Love And Other Things

Author: Bagande


How about that?

I think I am afflicted.

I am an unrelenting, miserable romantic.

And for the life of me, I do not know how I got here.

In my head, I am a cynical, independent feminist. Who doesn’t need any man to complete her.

In reality,  I love a mushy romance novel, a cheesy chick flick, and I dream of falling hopelessly in love…exactly like how it happens in the movies.

I want the cheesy soundtrack and the prince charming. The steamy first kiss and most importantly, the happy ending.

But life is rarely ever like that.

And if your life IS like that..well. Shooooo! Yes! I am shoo-ing you off my blog. You have no place here, o’ person with perfect life. I am here to vent and say that romance is dead, and love does not truly exist. SOOOO before you contradict me, and then I subsequently bite your head off with venomous jealousy…ermmm….kindly press the esc key and be gone 🙂 Hurry along. Yes, good. Now then.

Where was I?

Yes, Love is poo.

Really, it is,

Its this horrible thing, that makes you feel good for a while, gets you hooked, makes you severely confused, and then up and leaves.

Leaving you horribly bereft and worse off than before!

Okay, okay I know, most of you will be saying by now that I’m contradicting myself.

Yes, I said love doesn’t exist. And now, I’m moaning about it.

What I really meant was that REAL love. Romantic love. Movie love. Love love. Yes, that one! Its not real.

Tell me one person, who fell magically in love (ahem, ‘in lust’ more like) at first sight, and their marriage lasted 70 years?


You can’t find one.

I on the other hand, met this lovely 92 year old lady. Whose marriage HAS lasted 70 years. And her story had nothing to do with romantic movie love. It was war – time and she did ‘what was expected of a young lady.’ Nonetheless…she is as happy as a peach. Although probably just as wrinkled as a peach too. She was lovely. And she held my hand and told me of a long, and fulfilled life. With many children, and many laughs.

Life isn’t really in technicolour.

Its a splodge of colour here. A splash of laughs there. A collection of moments and half-whispered promises. Hold on to those moments. Enjoy them. Revel in them. Wash your face with them. THIS is your life. Not that one in the little box you watch.

* Disclaimer: This was written when I was feeling throughly disillusioned with ‘love’  I am currently still a hopeless, hapless romantic 😀 *

There Are Nine Million Bicycles In Beijing

There are nine bicycles in Beijing

That’s a fact

Its a thing we cant deny

Like the fact that I will love you till I die.

We are 12 billion light years from the edge

That’s a guess

No one can ever say its true

But I know that I will always be with you.

I’m warmed by the fire

Of your love everyday

So don’t call me a liar

Just believe everything that I say

There are 6 billion people in the world

More or less

And it make me feels quite small

That your the one I love most of all.


Webs Of Disdain

The keening of her broken heart pierces his soul and infects his mind.
Seeping, creeping; Black perfumed poison.
Bejewelled eight-legged widows,
Chattering in dismay.

The Silk Scarf

With a purposeful stride, I looped round the neighbourhood. Past scruffy cats, stinking storm drains, and many, many, kiosks. Little shanty houses. Made of corrugated mabati and pieces of left over wood. I scanned the area looking for one specific kiosk; ‘Ma vitu mob’ kiosk.

As I walked in, my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. A single naked bulb hung from the ceiling. The whirring of machines, and the soft glow from several computer screens lit the place  with an other worldy glow. My eyes swung to the swarthy man at the counter. I had to squint to see him clearly through the smoky, dark room.

‘Ah, ni Kamau!’ I thought.
Its kamau.  I’m sorted. After some coin had exchanged hands, I settled down to wait.

A shimmer of bright orange caught my eye. A triangle of silky fabric. Luminescent in the darkeness of the room.
A ducked head.
A giggle.
And a glance.
Sweeping dark eyelashes, thick and slick, like weary candle wicks. Was she looking at me out of the corner of her eye?
Yes she was! I saw that. With a grin, I settled more comfortably on my stool. Waiting would be entertaining after all.

Her smooth, dark skin glowed.Her teeth, a startling white against her lips. Was that a smile? I smiled back…. inwardly. Kamau could be back at any moment.

With a heavy heart, I forced myself to look away. I have no time for beautiful girls in silk, orange scarves. I don’t have time for anything really. Anything other than feeding this heavy hunger in my heart. I faced the counter and hunched my shoulders to wait.

A few empty seconds ticked past. My heart as still as a crocodile sunning itself. Every inch of me painfully aware of her innocent glances my way.

‘Umm, would you help me please? Computer ime freeze’

Now I was staring at pools of liquid brown honey. I felt like I was standing at the edge of my sanity. Diving into those swirling, molten twin pools would undoubtedly be my undoing. Helpless to resist, I fell into her gaze. A rare smile cracked its way painfully across my face. I shouldn’t, but like a lamb to its slaughter, I allowed myself to be led to the offending machine.
Control. Alt. Delete.
The machine whirred back to life. Magic. With another rare toothy smile (what was wrong with me?) I turned to face her.  What did I expect, a pat on the head? Disgusted with myself, I forced my face into a disapproving glare. She shrank back visibly. Oops.

I adjusted the volume of the glare. I’d forgotten how menacing I could look. In my world, a valuable asset. With a grunt, I indicated the fixed computer and waited expectantly. A stammered thank you floated from her lovely lips. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet the dryness that had suddenly afflicted them. I felt the same way. Parched. And she looked like a long, cold drink right now. Shaking my head at my cheesy thoughts with a wry smile, I turned to leave.
I could wait outside.

Dancing with fate, is not a game I like to entertain.


The Him You Have vs The Him You Want

The Him You Want:

Hot. Slim. Rock hard abs.

He listens when you talk.

He just GETS you.

He doesn’t judge …ever.

You can be your total and complete loco self with him.

He encourages you to be you.

He inspires you to be better.

He is your muse.

Your rock.

Your partner.

Your friend. Your very BEST friend.

He will listen to you go on and on about shoes, or your crappy day at work, or how your friend may or may not have said something mean to you.

He will listen patiently, and offer advice.

He will take you shopping. Even though he hates it.

He makes you soup when you’re sick.

He  makes you smile.

He makes you feel beautiful. Every day.

He makes you feel like a Goddamn piece of art. Even when you are at your worst.

Through his eyes, you grow. You start to see yourself as he sees you….Beautiful. And your insecurities fall away.

You are the apple of his eye.

And he is the icing on your cake.

He is a bit of a bad boi.

You can never get hold of him when you need him ..Mr. Unreachable.

He is moody, and deep.

Sensitive and arty.



The Him You Have:

He is annoying.

He doesn’t make you laugh.

He picks his teeth.

He doesn’t pick up his dirty boxers.

He is Mr. Practical and counts every penny.

He won’t let you buy that new hoover (you already have 3)

He does make a mean lasagne though.

He gets on with mum and dad. Knows how to keep them off your back so that you don’t have to shoot your brains out.

He is Mr. Responsible.

Never late.

Never broke.

Never not-there. He is your rock.

He is Mr. Fix it.

Not a single light bulb unchanged, nor a pesky hard to open jar, unopened.

The best person at a crisis.

Guaranteed to answer his phone. Help is on its way! He is Mr. Dependable.

He is your Mr. Right now, Right here.

The Him You Have.

If the Him You Have, and The Him You Want are the same person?


Never leave him.

Be good to him.

Make sure he knows you love him every day.

If The Him You Have is who you DO have. I envy you. Do you feel like you settled? Settled for less? Or settled for the best?

Feeling secure in a relationship vs excitement and romance? The age old question that has eluded many a woman before us.

The lucky few get it all. So I hear.

I have yet to see substantial evidence of a relationship with BOTH Mr. Excitement and Mr. Dependable.

But exploding stars exist. So who am I to question what I haven’t seen with my own eyes.

I don’t know peeps.

I feel old. And I feel like we never DO get to the bottom of life’s difficult questions. They just remain unanswered and when we are dead and gone, a new batch of clueless young’uns repeat the journey of painful soul searching….

I guess, I guess, Its just about doing You. Being true to YOU. And the truth will follow (as will Mr. Whoever)…..

Peace out, yo


PS: (I may have found a Mr. Perfect…though its early days…wish me luck!)

‘…a pot belly still gives good loving’

Perfect, glowing moon

The smell of jasmine in the air

A hint of mystique and romance

His eyes twinkle

A smile flashes


Is it me you’re looking at?

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