surly girl on FaceTime calls is same one that always has a blast with me when we meet in the flesh…and to prevent me from inventing that app that automatically notarizes one’s will in case one (hypothetically) chooses to adjust his daughter’s inheritance downwards after each unpleasant FaceTime call.

 

Therapist also homed in on my hero complex. For instance, choosing to be hurt rather than hurt people. That came from my telling him I’d not mind if EJ came to me and said she’s found someone else who wants to get married and is sure he wants kids. Told him it’d hurt, but I won’t put up a fight since that’s what she ultimately wants and chances are I can’t give her that assurance right this moment. Didn’t discuss my nookie issue and don’t know if that’s gonna come up ‘cos that’s another thing I feel desperately guilty of. Can’t keep EJ hanging on forever, but it won’t bode well for our future if I can’t resolve the nookie thang before I commit. I have discussed this with God and reckon first stage is to prevent females from coming to apartment. It appears once a female stops by, especially one where there’s been stuff with in the past, it’s very likely stuff will recur.

 

I have decided anyone that wants to hang now will have to settle for a public setting, and that’s what happened when I got a call from a former cleaning lady at the office that always says she misses me. Now I am not so sure if it’s ‘cos her English isn’t tip top she knows no other way to get past hello, but I am avoiding her like the plague. Between her passable English and my piss poor Arabic I got the impression on the phone yesterday that she wanted to stop by mine “just to have soda and only soda”, since she hasn’t seen me in a while. Nope, soda must be in public then. Can’t be getting tempted in the canicular heat ennui-related lust of Juba.

 

Didn’t realize how much I missed my crib in Juba ‘cos was never comfy comfy during time I spent in Lagos over Xmas. Probably ‘cos I was meant to move to new apartment and as that wasn’t ready, I had to stay in a small bedroom the ladies I sublet Lagos crib to were kind enough to give me. I normally have the master bedroom as I contribute towards rent, but since I was so sure I would be moving out by December I failed to contribute towards the rent and told the ladies they had carte blanche to my things out of the largest bedroom, since they are paying the entire rent and all. Well, when I contracted Covid I had to inform them and, as they needed to disinfect the house, I was forced to move into a short-let apartment for the last week of my stay in Lagos.

 

Yup, I too am a ‘Rona survivor. I reckon I caught it from my uncle Wilson as he’s the last person I saw on January 1^st, and I first exhibited symptoms on January 3^rd when I went to Beachland to see mom. I believe I may have given it to mom too. Thanks God she’s back to normal now and so is Uncle Wilson, after a stint in the ICU. Yup, this second wave ain’t no joke. No longer does one hear of a friend of a friend that caught it, one now knows peeps that have died from it.

 

Spent a month in Lagos for the Xmas holidays, unlike normal 2 weeks I am used to. Mostly extended stay due to a business associate I was expecting from India, but as his flight kept getting moved, I couldn’t wait anymore and took a Covid test on January 11^th so I could return to Juba on the 13^th. By the time the test results came in on January 12^th, I had no symptoms, but the positive result confirmed the body aches, lack of appetite, headaches and fever I suffered the week prior was actually Covid. Boy, I felt miserable. I shoulda known it was Covid after I rejected plantain, ice cream, even chocolates. Was sorta hoping my reduced sugar craving would remain once I was fully cured, but I regret to say I am back to quaffing down chocolates. I am still not as keen on meat as I was prior to catching the ‘Rona, so maybe once I am done with stash of peppered turkey from Nigeria, I could give vegetarianism a go. I love fruits so replacing meat with fish and vegetables shouldn’t be much of a stretch, right?

 

Another reason that complicated my stay in Lagos was the office was shut down due to Covid, so couldn’t access it and work as I normally would - working with a computer on lap while seated upright in bed isn’t the most appealing. Thus, I procrastinated on responding to mails and am currently paying for my sins daily by working to reduce backlog of mails and finessing different ways to say, “apologies for my uber late response”. Being away from Juba that long made it finally sink in that my other problem, aside from nookie, is indeed procrastination. I mean, look how long it’s taken me since the last blog! I didn’t tell y’all – ‘cos you were too lazy to blog, duh - I was invited to drop my name in the hat for a CEO search, though never got past the first stage. Now I realize I wasn’t ready ‘cos if I couldn’t keep up with mails for the small outfit I run in Juba while being away for just a month, then how am I supposed to keep abreast of the moving parts for a company with 300+ people? There’s a lot of work to get done inside of me.

 

One of such it seems is getting to grips with our new time zone in Juba. From February 1^st, South Sudan is now 1hr behind East African Time (EAT) and on same time zone as Sudan and Egypt. No one quite knows what prompted the government to make the change, but they failed miserably in sensitizing the public ahead of time. On the official day the change took effect, I heard my neighbour start his car at 6am (former 7am) and cracked up while lying in bed. Mate’s gym instructor showed up at 5am as he thought it was 6am. When I go running now at 630am, it’s all bright and there’s more foot and motor traffic than before the time change. The other day, Sandra the new cleaning lady nearly walked in on me naked as she usually shows up to clean apartment at 9am (when I would normally be in the office), but it was now 8am. Speaking of Sandra, I had hoped the new year or time zone change woulda effected a change in her too, but alas. This lady still washes my towels EVERY day but leaves bedsheets until I pull them off the bed myself. I don’t get it. I have decided to toss off my Gallionic toga and tell her (when next I work from home) to quit washing towels until I put them in the laundry basket.

 

Man, just realized I am normally supposed to be in London right about now, so I can be around for my daughter’s birthday. But after experience last November when I basically spent a month indoors due to the lockdown, it doesn’t make sense to travel until things ease off. Hope my daughter doesn’t write a book about my missing her birthdays when she’s grown up. Speaking of, I was at a loss at what to get her for a birthday, so settled on a customized pink hoodie. Normally, I would ask the ex, but she and I are not on the best of terms currently. Long story. During last Sunday’s FaceTime call, I asked my daughter what she wanted for her birthday and she asked if I could afford a virtual reality game. Huh? She wants me to create a virtual reality game where she’s the star and can choose to go on various adventures. Na so.

 

Fasting and praying on how best to approach ex about spending more time with my daughter, as opposed to the cumulative 7-8 hrs I get with her whenever I am in the UK. Not that I didn’t want to earlier, but last thing I want is us arguing in presence of my daughter. Always felt parents should never fight in front of kids and still feel the same. Need my daughter to know my (vast) side of the family, but not keen on going back to court to secure additional access Hoping we can come to an agreement seeing as I’ve been doing this whole supervised visit thang for over 4 years now. I shoulda demonstrated by now that ex’s projected fears of my absconding with daughter ain’t in my DNA. Need to discuss this with lawyer first, the next time I am in Uganda.

 

Speaking of Uganda, you know girl I liked, the one with the dimples one could swim in? She’s married. Saw her profile pic when I sent her a message last weekend to enquire of her wellbeing, after she told me she lost a close friend due to Covid. Sent my congrats after viewing profile pic of her wedding and asked when she got married. “January”, she replied. “Wow, you didn’t invite me. Didn’t think I’d come?” She then went on about how she told me about her wedding and I probably thought she was joking. I couldn’t recall in the slightest any such conversation, until she said she had mentioned it when we were in Mombasa together. “But that was in December 2019”, I responded. “How was I supposed to remember stuff from over a year ago, and you never mentioned you were getting hitched in January even though we exchanged Xmas greetings”. “No, I got married in January 2020”, she responded. “I am expecting my first child in a few months”. U what?!

 

I was lost for words. I asked her to put herself in my shoes. Would she take me seriously if we spent 2 consecutive weekends together in Kenya and then she hinted at getting hitched a month from then? Well, guys do that all the time so maybe I am expecting too much from this lady. I mean I have a mate who slept with a lady on the evening of his wedding night while his heavily pregnant wife was busy recounting the events of her wedding day with her friends and relatives. Okay, maybe that’s an awful example. Come to think of it, maybe I am a bit emo ‘cos I genuinely liked her. But would I have married her though? Exactly. Can’t fault the girl for going with the bird in hand.

 

While driving around Juba after she said what she said, I couldn’t help getting feelings all jumbled up again. I mean I am farthest from a saint and have done stuff I can’t reveal to anyone, not even y’all my confessors, but she shoulda told me, right? Especially after we hung out during my visit to Kampala in February 2020. Yup, less than month after her wedding we hung out with David once or twice, and when she left it was assumed she was headed home to her parents. Never got the “I gotta leave you guys ‘cos I am going to my husband” vibe. Had to call David to confirm my memories from February weren’t make believe. Damn.

 

There’s still so much to tell y’all but I gotta nap so I wake up in 3.5 hours to watch the Superbowl. Hopefully, I get emails back to manageable size soon, so I have more time to write y’all. To be honest, the main reason I am writing this today is I have a wager with a mate to publish something before EOD tomorrow (February 8^th). So, Toun if you are reading this, kiss goodbye to the Spar gift voucher. Ooooiiinnn.

 

Tot ziens and God bless.