It is 8pm and its chaila time for me. Today was a day of absurd frivolity and I am now kaput. I don't know what's up with me and sleep during this lockdown. My body has found its own time and is demonstrating nothing but contempt for the clock. The morning started with great intentions. I had my online Connect to Your Vision session, and decided to do slides at literally the 13th hour. I also had ambitions of making biryani. I've never made biryani before. I know, I know, I know, it's ridonculous. I know, I know ... I've earned the ire of my foremothers 7 seven generations before. But hey, I've learned that I am a slow learner. Now I'm learning that I'm also a slow starter, but let me remind you of the story of the Tortoise and the Hare. Enough said. My online session was so-so. It's the first time I do this particular topic in this manner and I am still finding my groove. I'll get there. For reasons I still don't understand, my tech decided to show me the middle finger. Somewhere during the session, the power to my machine just got cut off. I could feel the anxiety scramble through me as I made my way back into the online room. After that, I settled in and started to find my way. Hopefully, tomorrow with be glitch-free. That was the last bit of sanity in my day. I came out of the study to discover that Ghaalieb had been a busy, busy lad. A very happy, busy lad. He also had so much reggae going I was half expecting to smell weed. On two different group chats I got to see that Ghaalieb had sugared koesisters for him and the kids. The chat groups were naturally unimpressed. As was I of course. I mean, come on! No fair! What about me! Only after bitterly complaining to my cuzzies did he eventually capitulate and produced one lonely tired-looking koesister for me. She would have looked a lot perkier if she had had a friend. Ghaalieb, on the other hand, looked like the cat that had all the milk. He knows I can't sugar a koesister to save my life! People have tried and tried to teach me, but like I already said, my learning capabilities have their limits. Not satisfied with the enmity he was drumming up on all social media platforms (actual bad prayers were confessed), Mr. Jappie decided to crank it up even further. He scratched out his mommy's recipe for gulab juman (jumbos) and got cracking on making a sizable batch. I feel the need to place on record here that Ghaalieb becomes a very unkind human being when it comes to jumbos. He hides them. Like treasure. And he is known to disseminate misinformation to anyone in pursuit of his treasured jumbos.
Once they were fried, Ghaalieb stepped away from the kitchen for a while. I scurried into the kitchen on the hunt for a warm, freshly fried jumbo. Nothing. I looked EVERYWHERE, even in the fridge. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I turned once again to my cousins; as well as some friends on other chats. They proved to be a merciless, tough crowd. Apparently, I'm the lucky one. He makes stuff in the kitchen. Ghaalieb was not without flack himself. Apparently he is setting a bad precedent for men-folk.
I think everyone was just seriously bored. As I type this, some of those very humorous conversations that started at midday today are still raging on. Not to be inappropriate, all I know is that somewhere, somehow, a sex tape was introduced into all of this and I want the record to reflect that I had no part in that. If our parents read this, I ask maaf, but it wasn't me.
Although we were all in our own homes, in different corners of the country, today felt like we were visiting. Despite being digital, the connection felt good. Our island felt a little less stranded. My heart feels a bit more cheered and connected. I know that not everyone has access to companionship. I also know that loneliness is very, very painful. In a lockdown, loneliness is compounded with isolation; a deep sense of being cut off. With this knowledge, and having witnessed the damage created by loneliness, I treasure the congenial, comfortable companionship I was was treated to today all the more.
Together with my heart, my tummy is also brimming with happiness. I got to score some scrumptious jumbos eventually. I still don't know where that damn stash is though.
My lofty biryani ambitions were limited to recipe reading. That's a chapter in my life that must still be written. With each recipe I read, my biryani enthusiasm slipped evermore. Who knows? Maybe I recover some of this enthusiasm by the time the lockdown ends. In the interest of full disclosure, I am not making any promises though.
Supper ended up being a delicious and delightful affair of fish fingers and white bread with mayonnaise and peri-peri. Perfection itself. Like they say in afrikaans, 'dis soos 'n engel op my tong gepiepie het.' A far cry from biryani but lekker nonetheless.
Talking about bread...we've run out, and you know what means right? You guessed it! I get to take a walk to the shop tomorrow. Yay!
I came across a few lockdown memes that had me in stitches. Maybe they really are funny, maybe it's all that reggae and subliminal weed. Who knows 🤷🏻♀️
Ciao for now. I have some winks to catch.