Abong Brian: Feeling some type of way

Guest Posts, Guest Writer : Abong Brian

TYPE-01_compressed

Generalisations, the scourge that plagues the minds of many people. See, even that statement itself is a generalisation. I personally disagree with the notion that one, or 100 people is big enough a sample size to draw conclusions on character, appearance etc. Heck, give me a big enough sample size and I’ll still argue that there is an exception somewhere, even if it’s one person.

People, in my opinion are just too unique to be classified by general social structures such as tribe, country, race, literacy or residence. Stereotyping as they call it. It’s however this belief that has made answering one of life’s commonest and perhaps most important questions difficult for me. That question is, what is your type?

See, whenever this question comes up, a leg is either close or being planned for and advise being sought. It’s common because, well, who doesn’t want some pussy every now and then. Also, for some reason, that question has appeared more often than some that I’ve studied for.

How important is that question you say? Well, a correct answer and or identification of one’s type is like knowing your blood type. In both cases, they ease the act of transfusion. For one who has a type, the search for a mate becomes less of a gamble, and more of a “skinny chics are always at the beach” situation.

I on the other hand try my best not to generalise in as many aspects of life as I can. I have friends from different religious backgrounds, countries and character. I look back at the ladies I’ve been with and they are as diverse as what makes up the atmospheres of planets in the Milky Way galaxy. OK, maybe not that diverse. But they’ve been tall, short, light, dark, skinny, chubby, heavy, dimpled, bald, screamers, moaners, criers, you name it. It’s this history that leads to my default reply, “I have no type”. I then usually either get a look of disbelief or further convincing that we all have a type. Others go further and call me a male whore or just a desperate chap. To those I raise my imposing middle finger.

Anyway, good news is I think I’ve found my type. A recent visit home helped me get to this conclusion. And no, it’s not like I met the one. I met the usual variety of ladies, most sharing just their gender in common. They however all lit up whenever I said something silly, which was quite often. Talking to me seemed like enough, and they all for some reason liked me. So there we have it, my type is ladies who like me, and I don’t mean on Facebook.

| Abong Brian

Abong Brian: Isa Lie?

Guest Posts, Guest Writer : Abong Brian, Notes

Isa Lie
Black skin is amazing. I used to think we were dark because well, we live around the tropics and it’s hot over here. Anything I had subjected to heat in my 10 or so years of existence by that time had turned darker, getting to my skin tone, then darker to purplish black. The whites therefore were light because it’s colder where they be. I reasoned. Physics later added to my opinion when I learnt that white reflects heat, but then why weren’t Africans white? All this heat being reflected back would have been an effective weapon against global warming. And what about the inhabitants of the Sahara and Arabian Deserts? Long story short, I used to think about quite a few things and I still do. However, I now also think black skin and cold weather don’t mix, at least mine doesn’t.
Ash to ash, dust to dust
Lotion and Vaseline fall under the same category as makeup in my book. Since I started dressing myself, I’ve applied little to none of that stuff. If I’m wearing closed shoes, why apply lotion to my feet? That was the norm, and it worked. Admittedly, my body would get ashy, in those ash friendly places like between the fingers, elbows and feet. But never has my entire body gotten ashy, until recently. It was like someone dusted a blackboard eraser all over my body. DaFaq was going on? Winter was turning me white, and not the privileged type. Anyway, as someone who cannot identify as metro sexual or whatever, I don’t believe men should wear makeup. If you’re an actor or staring in a music video to launch your career as a sex symbol, cool. But after that, wipe that shit off. Even ladies I believe shouldn’t wear makeup. Why? Because it’s probably the reason the special ladies in our lives take ages to get dressed. I say special because I won’t wait for any insert random female name here. Also, its fraud. Plain and simple. Makeup is obtaining food, compliments, sex, money, attention, affection etc. under false pretence. But the a shyness got to extremes, and I decided I may need to apply makeup.
Makeup, You? Howly?
Normally jokes are shared between two people, or a group that has its major defining feature as their proximity at that very moment. In my case however, the person I was with started laughing, then people around us also started laughing. And we were walking, so this was like a live feed of a joke. The problem was, I didn’t get the joke. A chuckle, choke and a few tears later, she asked me a question. Why are your legs so ashy? And burst out laughing again.
Now I got it, I was the joke. I looked down at my feet, and yep. It’s like I had a second skin, some places were grey, others black. Others glittered as the sun hit at weird angles. This wasn’t funny, I was scared. My legs and feet had never looked like this. I was wearing my most famous shorts, the things I’ve worn almost everywhere. Every trip around Uganda, my one trip to Europe, in the swimming pool and recently, to South Africa. And never had my bottom half looked so much like the walls of an abandoned smoke house.
This therefore called for drastic measures. See, I usually buy a bottle of lotion and use it for about a year or so. Between my fingers, on my fading tattoo and my feet when I’m in my trademark African crafts. Since the Ashy day however, that has changed. I apply that cold stuff whenever I’m not in a hurry; on my legs, the parts of my back I can reach, chest and my drumsticks. At times I just avoid exposing too much skin. But this is a lie.
Isa Lie?
My lotion is like it was designed in an experimental army base. The terms used range from intensive care, multi-layer to micro droplets, all of which should help “restore dry skin to reveal its natural glow” and “soothe extra dry skin”. Yep, that’s what I needed, unless ashy skin isn’t dry skin. But after over 3 months of applying almost daily and the bottle running out, if I miss a single day, the ash is present. What kind of scam is this? You promise one thing, but deliver only if used daily? Isn’t this slavery of some sort? Vaseline-did I think this would be possible.
| Abong Brian