Tag Archives: old

HORROR:”The New Old House” (REALITY) | GBAMLOG.COM 

By batoutofhell

We bought an old house, my boyfriend and I. He’s in charge of the “new” construction – converting the kitchen in to the master bedroom for instance, while I’m on wallpaper removal duty. The previous owner papered EVERY wall and CEILING! Removing it is brutal, but oddly satisfying. The best feeling is getting a long peel, similar to your skin when you’re peeling from a sunburn. I don’t know about you but I kinda make a game of peeling, on the hunt for the longest piece before it rips.Under a corner section of paper in every room is a person’s name and a date. Curiosity got the best of me one night when I Googled one of the names and discovered the person was actually a missing person, the missing date matching the date under the wallpaper! The next day, I made a list of all the names and dates. Sure enough each name was for a missing person with dates to match. We notified the police who naturally sent out the crime scene team. I overhead one tech say “yup, it’s human.” Human? What’s human? “Ma’am, where is the material you removed from the walls already? This isn’t wallpaper you were removing.”

Remember to like and comment and click the follow button to subscribe

Advertisements

AGING ROMANCE TALE: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT by Kevin Hughes. 

He got up to pee. He didn’t want to get up, he wanted to sleep. Old age and time dictated that sleep would have to take a back seat to sleeping in a puddle of pee. His normal good nature crept back in as the picture of him laying in a puddle of pee settled into his mind. He chuckled.

It was dark. That didn’t matter. He had done that late night walk to the bathroom several times a night (and quite a few during the day too) for almost the entire decade since he retired. It was as natural to him now as forgetting where his glasses were. And just as annoying.

It was the middle of the night. He gently closed the door to their bedroom. His comings and goings never wakened her…but light, well that would often make her stir a bit. Sometimes even bringing her to the edge of wakefulness:

“Honey, you okay?’

A sleep worried voice would come from her side of the bed.

“I’m fine, Honey. It’s okay. I just had to pee. I love you.”

“Okay.”

A moment later and he would hear her breathing slow down a bit…then that snore that was like white noise to him now. He would smile again. She thought she didn’t snore. Just him. That became his own secret – he would never tell her they both snored.

In the middle of the night, that snore often let him return to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. It also made him reach over to her side of the bed, placing one of his vein ridden hands on top of her now plump hip. She would reach, even in her deepest sleep- to pat his hand. It wasn’t a conscious act anymore. It was a connection too deep for that.

It was the middle of the night- both of them reassuring the other with a touch, a few words, or the answer to: ”You Okay?” that they were together…and still alive. It was enough.

He made some tea. That brought yet another smile to a face that had smiled more than it had frowned for more than seventy years. When he was younger, tea, well tea would keep him awake. Now he would often sip a whole cup of tea while sitting in the dark – pee, and go back to bed. The whole time he was sipping the tea he would just listen to her snore, ride the waves of time back to their youth, or enjoy the quiet of the middle of the night.

Sometimes, she would wake up enough to go to the fridge to get water. He would watch her slip silently past him…thinking he was asleep in his recliner. Even half asleep, thirsty, and in the middle of the night, she cared about him. She wouldn’t want to disturb him, or wake him. As she passed by to return to the bedroom she would caress his foot lightly with one hand.

It was a ritual almost as old as their four plus decades of being together. He would whisper out into the darkness:

“I love you too.”

He didn’t need light to see the smile he knew that put on her face. He didn’t need his hearing aides in to hear the soft return:

“I love you, too.”

Sometimes, in the Middle of the night, the rain would pound against the roof. Both of them would have to pee at the same time. He liked those nights with the pounding rain and the mutual call of nature. For on those nights he would make tea for himself, hot chocolate for her and they would sit on their enclosed front porch and watch the rain fall.

Sometimes they would talk about the past. Sometimes the future. Sometimes about things they learned that day, or in the last week. Most times they just sat quietly sipping their drinks in the middle of the night. She would wear her Granny Pajamas that ground out any thought of sexuality but left her femininity intact. He would wear old boxer shorts and a robe missing the belt. He could care less that his lap was now occupied by a small rounded belly and not the flat stomach of youth.

It was the middle of the night, they were both old and gray, and the rain was making sure nobody was peeking onto their porch to comment on their aged bodies. If they were, well that thought made him smile too. So he told her about it. Her laugh was like wind chimes to him: delicate, sweet, flute like.

“You cold?”

“A little chilly, Honey.”

“We better go in then. That lightening is a bit scary.”

Two hands then reached for each other. Another quiet habit as old as their marriage and even a few years before that. Even in the middle of the night that habit never failed them.

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

It might have been two AM, or three, or even four AM…somewhere in the middle of the night, when they let go of each other’s hands. Him to crawl into his side of the bed. Her to crawl into hers. A momentary and ritual fight over the sheets and blankets brought a smile to both of them.

In the darkness, with a backdrop of snoring from both sides, a hand reached to rest on a plump hip. A soft warm wrinkled hand covered it to pat it with loving security.

It was the middle of the night.

REALITY CLASSIC TALE: LOVE? OR SLAVERY? By Hilary Chikuvira | GBAMLOG.COM


“If you are not going to be a girlfriend and wife, who is submissive, who follows the lead of a husband, then we got to deal with this now, because no wife of mine will rule my house, give me orders or go to a separate church from mine!”, said Tendai fuming, his voice was shaking from anger, l could see he was totally charged up and no longer caring to select his choice of words.
I was also fed up myself, and l retorted angrily, “fine, if you want me to be that kind of a wife and fiancée, then to hell with it, what are we even doing now? Let’s not waste each other’s time anymore. Have a great life”. I slammed his car door nice and hard as l climbed out and walked away into the dark.
So how did things get so messy?
Tendai and I had fallen in love with each other a year ago, he was all l ever wanted in a guy, ‘at first’ and l was his dream girlfriend too. Both of us at the age of 28 just thought this definitely was it. The search for true love was over.
With time there emerged those nitty-gritty human imperfections. Tendai is traditional, old school and reserved on the other hand l am less cultural and a newly emerging activist for feminism and gender equality. He is the type that prefers to not touch alcohol, deems it unclean for his soul, he prefers the traditional kind of music, and he loves spending his days chilled, watching movies or visiting family and friends. It made me look like l was the wild one, so eager to try anything and everything, ready to live, never content with sleeping before 11 pm on a weekend, and definitely never one to repeat the same activities over and over again.
So as expected in such cases, we started getting into each other’s nerves. He began to think l was too independent, l had no respect for tradition and that l could just not make a good wife for him, but this was never said out aloud. I began to find him quite boring, and just not fun to hang with. But none of us could audibly say it out. We had just come a long way to quit because of what we thought to be a few indifferences.
In my culture, men pay lobola to show respect to the bride’s family and say thank you for raising your daughter well. The culture sort of sells women under the guise of culture. Lobola can be 15 cows including other cultural things that a guy must pay up, not to mention that after the lobola the guy must sponsor the white wedding ceremony as well. The bride’s family demands the amount of lobola they want, and the amount can even add up to 15000 us dollars, which is a 2-year saving for a typical middle-class guy who has decided to forgo buying a house, a car, and a decent living style. Lately, families have become overly greedy and are demanding alarming lobola prices. The fathers of the bride use the lobola to buy things like a fancy car or spend the money getting drunk. And in turn the bride has to leave her family, her religion, her lifestyle, her surname and almost everything else important is foregone by the lady as she follows her husband. It becomes the duty of the wife to clean, cook, take care of the husband and kids, as well as to get formerly employed somewhere and contribute to the new family income. If lobola was truly a cultural way of appreciating a partner l do not see why both partners cannot give lobola to the spouse’s family, or why a guy cannot give out what he has, but instead must toil for years to get to afford a wife.
And as you can imagine, l being a feminist, who realizes there is something seriously wrong with this culture from as early as 11 was totally ready to rebel. And certainly not prepared to be sold off, so l tried reasoning with the love of my life.
We were sitting in Tendai’s car, he was preparing to drive me home, after we had spent the day in the park, doing what we usually do, ‘Chilling’ in the relaxed way he likes. And poor I got bored; there was nothing new to say, no interesting conversation about the latest movie, or the hit song on the market. Just family talk about how we would chill like this, during the weekends once we were married.
Sol blurted out, “Tendi, love brought us together, l love you dearly, but there are a few things we should change love. For starts l would love to keep going to my church, l like it there, and l would love for you to take care of your siblings, but the family culture of a newly wedded couple living under the same roof with family relatives just takes the vibe off honeymoon phase, we can always share, but l prefer staying with you only and my kids, unless we really have to take in someone in need. Can we do that?
Tendai’s eyes grew big, as if they were gonna pop out of their sockets, all he could mutter was “whaaaaat?” Since l had kept this buried for so long in my heart, l thought, ah why not just let it all out, after all, he is my boyfriend, he is bound to see things more from my perspective if l explain well.
“Yes Tendai, l think women’s positions in the house are a bit unfair too, for instance a man gets to come back from work, sits at home, and watches tv whilst the lady who has also come back from a long day at work, breaks her back to cook, wash and do dishes as well as take care of the kids. It sounds more like slavery rather than marriage. I hope when we are married we can share tasks according to everyone’s capabilities, it would make married life easier for me love”.
Tendai looked at me long and hard, with clear bewilderment in his eyes. “Love a woman should be a woman, know your place, and know that it will always be behind me, your boyfriend and future husband, l will be the head of the family, l will make the final decisions, you will be my wife, what is the purpose of a wife? Is it not taking care of the husband? Talk to your mother, talk to your church elders, talk to anyone and they will tell you the same! The husband leads, the wife follows. Equal rights are there, but just not on this!” He ended, fuming with fury.
I guess in his mind he was thinking, oh this gal, what nonsense is this, women are women, and they should remain women. That was the moment when l finally opened up my eyes to the truth l had refused to see all the time; nothing was going to change in this relationship. Not me and certainly not Tendai. It was my purpose to actively campaign for women’s rights. So l took my leave from the car that had become stuffy and tension-filled from the heated argument.
This is the issue that has brought about the end of our so-called love to where we are right now, bitterness, regrets, anger, and anger.
We both think we are right; we both want the other to see how they are the ones who are wrong. And above all, no one wants to compromise.
I take a taxi, and head home, with deep sorrow inside of me, hoping someday, the society will see life in the eyes of a woman because for now, life is just far from being fair where men and women are concerned. I don’t blame Tendai though; he was born in this world, where culture and tradition plays a major role in people’s lives, even if the culture clearly weakens another party and gives the other all the power. It’s the way it is, and everyone has a choice, to do away with the bad culture, or keep it alive and running for the next generation to copy.
But l know my stand on point.