So I found my windchimes – muchos gracias to KP and this lady here.

I went with the Nakumatt junction option, and they claimed to have no idea what windchimes were [groan]. But since KP had bought his there, I gave him an in-store call and he directed me to the exact coordinates of said dangling bell thingies.

They have a lovely selection, but they were all either too masculine or too fancy, and I wanted something in red.

Yes, windchimes can be masculine. Think undecorated hollow pipes[though they produce the most amazing sounds].

The only red they had was a tiny flowery one and a shrine to valentine’s day. That thing had more red hearts than a **insert appropriate simile here**. So what I did is I bought the two red ones, attacked them with a pair of scissors, and ended up with something I could hang in my house. And as a bonus, Princess got about a hundred red beads shaped like hearts. Yay! **DIFJ**

[Incidentally, the other Nakumatts probably had them too, since the Junction attendant had no clue what I was talking about!]

Then yesterday I was early for a date so I passed by Enka Rasha as advised. They have the prettiest windchimes in everything from butterflies to dolphins to seashells, wooden, metallic, girly, boy-y, and all at such fair prices. Me like!

Now all I need is an hour glass. I’m going to browse Enka Rasha a little more next time I’m in town. They look like having hourglasses.

Next project … does anyone know where I can get a typewriter?

♫ Unwell ♫ Matchbox Twenty ♫

I don’t know what it is about these Rwandan women.

Back in Dar, we had this neighbour kid. She had to be, what, twelve? Fifteen at most; she didn’t even have proper … rib-padding yet. But when she walked, you just couldn’t help staring.

Here was a tall, polite, pre-pubescent girl in an extremely unflattering school uniform, but you still couldn’t take your eyes off her. She’s tall [er than me. At 12! And I’m 5’6!!] , light, graceful, and when she walks I swear I hear music playing … and I’m straight!

Yesterday I saw another one. She was full grown, 5’8, semi-light-skinned with glasses and a bob. She was wearing a blue v-neck t-shirt, pedals, and strappy sandals, nothing remarkable. But she had style and those Rwandese hips.

This girl walked like a cat. I don’t mean she was cat-walking in the choreographed way of trained models, no. She was just strolling, off-guard, yet she could have put any beauty queen to shame. Yaani her walk is just sheer grace. I glanced at her once as I walked past, then looked again, trying not to be too impolite. I noted that she looked good, in an effortless, unpolished kind of way, then walked on.

But then I noticed a few watchmen literally breaking their necks as she passed. You know that thing wolf-cartoons do where the eyes are glued to a person and the neck swivels trying not to break contact? They were doing that.

A few metres away I noticed some … people having the same reaction. Except these people were girls. One girl had actually stopped and turned to watch Ms Rwanda even though she was now almost 100 metres away.

What can I say, the girl had presence. They call it je ne sais quoi sijui X-Factor sijui nini-nini. They say it can’t be described, but that you know it when you see it.

Me, I saw it, and I know it.

And the coolest part is she didn’t even know it. She was just strolling along minding her own business, totally unaffected, with her handsfree thingies [or possibly an ipod] in her ears.

Ai, kweli huyo, ameumbika.

In less jaw-dropping news, is it just me or that billboard, the Fanta one, the one where a guy and a girl are sharing a drink out of one bottle using two straws [there’s one on Mbagathi roundabout and another on valley road] … is it just me or is the Fanta in that bottle yellow?

♫ The animal [cannon ball] song ♫ Savage Garden ♫

A person that I am very fond of is getting married. She’s lovely, so cheerful and full of life; feisty and red-haired, with the prettiest blue eyes. It’s taken her a long time to find the love of her life  – she’s almost fifty!

Hearing the news, I couldn’t help giggling. I’m so, so happy for her. She’s been so busy with her career and her travels and her nephews and niece that she hardly ever had time for herself. She started work as a teenager, went back to school at 40, and is now a bride at fifty.

So much for being off the shelf!! She’s totally renewed my spirit.

I wish you all the happiness in the world Jen, you both deserve it!

I’m a romantic. A cynic one, but a romantic still. I’ve found my The One, but it scares me a lot because it feels like the clocks are all wrong. But I’m glad for my friend Jen, because it proves that there is such a thing as perfect timing, and I’m sure that for my Sailor and I, the perfect time will arrive.

♫♫♫♫♫

I was reading through some old posts today, and it made me sad. It reminded me of cows and chicken and online tweef. Sad really.

♫♫♫♫♫

I met an old friend yesterday. She’s one of the toughest people I know. She lives with a condition – it’s a miracle she’s still here! Yet she’s all energy and smiles, it’s truly amazing. She’s like this ever-growing bubble of happiness that just sucks you in. Great hair too! When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

The thing with my friend Phie is that she’s real. She always says exactly what she means, firmly, gently, warmly; it’s hard not to laugh with her. What you see is what you get, and it’s up to you whether you like her or not; she doesn’t care. Or if she does, she hides it very well.

I still struggle with that. I feel bad when I realise that I don’t like someone, and worse when I realise they don’t like me. I know these are perfectly human emotions, so I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I love garlic, but I’m not too fond of hoho. There’s no particular reason for it – it’s just taste. So why would it bother me that someone is my garlic while another is my hoho?

♫♫♫♫♫

I’ve discovered another thing that bothers me: older guys. I’ve been dealing with a lot of them lately – prospective clients – so I have to handle them with care. The thing with these guys is … well … they’ve got game! I don’t know if these skills get better with time, or if they’ve had a lot of practice, or if it’s maturity and wisdom, or if I’ve just never been darted before, but meetings with these over-forties always leave me confused. I walk out of the venue in a daze with this retarded look on my face thinking ‘What just happened?’

It’s possible that the reason I react is that I can’t dismiss their words or swat brush them off – in my eyes, it’s like talking to my [grand]dad. Or it could be that they are so subtle that they can sneak up on you unnoticed.  It could be that they’ve been around long enough to learn the tacks that work; I have no clue. All I know is half the time I’m asking myself if this is business meeting or a date, and the other half I’m wondering whether what they just said was really smart or really inappropriate…

♫♫♫♫♫

Another thing that’s on my mind is green eyes. I’ve always liked green eyes. Mostly because everyone is so taken with blue. I’ve never actually seen green eyes in person. I’ve seen them in hazel, in contacts, and on Ben Ten; they always look really pretty. So I have always wanted to see real green eyes.

Yesterday I saw some on TV. It was on Master Chef – Thomasina’s. She’s this interesting-looking girl – a freelance writer, and she’s kind of gothish sometimes. She calls herself Tommy.

Looking at her eyes, I was disappointed. I mean sure, they’re pretty, but they’re not the super-magic fairy-telling breath-taking colour I imagined. They were really just an indistinct shade that’s not quite blue and not quite brown. They’re supposed to be very rare.

So I suppose that means I’m over my infatuation with green eyes. Maybe I can switch to grey – those are still hot. Or the deep-brown-type hazel. Apparently, hazel comes in two shades. There’s the reddish-brown hazel and the greenish-grey hazel. I’m going with reddish-brown, because it borders on burgundy.  I still wonder the green eyes so amazed me though.

♫♫♫♫♫

I had this gigantic mirror made – 6 by 3 and a half – and placed it at the foot of my matress. Now princess and I spend ages each day just staring at it. We’ll find any excuse to view ourselves, and sometimes, we’ll find no excuse at all.

I often work in bed, cross-legged, with my laptop on my knees, and I often take mirror-breaks to grin at myself or pull a funny face. Princess sometimes perches on the matress to watch herself eat.

What I’m wondering is … are we vain? Was this sudden obssession with reflections  recessive, or would any human being react this way if exposed to a six-foot mirror?

Oh well. I suppose these are mysteries to be solved another day. For now, the dishes. I’ve become fairly accustomed to cooking and cleaning. It’s not nearly as bad as I thought, and I’m almost getting good at it. Especially when accompanied by X FM.

♫ How far we’ve come ♫ Matchbox Twenty ♫