Irony

How exactly does one achieve peace and unity in a somewhat jumpy jittery country through wrestling, an ancient form of fighting which in itself is violent and brutal? Is it somewhat like the concept of fighting fire with fire? Or is it along the line of you need to spend money to make money?

Am I being cynical or am I missing the point completely?

Grilled Vegetables with Couscous

Another lazy dude meal. Slice the vegetable of your choice, mine were green cucumber, red bell pepper and purple eggplant, and grilled them with olive oil and salt and pepper. While grilling, boil water or broth and pour them over the instant couscous and set it aside for 5 minutes. Then season the couscous and fluff it up with butter and toss in the grilled vegetables.

It was supposedly a quick and healthy meal but I used like the whole block of butter to fluff up the couscous. Oh buttery yumminess

Crowd Forest

Missing to show me the place during my last trip in May (we were actually there before the place was even opened), my friend, M insisted that we go to check out the latest attraction that the amazing beautiful island nation of Singapore has to offer. 

We went into the Crowd Forest Conservatory, oh I meant the Cloud Forest Conservatory, and was immediately confronted to a gazillion of others. The visitors formed a roaring river flowing in, very much like the gushing water pouring down from the manmade waterfall inside the conservatory. The place was hopping and bobbing,  absolutely packed and noisy! 

Truth be told it was not an enjoyable experience being rounded up and herded along like cattle. Well at least the orchids were really pretty and lovely. 

It was on the news a couple of weeks later, they cleared the conservatory for Kate and Will. Oh what a bunch of suck ups!

Teacher

She is the all in one caretaker-guide-ticket booth operator of the Nyamata Catholic Church, now a genocide memorial. She collected my fee and showed me the way in.

That morning, I was the only visitor. Gingerly I went into the dimly lit church, so careful with my step that as if I would shatter the haunting silence. The sight of the piles of blood stained clothes on the pews, rows after rows, was blindingly glaring.  The air was stale and heavy, suffocating almost. I forced myself to take it in but it was too much to bear. I walked out.

I sat with her. I asked her about the memorial, about the people around and the horrific bloody killings in the church back then. She told me stories about that dark period of Rwanda, slowly and matter-of-factly. It was believed that about 10000 people, mostly ethic Tutsi were massacred in the church by the merciless and senseless swings of machetes. I froze for a moment, for such unimaginably hideous acts just happened 17 years ago. I asked her how the people in the area moving on. She smiled, then she looked away.

She later told me that she used to be a teacher. Now she's working at the memorial full time as the guide, talking to visitors, the few backpackers or group of local school kids. The money is not as good but she likes it a lot. She's happier here. "Well, it's another form of teaching." She said, beaming with pride.

It sun was up high. But it was breezy. I lingered around the shady church yard listening to the leaves chiming in in the wind.

Burn 'Em Shorts

Saturday afternoon in Juba, I was at the Juba Hash House Harriers group meet up. A newbie in the group, J was saying he wasn't sure what to wear for the run. He was actually thinking of wearing longs, which is a penalty in the run and resulting in a severe punishment of chugging down a beer at the end of the run. As everyone in the group run in our shorts, I asked him why he wanted to wear longs, and it was a hot day too.

"Don't you know? I was told that only the gays wear shorts here in Juba. They are showing off their legs looking for some actions! Look around in town, no one wear shorts!" J explained. 

Come to think of it, he was right. There's no one wear shorts here, no adult Jubanite male wear shorts going about. But how would anyone think of wearing shorts as an indication of being gay? Not that there's a guideline being issued by the government to warn parents and teachers, like in Malaysia, that gays like to wear colourful tight V-necks and carry a huge handbags. 

Knowing that shorts in Juba is equivalent to V-necks in KL, what am I going to do with all my shorts? Burn 'em all?