It’s a given that the most beautiful humans that I see once I wake up each morning are my family.
My dear Himself – if he is not out of town and our lovely blessings – The children. They are never far from me. Hmm, come to think of it, it seems a selfie holiday is loooong overdue; though I doubt if that vacation will be as much fun without them.
Without doubts, I love them very much and I refer to them as ”ndi nkem, nji eme onu” in my native language which means, ”my very own that I am proud of. My jewels of inestimable value.
However, they are not the ones that I want to talk briefly about right away.
The ones that I want to discuss lightly are those strangers that cross my path of life on this strip.
Most mornings, after my folks, the next batch of people I always run into are the friendly porters who I think are from Pakistan and Philippines and because these ones have been friendly, I have not yet cast them as villains in any of my short stories, just Mr. PT who I turned into a nice portly porter in a short series that I am writing.
They are followed by other folks from wherever, whom I meet sometimes in the lift, on the walkway, if I am taking a brisk morning stroll or at the children’s school and so on.
They consist of proud Emiratis and Saudi Arabians, the fair Russians, the Ugandans, the Ethiopians, lots of Indians, more Filipinos and Pakistanis and others that I am yet to discover where they are from.
Sometimes they reward you with a mere upturn of their lips in a forced smile (usually from the more western ones) and a lot of times with a glare of a look.
There are two particular fellows I love to cast as villains in my mind.
I meet them mostly at the neighbourhood gym where they hog the machines like cyborgs and get so annoying with their showing off exercising skill – my green jealous eye is wiggling here.
Hear me out, one of them sweats over the machines and does not bother to wipe it down after use. Urrgh!
The other one runs on the thread mill at an unbelievable speed and his heavy footing makes so much noise, that I can virtually see the tongue of the poor machine hanging out as it pants in exhaustion while holding on to dear life.
Thankfully, I tune them out with my headphones and just enjoy turning them into imps and ogres in my mind.
I am still searching for the character to cast as a shiny hero that will slay their monstrous behaviour and turn them into pumpkins.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
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