Thursday, August 28, 2008

A beautiful day out.

But I am inside. My slave master decrees it so.

Woke up late, for work, that is.

Decided to report late, rather than not. We have the time, and there were a lot of things that I could blame for my lateness. Not the bottle of beer last night. Nor making love just before the alarm went off. It was fantastic. Afterwards, we lay in bed together, satiated, and sleep stole both of us away.

I woke again to realize that I was supposed to be on my way to work.

So, morning toilet. At my leisure. Reading a poem as I took a cup of tea. And then out to a very glorious day. Had started raining, but the sky was clear, with no overcast, and the sun was bright, edgy. Grandma used to call it the farmer’s rain. I would want to pull the bed clothing over my head, thankful that it was drizzling outside. Excuse to sleep longer. She would chide and tease me out of bed, to go and work in the fields, in the rain.

Very funny now, though highly annoying at the time.

I was a city kid, and digging, though I had done it at home, was something that we used to do under duress. Mom would allow no excuses.

Have you ever worked out in the fields with a bit of rain falling?

Amazing, and if it is the morning, fantastic. Sleep is abolished by the morning cold, but the drizzle is very refreshing. Very refreshing. And the muscles rippling, with the water running on the skin, like taking a shower while working out. Wielding the hoe, breaking the earth. I must say the farmers knew a thing or two about that kind of thing. I believe I used to dig faster, and work longer, on those mornings.

Today, the rain of the morning is an excuse. I can use it to stay in bed, with the warmth of my lover to cuddle to. Or, like this morning, I can just stay put at home. Rain is a very good excuse for not reporting at work. The roads are muddy, so one cannot walk. The boda-boda riders are staying out of the rain, so you cannot pillion ride on them. The misnamed taxis are plentiful, but the people taking them are not so many. In Kampala, it is rarely useful to carry an umbrella. It was raining this morning. At this particular moment, the sun is out, and hot, and the roads are steaming and drying up.

But rain is a good excuse to get to work late.

You can understand. I was late. Oh well, these minds of ours work in a funny way. No, I didn’t like coming in late.

I am yet to read the papers and get angered by them. Lots of nonsense, besides the ubiquitous gay bashing, Ugandan politically correct speech.

I was late, and now, I would like to be out in the sun, breathing it in. The morning drizzle cleared the air, moved the smog of yesterday away. A breeze from the lake moved away the cloud of car exhaust fumes.

Would it be better if I worked on the streets? (Not hawking my wares, though that can be interesting. All that paid sex!) But, like the Multiplex parking guys and gals. You know, the ones who are tied down to a street to collect street parking fees.

Well, maybe I am better off where I am! Though I am seated at my desk, looking out over the road, and wishing I was out in the beautiful sunlight of today.

Life is always greener the other side of the fence.

Have a beautiful day.


1 comment:

DeTamble said...

Yes, I've worked in the fields with a bit of rain falling. Scurrying around trying to save some of the plants before they were torn to shreds by rain so fierce it bruised your skin as it slammed into you.

Sorry Brother GUG, not being ignoring you, been away :-(

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