I am a wannabe novelist, and I suppose I have made up this story. I write “I suppose,” though I know for a fact that I have not made it up, but yet I keep fancying that it must have happened somewhere at some time, that it must have happened on Friday Eve in some great town in a time of terrible frost.

I have a vision of a lad, a full bodied lad that never dreamed of being a clown, that could have been myself. This lad woke up that morning in a cold damp winter of the former Bechuanaland. He was dressed in a sort of inordinate bow tie and matching pocket square he had received as a gift from peaches about two years before and was shivering with cold. There was a cloud of white steam from his breath, and sitting on a box in the corner, he blew the steam out of his mouth and amused himself in his dullness watching it float away. But he was terribly hungry. Several times that morning he had struggled to get out of the comfort of his bed in vain.

For you see, dear reader, the lad had discovered what some might refer to as witchcraft, a source of warmth that only extended to the realms of his bed. For its small size, it was quite impressive, an under blanket that plugs into an eclectic socket and a feeling that one might describe as additional arms to hug and hold you down to the bed hence the struggle to rise from its warm embrace.

But being a Thursday, arise he did, for the working world demanded of it his share of the labour force. Lately its been labelled and essential service, so face mask came on, making sure it had a sort of resemblance to the bow tie and pocket square to make an elegant ensemble.

Fast forward a couple of hours later and birthday wishes are shared, for it was the 18th of June and a dear friend had reached the crossroads of another annual celebration. In what one could describe as spirit of reminiscence, he scrolled through an archive of pictures of the birthday child sharing two picture memories of “way back when”. It was during this scroll process that another picture catches his eyes, its as lovely as pictures go and in the picture, he and GG are posing in front of wine bottle that have been placed symmetrically as decor at what once used to be called Flute wine bar. “Ooh blimey, this place is long been closed down” he recons. without as much as a further thought, he selects the picture and clicks the share icon quickly followed by whatsapp app, the device requests for option to add a message and “Take me back” is filled in the blank space provided and click.. its sent. The process is so organic and straight forward that it took no more than 3 seconds.

Almost as quick as the message was sent, did the responses come through. Not one response but rather different responses from what seemed his entire address book. They flooded in so quick that he had no time to respond to any of them. “Ooh what a mess” he shrieked for he had sent the message to a broadcast list previously made for his brothers wedding invitations. almost instantly he remembers the message “Take me back”. He sat huddled up and was breathless from fright, and all at once, quite suddenly, he felt so happy: his hands and feet suddenly left off aching and grew so warm, as warm as though he were on a stove; then he shivered all over, then he gave a start, why, he must have been asleep. 

But Alas, dreams do not come when we wish them, and the aunties had received the message too and he was vexed by the hard questions that were to come.

“But why worry or be downcast” he thought, “as long as GG is all good, i am good and with allow to be the clown for the day”

And just like that, we got the donkey of the day, yours truly.