More Than Just a Mushy Feeling
You may not exactly be opined to call me a saint, but I can identify with Saint Valentine. One’s entire life’s work can be misconstrued, warped, misunderstood or corrupted. All it takes is a few other generations who know your memorial day but don’t know you and then seem to leave their brains (with or without their shoes) outside the door of the church every time they’re going in. All it takes is a generation that defines love by the genitals.
Exactly one year ago, I was visiting an isolated village somewhere in South Eastern Nigeria. Two of my friends had put together this valentine party for the local young people- particularly teens and preteens. To be absolutely honest, in retrospect, I couldn’t seem to get rid of the honest to goodness ‘this’ll be so boring’ that kept racing through my mind like a 4 year old with restless legs syndrome Plus, I don’t exactly work with the Party People and Co. Incorporated. I packed up my acoustic guitar and drove several kilometres to Amuzi along a half-dirt, half-tarmac road paved with jagged, knife edged rocks and dotted with what seemed like purposely constructed potholes that constantly ate at my tyres. What can I say?
It’s all about mushy feelings.
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