Full Circle Lateral Thinking

Oftentimes, as a creative, I find myself facing a block. It happens in the most random of instances. I could be crafting copy, tinkering with a colour scheme, making art, choosing a piece of furniture, a new employee or a brand of whisky.

I invariably find myself asking widely for a spectrum of opinions to colour the white spaces between the wireframe lines of decision-making. After all, life is all about decisions. And decisions, whether big or small, are an amalgamation of the tiniest and sometimes subconscious choices. These are then processed into a more complex action plan which in itself forms the master plan for success or failure. The more I hear other people's opinions, the faster I reach the conclusion that mine was the better idea. Don't get it wrong, I'm not being parsimonious; it's just that I prefer to think along parallel perspectives about the same subject - either simultaneously or at different instances. And I cross-examine each predilection from an opposite perspective.

Just like any creature with the luxury of choice, I like to consider that the choice that I make is in my best interests. That is where I sketch out the plan. In black and white. So that I can fill it in with the secondary and tertiary creative variables. These may take the form of personal preferences, conditioned learning and current or future environmental nuances.

At any given time I have a choice to make. I have a million choices at my disposal. I have limited time. Some choices have to be made instantly to avert catastrophe or to propel myself there much faster. I consider all options, illustrate best scenarios and epic fail scenarios in my mind before I act.

The third layer is a combination of all the variables along parallel timelines, individual audience idiosyncracies, environmental variables and reversability of any of the components of the action's sum total. When I am sitting down with a panel of peers bouncing ideas off of, I have pretty much determined my course of action. What I'm seeking at that point is a separation of timelines and variables to help me choose the best components and order of arrangement while evaluating the net effect at different stages as well as the desired overall effect.

I may come across in some in most instances as dismissive or persnickety. Guess what? That's already a factor I've considered. If I hear something new that is alien to me, I'm sold to listening at the very least. I simplify it in a way that I can explain it to my grandmother. I then make a firm decision.

I don't believe in failure. I believe in learning and adapting.

That's what keeps me sharp.

Random Thought

You do your mind a disfavour by drawing from only what you have learnt. Use your inner mind to challenge the old truths and come up with new ideas that are relevant to your time. You do yourself an even greater disfavour to work for such a person ~ just a random thought.

Utaona cha Mtema Kuni

In my lifetime I have learnt a great many useless proverbs and riddles. Useless I say, because all I knew to do with proverbs and riddles was complete them, not understand their origins nor the subtle allegories and metaphors that gave them immortality in oral tradition and written literature. It was this simple: as soon as I was done with high school, my mastery of language in an academic sense would become irrelevant.

Now, Kiswahili riddles and proverbs in particular are not only cryptic and spiced with double-entendre, but are often crafted to rhyme deliciously, too. So last Thursday, while slaking my thirst at my favourite watering hole, shooting a game of pool, I ruefully piped up that it looked like we were going to be shown cha mtema kuni by a certain tea-sipping, pool-shooting gentleman of indeterminable age. He was relentless in his quest to ‘go home with the winners’. Though he looked like he was well deep into his forties, he played like a teenager. He was disturbingly determined to win every game. This, in our yet-to-be-published playbook, was unsportsmanlike behaviour. We were there to have fun, not for accolades or medals. He smiled not unlike the Grinch that stole Christmas as he exhaled a guff of white smoke waiting for the next ‘victim’.

The gentleman who’d just been meted a sound drubbing took another sip of his white wine and slurred in my direction, "You don’t even know what Mtema Kuni went through in order to become part of such a forbidding proverb." As usual, I took this to be the ramblings of a sore loser out to make trouble... but my curiosity already had the better of me. Who was this Mtema Kuni? What was he doing spitting firewood anyway? I recalled asking my high school teacher that very same question. She had explained it away in a not-very-convincing manner. Was I finally going to unravel the warp and weft of this proverb? He didn’t know it then, but he had my undivided attention.

I feigned indifference. Everyone else was minding their own business. His buddy was busy trying to catch the attention a waiter. It was a slow night. Most of the staff had found a darkened corner somewhere to catch a few winks. He finished his glass of wine and got up. He picked up his bar bills and arranged them in order, and squinting at them in the dim light, tried to do a mental tally. I felt a small pang of disappointment. Was he leaving? He was obviously past basic math as he patted his pocket for his mobile phone. The calculator on the phone never lies, does it? He gave this up, too and with a quick flick of a finger, signalled the approaching waiter for another round of drinks for himself and his buddy. The tally could wait.

He got up and picked up the cue that was lying on the red felt. He glanced across the pool table in my direction asked, "Is anyone playing?" It really wasn’t a question. I shook my head slowly, quietly relieved that I still had a chance to learn about the cryptic Mtema Kuni. He slowly and meticulously chalked the tip of his cue, sizing his chances of reversing the course of this series of hopeless games. Everyone was secretly wishing that he’d win this game and 'redeem us'. His opponent had ordered another pot of tea, a sign that he wasn’t ready to give any quarter.With a deft whack, he broke the rack. It was a good break. It sure looked like someone else was going to be spitting firewood this time round, but it was too early to call. "Do you know what Mtema Kuni means in Kiswahili?" he asked. It seemed he had everyone’s attention now. Nobody was actually watching the game except his opponent. "Tell us why anyone would be spitting firewood?" I asked.“Splitting firewood," he corrected me. "You know the coconut tree is versatile in many ways. It provides roofing and oil, wine and firewood amongst others.” He continued, “Mtema Kuni is a professional. He splits firewood for a living. The trickiest wood to split is the coconut trunk. It is very fibrous and doesn’t yield to splitting by impact. So the best way to split the wood is by using a sledge hammer and two obtuse wedges. "Mtema Kuni would lay the trunk horizontally on the ground and, sitting astride it, moving slowly along the tree trunk, he'd place one wedge along the widening crevice helping it along with a whack from the sledge hammer. He’d then use the other wedge to keep the crack from snapping back. "It was getting close to that part of the day when Mtema Kuni would be lazily sipping something under the cool shade of a palm tree, spinning yarns with his neighbours. This particular tree trunk wasn’t yielding as fast as he had hoped it would. Maybe it was the effect of the previous night’s mnazi. He wordlessly mouthed an obscene curse at it. It must be this particular tree trunk. He had been splitting wood for many years. It was the one thing he was good at, he thought. Or maybe not. A lazy smile crept across his face as he thought of his wife’s glowing face that morning. She had rewarded him with an extra large portion at breakfast. He was a good husband. He would get home early that day, he promised himself.

"He just needed to split that wood faster. He was midway through the trunk, thinking of ways to halve his efforts. He would have to devise a new way to split this trunk faster. He tossed the sledgehammer and wedge on the sand and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crouched down and took a swig of the now tepid water from the gourd at the other end of the trunk. He looked across the tree trunk to take in his progress.

"Taking a deep breath and feeling a sudden rush of the mnazi high that usually follows a gulp of water, he adjusted the lesso around his waist - thinking about underwear. “Who wastes money on such nonsense?” he mused. None of his friends owned underwear. The mnazi high was beginning to creep in, and the scorching sun was overhead. He put one foot on the trunk, enjoying the cool breeze under his lesso. With a sigh, he picked up the sledgehammer and the wedge from the sand and tossed them near the gunny bag that served as his tool-bag. He would have to continue the job the next morning. His wife wouldn't be happy, but he'd be home early. He would have to take the other wedge too. It was sad, he thought, that it wasn't like the old days. He couldn't leave his tools there and find them safe the next morning. He put one leg over the trunk and sat on it. With a hard yank from his callused hands he pulled out the wedge from the trunk.

"Mtema Kuni had never imagined a pain as such. It coursed up from his loins to his head and the rest of his body as swiftly as the crack on the trunk had snapped back".

“Black ball corner pocket,” said our narrator, yanking us from vivid imagination back to the game on the table. And with a deft tap the black ball plopped into the corner pocket. “And that, my friends, is how they found Mtema Kuni - still sitting astride a coconut tree trunk. He was in so much pain he was unable to cry out for help, trapped and in tears.”

We could all see a hint of a triumphant smile creeping across his lips. His grey haired opponent was shuffling through his bar bills. He didn’t need to. Two pots of tea. His bill was simple to calculate. He slapped a hundred bob on the counter and left without uttering a word.I still think Mtema Kuni felt worse.

True story.

A pointless African Story ~ Chapter One

In the dim glare of the fireworks, Dongona shed a tear. It was a tear of joy. Though he was far away from the frenzied crowd milling hundreds of feet thick around the flagpole, he could not afford to show emotion. He was a military man. He flicked off the single tear with his right thumb. He didn’t have a left thumb or forefinger. A lot had been lost in the war.

He clenched his right fist over his chest with the belting of the first few notes of the familiar tune. It crackled metallically from the Ahuja horn speakers. This was the first time the military band was playing it in public. The hundreds of thousands of dark faces quieted down in awe. A great many of them were hearing their national anthem for the first time. It was a sacred moment. They would proudly narrate this to their children’s children. They would remember every detail of this moment.

His thumb traced the thick scar running across the left side of his chest. He had paid dearly for the struggle. He tried to remember what she would have looked like standing by his side. How many years had it been? How old would his son have been? He had spent too much time in thick bush and dark caves. He could not remember. None of it mattered anymore. This was a new beginning. There was a new nation to be built. This was not a time to succumb to weakness. It was a time to show strength and it was a time for tolerance and forgiveness. They would have to live together now. He could hardly believe it himself. He was free of the red hot hatred that had seared in his heart all those years. It had achieved its purpose in the bush, but it no longer had a place in his life. He was at peace now.

He mouthed each word of the anthem. He felt honoured that he knew the words beforehand. He had waited a long time for this moment. It was only when the anthem gave way to a thunderous roar that he was sure that he wasn’t dreaming. The bush did things to your mind that you were incapable of explaining. But things were different, he said to himself. He heaved a sigh and started his way back home over the brow of the hill. He had a motor cycle now. The general had been kind enough to give it to him. Some fleeing Kaburus had left everything they couldn’t carry away with them. He liked the machine, but he felt a pang of guilt every time he rode it out of the hovel he called home. He knew things would get better. The General had promised to look into his matter. It was difficult to get through to the General. He understood the General was busy. “Once things quiet down he’ll send for me,” he thought. “I was a good soldier and I followed orders. I did what needed to be done. He’ll send for me”.

He knew the party would last well into the week. The restrictions had been lifted. Tonight the drums would not be silent. The people would enjoy their traditional beer without being ferreted out of their shacks by the traitors. The traitors had been good at sniffing out the beer dens. He wouldn’t have any of that beer. It was a source of weakness that he had watched creeping into the lives of his people. Much like the sickness that had eaten away at his mother; a weakness that he was powerless to do anything about. He thought about his people and wondered how it had come to this. But he had a job to do the next morning. It wasn’t worth much, but it would keep him busy.

Invisible Friend

I have been keenly following the evolution of Facebook ever since I reluctantly signed up. For months prior to that I had been getting these e-mails from friends who seemed to think that the way to a better friendship would be to post pictures of whatever shenanigans we got up to the previous weekend and make random comments about them.

I can’t even remember what my first post was, but apparently, there’s an app on FB that can tell you all your stats for the year - or since you joined FB. I think It’s a dandy good idea in as far as it gives you a snapshot of what your year was like. It helps you introspect and retrospect quicker, and also shows you how far off the mark your predictions on the World Cup and the Grand Coalition were. The people at FB are quite a clever lot really. They let third parties create external apps that could be hosted by FB. These apps would be helpful, some would be annoying, while others would be just downright mind-numbing. Personally, I don’t care for virtual flaming Sambucas or Coffee. I much prefer a single malt at the local. Coming back to these apps – they helped the geniuses at Facebook plan forward towards inbuilt functionalities.

But I guess the apps became a security threat as more and more Facebookers found themselves giving away their passwords and allowing the third party applications to access their profile information. (This means that you have just given someone somewhere all your info in exchange for a chance to view the most stupid person on FB. If you did that don’t be surprised if the app spat out your profile pic.)

So Zuckerberg and Co. built this monstrosity which (apart from taking over our lives, and becoming an employer's nightmare) has practically created a subculture of random hook-uppery and clandestine pot-licking. Most notorious among these are the inbox and the chat functions. Facebookers have been able to flirt and connive, arrange dates without anyone else being the wiser. I remember when I went online on chat... chat windows were popping up all a-flurry. Out of politeness (or curiosity) I answered a greeting from a fellow earthling... (The rest of the convo went on to win the “Chat Awards”).

Anyhow, it has become the norm for people to use FB and other social sites for their clandestine activities. But it becomes more complicated when your clandé hook-up decides that he/she wants to be your FB pal, doesn’t it? Then he/she goes commenting on everything and LOLing all over everything you say, huh? And then there's the 'view friendship' function. I know a number of peeps who’ve left FB because their clandé life became a nightmare. I think Facebook is going about this the wrong way.

They should instead have an “Add as Invisible Friend” option on FB... kwa wenye nia mbaya kama wewe... na wewe.

Hmmmm. Maybe I should be working for Facebook... Heck, I already am.