The Weekly Sneak: What? Oh. Merry World Cup to You Too.

The nice thing about growing older is that you don't have to accept your limitations so much as your limitations just kind of embrace you warmly and never let you go. After two decades of trying to fit in, this is me comfortably admitting that unless I am in the stadium, unless it is Serena Williams, or one of those sports that we only enjoy during the Olympics, unless it is Rugby, then I am not watching it. 

If you also love the beautiful human body and the feel of a good adrenaline high and a racing heart, if you dig the idea of fitness even if we are crap at actually working out, if you believe in a good long walk or hot yoga or karate, whatever your flavor... but you're just not going to watch the world cup? This one is for you: 

"Why lie, it really is the beautiful game. You wouldn't believe how much work can go into remaining completely and utterly unbewitched by it, which means that some of us are facing a long couple of weeks of avoiding crowds, bars, conversations, the first minute of any newscast, the last minute of any newscast, and possibly all human beings that can talk. When it comes to sports, I would rather do it however badly than sit around and watch someone else do it, however well."

Ain't no shame in it. See you around at the television-free restaurants and coffee shops. 

What Makes You Proud To Be an African?

A rather sweet and well-intentioned email came across my desk about three weeks back, asking me what makes me proud to be an African. Like, could I describe it? Preferably in so-many printable words for the benefit of her initiative. 

You know, I like to support, especially the young. But. Some questions, eh. So I did what a good Tanzanian does: dwelled in silence rather than say no directly. Oddly enough, I ended up answer her question sideways through an entirely different article. Coming to an African Arguments near you tomorrow:

"...one evening, I sat in a pub next to a gentleman who upon learning of my nationality proceeded to regale me with tales of his colonial service, only to insist that the only reason a woman like me would be in the school I was attending was because my parents must be part of the kleptocracy. After all, no such thing as honest Africans who work long and hard to give their children an elite education, right? 

Bojo! Clearly, this man did not know he was talking to a full-blooded Mhaya. And then he dragged my folks into it. Let's just say that many of the principles by which I conduct my professional life and approach to international relations, class, the development industry sprang out of those seminal encounters."

If you're Haya and you know, clap your hands. And while you're at it, might as well put the 'L' in "arrogance."  ;) I just wanted to keep that one para intact in case they edit in the next few hours.

As Craig Ferguson would say: "I look forward to your letters." Heh.

e.