One smoldering afternoon in Juba found me completely uninspired. I needed two things: a refreshing drink and some excitement. Well, the first is a no brainer, Logali House’s kerkedemixed with tonic water. It always satiates that desire. As for the latter, it is nothing a bar could offer. So, I turned to my ever-intriguing companion and conveyed my predicament. As it is usually the case with him, we delved into a philosophical conversation, ever so cyclical and ended up with the need for definitions.
It is strange! A stranger’s eyes are piercing right through her, as if she is hollow, a woman with no flesh or bones. He looks at her startlingly as if she is a hologram of someone very familiar, perhaps a lost lover. Even stranger is her impulse to reciprocate the stranger’s timid scrutiny of her features, as if in search of some plausible reason to explain the need for stealing glances, and the need to propel her and him instantly into an impenetrable space.