Be thankful or else

Sunday April 1 2012

By Peter Kakoma

We usually get so caught up in life doing very many things; running around trying to get a ninja costume that fits well, mooing in office meetings and pointing at the newest recruit, keeping tabs on our intake of carbohydrates, finding new and advanced techniques to sneak food into a library, feeding laxatives to our neighbours cat and spiking the water in the aquarium. We get so caught up doing all these things that we forget to be thankful for the small things in life.

When done reading this, you ought to be a changed being; you ought to see beauty in every raindrop, a sunset in every blade of grass and to feel a world of gratitude with every breath you take. Presenting, things we totally forget to be thankful for;

That flies fly; Imagine those cretins did not fly but walked instead. Or worse, tiptoed. You would be seated at a posh café somewhere in Kampala, reading a book, looking sophisticated and all things nice and then a fly would tiptoe into your fries.

Imagine your shock when just as your one free hand reached for a fry as you chuckled over a witty Ivan Musoke line, you picked up not a fry…but a fly. (Insert horror soundtrack)Flies that walk would creep up on your food while you were updating your status saying the national park you are in so beautiful while you were seated in a steamy room in Makerere food market sucking soup out of molokony.

That mosquitoes make noise; Picture a life where mosquitoes didn’t make that annoying sound. We would all die. By ‘we’, I’m referring to all of us who live in the tropics. That means you, dear reader. You would be dead. I know grim, right? I didn’t want to say it, because of the humanitarian heart that God put in my chest, but the editor insisted I put it there. I was at pen-point for 33 minutes before I gave in.

The mosquito would silently position its proboscis (kudos to my Science teacher) on the fleshiest part of your right arm and proceed to drain you of your hard-earned blood while you slept, dreaming of walking on a pink moon. But thank God the little ingrates aren’t silent; that way we can send them to their makers by making it clap.

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