Of people and perspectives.

A friend of mine is sick. Very sick. Six weeks in hospital and still going, with no clear end in sight. After hospital comes rehabilitation. Never one to be exuding with patience, she recovers at a pace far too slow for her liking. Whilst it may not be noticeable to her, the improvement in her condition is substantial - even if she still has some way to go until she is healthy and can return home.

My friend's husband - equally as much a friend - is holding it all together, but is clearly very stressed. Understandably. Working long hours on top of everything else is not making matters any easier for him. His wife's illness consumes his being, and the current pressure of his employer's deadlines do not help.

On Saturday night, his brother-in-law died unexpectedly. Having only just been diagnosed with a very serious illness that would potentially have killed him within a couple of weeks, he instead died of a heart-related condition. Her mother has just been diagnosed with cancer. A type that has a very high chance of being treated successfully, but cancer nonetheless. My friend has understandably not taken the news of her mother's illness well. My other friend continues to soldier on, as he needs to for his unwell spouse (if not for himself - which he most clearly does need to as well).

Another person that I know, who is also friends with my friends, is going through the last stages of what ought to have been, by all accounts, a straightforward divorce from her partner. However, now that the end of what became more a complicated than expected separation (aren't they all!) is approaching, she appears to have gone back on previous agreements between her and her ex-partner and is making the last stages unnecessarily difficult - and expensive (another inevitability once lawyers become involved).

Is not interesting to see how people deal with the issues in their own lives and gain a perspective of their own issues by considering what others face?

"Safety Pin Stuck in My Heart" - Patrik Fitzgerald

I don't love you for your graveyard eyes
I don't love you for your shaven thighs
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I don't love you for your tattered tie
I don't love you, and I don't know why
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you

I don't love you for your professed hate
I don't love you for your cards of fate
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I don't love you for your painted shoes
I don't love you for your friends you never choose
I just love you for that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you

I don't love you for your many reasons
Propagandas, doctrines, treasons
All I know's that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I've got an ear inflamed on my dog chain
Painted faces, painted names -
My shirt - it's all that
Beat-beat-beat-beat-beating

I've got a safety pin stuck in my heart
For you, for you

I only wrote this song for you

I only wrote this song for you
It's about the way I feel

Oh you, you made my life
Oh you, you made everything alright
You took away my tears
You gave me new ideas
And now you're gone

Don't go away

Oh I, I was so fine
Remember when we drank wine
I'm sorry we never had a home
But baby I feel so alone
And don't go

Don't go away

Now there's so much pain
Without you
Now life doesn't seem
The way it used to
I'm so sorry
Let me make it up to you
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry

I wanna spend my life with you
I don't want nobody else but you
Can you see that I love you?
Don't go

Don't go away

Don't go
Don't go away

Don't go
Don't go away


-- Johnny Thunders

Mohawks and butterflies.

Last Thursday night I boarded the U1 line at the Goerlitzer Bahnhof station to travel back to the Hallesches Tor station. I sat down next to a woman - perhaps my age, perhaps a little younger. It was hard to tell. Head shaved on the sides, pink mohawk flopped over to one side on the top sticking out from under the black hood pulled over her head. Dozens of facial piercings, black steel-capped boots, skin-tight faded black jeans with a chain attached to the belt. Looked as if she were desperate to get off of the train for another hit of tobacco. In other words, a stereotypical Berlin punk.

Kneeling next to her, looking out of the window, was a girl, perhaps four or five years old. Shoulder-length brown hair, pulled back with a pink ribbon, tied in a bow, brown fluffy jacket with butterflies sewn onto it, blue jeans, pink laces in her white sneakers. The girl was talking incessantly with the punk - with her mother, I presumed. The punk looked back at her with her eyes full of love (but still desperate for a cigarette).

I could only wonder how the girl would view her mother in future years. And be jealous of what I was observing.

On love and relationships, Nairobi taxi driver style

I was sitting in the front passenger seat of a taxi driving through Nairobi today. As far as taxi trips in Nairobi go, it was pretty uneventful - only a few near misses (head-on collisions mainly). Freddie, the taxi driver, had assured me at some stage during the conversation that he had never had an accident, and that the only accidents that he had ever had was when other drivers had run into him. He explained that he liked the drive quickly whenever he had the opportunity to do so, which, let's face it, cannot be very often in Nairobi, given the sheer quantity of traffic on the poor road network. Perhaps he was lucky today, for he certainly was able to hit well over 100 kph on far too many occasions (without taking any speed humps at 140 kph, as he admitted to have done in the past - albeit accidentally, you understand), swerving to avoid pedestrians who had either completely misjudged the velocity of the taxi racing towards them, had complete confidence in said taxi's driver, or were simply tired of living. Regardless of the cause, we didn't have an accident or kill any pedestrians - even if this appeared to be more down to good luck than any talent on Freddie's behalf.

In any case, in an effort to revive a lull in the conversation, I dragged out the usual topic that is guaranteed to revive a conversation with a taxi driver: "Are you married and do you have any children?"

Freddie, matching expectation, perked up, explaining that he is married and has two children. I asked how old his children are: "My daughter is fourteen - she's a big girl now, and my son is four. And I have three girlfriends." Certain that, despite his excellent English, I had misheard him. No, Freddie said, I have three girlfriends. I asked him how his wife felt about this (it may have not been my immediate response, for I was somewhat taken aback). Freddie stated that whilst his wife didn't know for certain, she did suspect. And because he was careful, she would never find out for certain.

He stated that he is - and has always been - completely open and honest with his wife. When they first met, she was one of his girlfriends, and he had been open with her about how he is. Freddie stated that lying to one's wife is not only pointless, but it is counterproductive: he had made it clear that he likes to go out. He couldn't understand how his friends, many of whom also have girlfriends, become agitated whenever a girlfriend rings - there is no point in sneaking around, he claimed. They should instead, as he himself does, simply say that they are going out and that they will be back later - even if 'later' means tomorrow. Or the day after.

Still somewhat struggling to come to grips with Freddie's views on honesty in a marriage, I asked him how his girlfriends felt about the fact that he is married. "There's no problem. I am completely honest with them as well - I always tell a new girlfriend that I am married." He continued to explain that he tells his girlfriends not to ring him - that he would ring them. Occasionally he would receive a call from one of them whilst at home, but he deals with the calls in a relaxed manner, so that his wife would not know.

Freddie expressed concern that so many men are killed by their women, in that they cause too much stress and that they die young. He explained that he had adopted his attitude for life from his father, who had always had several girlfriends and had never let his wife (Freddie's mother, I presume) stress him too much. Whilst he is indeed married, he hasn't signed a legal contract (instead marrying under the traditional system of his tribe). He expressed the strong view that Western-style legal marriages are disastrous and that he would never consider entering into one.

In retrospect, I should have asked Freddie how he would feel if his wife had three boyfriends. I didn't, but I am pretty sure that his response would not have been a positive one. At one stage, with large smile on his face, he stated that if any of his girlfriends tried to break his marriage up, he would kill her. Laced with laughter, Freddie was joking. Wasn't he? Given that I had no way of telling how many of his girlfriends are figments of his bravado, I was certainly never going to be able to answer this one.

I suspect that, given his demeanor, Freddie's stories were not completely fictional. Either way, I couldn't engage with them, engaging as Freddie himself is. Coming from a country in which such behaviour is not acceptable, and being somewhat different in my attitude towards relationships from Freddie, there really wasn't much to say, other than to laugh along, encouraging him to reveal more about his thoughts on love and relationships.

As he dropped me off at the hotel, I wished him a good night. He thanked me, stating that he was going to have a quiet night. With his wife or one of his girlfriends, I queried him. "With my wife. I am really tired tonight."