Blog Guest Writers

A Journal Entry And A Letter: By Veripuami Kangumine

It’s raining, basically marking the start to our hot long summers here, in Windhoek, Namibia. There is so much electrical activity in the sky, I’m sure that somewhere two people are hopelessly falling in love. The roof is singing, the wind is howling and I am healing. I’m sending you good energy today. I hope you’re okay, if not then we’ll be alright. I was thinking of your poems, they are a beautiful representation of walking into the bright honeyed sun with someone you love after days of being cocooned in the house because of the rain.

You never talk about your broken heart. I guess one digs out things with this poetry thing, I think I need a break from the digging, my hands are too raw.

Incidentally, I’m learning about microphones and camera movements and my acting is a tad better than I hoped. I’m being modest. I took a walk in-between the interludes of the rain today, it was sad, I got drenched and that got me thinking that even the little droplets work as a unit to get me wet, that somehow I know I’m not going to suffer solitude alone. More so, I want to go to Moscow or Mosdog.

Hahaha, that was a bad joke.

Sigh, I don’t feel as bad about pollution, the ozone and all the CFCs as I probably should. I just feel like it’s too late. And sometimes I feel guilty about not feeling guilty but that’s just for a little while then I start thinking about barnacle men or pick up lines to use on my friends. My country doesn’t really care about the arts as it should and that gives me heartburn, they pretend to and I guess there are a handful of millennials trying to do the deeds, its a process though, may the force be with them. Anyways, I haven’t been home in a long time, I bumped into my ex the other day, city living is hard. I think the university is making me stupid, the government has us by the balls with their student loans and if ever I want to pursue this acting/filmmaking thing, I will die of starvation. But its the only thing that makes me feel alive so I’ll die trying then just die.

Next year, I want to do an Africanised version of Chicago the 2003 film. I just might. You probably know more about me now.


you were reading a journal entry I turned into a letter to you.


It’s the rain.


I hope this made you smile.