As a kid, there were only two
occasions that I looked forward: Christmas and the days that guests came. Christmas
happened once a year, and spaced too far between, leaving a vast and expansive
field of days in which to expect visitors. They didn’t come often, but when
they did, mother would prepare them tea and put an unusually high amount of
sugar in it. Maybe she always wanted to prove that we were ballers, sugar-wise. Also,
mother exercised an extraordinary amount of restraint by not even pinching us. But
when the last guest left….
There were no phones those days,
at least a small part of my childhood. Phones at time competed with an eighth
of an acre of a plot in prime areas. And so visitors came impromptu. As if to
compensate for their unexpected arrival, they came bearing gifts. It was mainly
a kilogram or two of sugar, a packet of tea leaves, and, if they were richer, a
loaf of bread-family bread. The bread especially ensured that we kids never
forgot their coming, made even richer by our fights of who would eat the upper
and the lower slices.
Sometimes we’d predict that
visitors would come when chicken fought. You could wonder how we knew about
this really important prediction mechanism. We overheard mother once saying so
when two hens, I presume in the teenage-hood and craving the attention of the
hunk cock, fought. That’s when it triggered a huge sense of responsibility in
us, trying to spot fighting hens. They fought two or three times. Each of these
times, to our childish glee, no visitor came.
Those were those days. I believe
they were good days. Even the music sung in those days, especially rhumba, has
a way of sticking in the mind. The simple fact that you don’t understand a
single word makes them even better. There were standards that were never
breached. Standards to everything. I will devote time to talk about visiting
standards. One of those was that you never showed up at a person’s place empty
handed. Maybe the punishment was that you could be struck by lightning on your
way back, or something disastrous could happen.
Not these days. The people of this
generation don’t understand how protocols enhanced our childhood. They’d rather
buy bundles and check how people are living better lives than theirs, make them
even more famous especially if they have had their butts chemically enhanced. Perhaps
the god of vanity overthrew the god that reminded visitors to take goodies wherever
they went, and would be termed as visitors. Or the god that controlled visitor’s
minds got choked by the tremendous amount of a cocktail consisting of
industrial waste and illicit brew.
I could be wrong by laying blame
to these people who intend to be visitors, and have a positive impact on young
kids. I mean all you have to do now is have a swanky game that kids like, and
simply hand them your phone when you visit. But then what about us adults, with
bills to pay, girls to impress, and basically the ever increasing vanity to
look good on these numerous virtual spaces. You have to bring foodstuffs that
will last you through your stay. Some people have perfected the art of going
for days without eating. That would be troublesome especially if you have a
medical condition that makes you eat after every thirty seconds.
It is quite unfortunate to
receive a guest who has ulcers. My dimwitted interpretation of the condition, that
it is caused by stress, would have made me write a bad word for these visitors,
like they are somehow disabled. You know, we are used to a certain unchangeable
diet which may not be conducive for your stomachial specifications. We could go
a great length such as ensuring you starve so that you can quickly go away, and
we resume our routine.
However, you could enhance your
stay by bearing gifts. If not just come and create a wife hotspot so that we
can bet and search for pictures of naked women on the internet. That way, we
won’t forget to, and perhaps wish that you visit often.
