TusomeNaOluh

On March 13, what would later be known as patient zero was announced. A Kenyan Lady in her late twenties had tasted positive for what the U.S President dismissed as, Chinese Virus. Our worst fears had been confirmed and the media having vastly covered the health pandemic, a good number of the citizens was sure thar time on earth had come to an unlikely end. This was not to be. Six months later, after what the president called expert advice decided to lift most of the containment measures to curb the spread of covid. Unlike other countries that had been hardly hit , our country recorded a relatively low number of deaths. Among the measures lifted was that which prohibited the sale of alcohol and closure of bars. The drinking nation had been given the power to drink again, at their own perril. The announcement was met with celebrations from visibly sobber drunkards who had missed hitting the brown bottle. Keg enthusiasts also joined the bandwagon. Time to celebrate, tukunywe pombe! But t

It is Eight in the morning, the clouds envious of the sun's shine. They cover the sky forcing a false chill on what should be a bright morning. Being the type of people who visit  Twitter before confirming that they can breath, I log into the bird app and a " what do you wake up to" tweet welcomes me. Should I tell them that I wake up to their tweets? In the age of Amerix's Four Bs, it is wrong. So I won't. I look around, searching for inspiration to aid me in the reply. I wake up to nothing new, the air smells like yesterday.  I wake up to almost silent dawns. Cock crows punctuating the rather peaceful early mornings. I wake up to chicken flapping their wings, with a hope that they will fly higher than yesterday. I wake up to new blessings.  I wake up to battery low warnings, and data depletion messages with my phone acting as the blanket, resting on my chest. I wake up to news that I was blocked, just because I drifted to slumber before replying to her messages.

That morning, I stood rooted to the tiled floor with my hands on the poorly done window grills. I had been examining the structure that we called home. The Sun was lazy, casting weak monotonous rays on the ground. It had sufficiently rained the previous night and the air was still fresh.  Since my childhood, I had enjoyed the petrichor, it had a way of pumping life into my dead hopes, and couldn't wait for a few droplets of rain to hit the ground. It was a moment I always craved for. Half past seven in the morning, if not for the birds chirping so melodiously I wouldn't have travelled back to reality. "Normal is boring." I said to myself reaching for my phone that was religiously playing my favorite Bob Marley playlist. Nobody can stop reggae. The tweets that day were not as snappy as I would have wanted. Something was eating me up but still I couldn't figure it out, at least not at a time when Bob was reassuring that things would be alright. Music to me had alway