Another Ebola headline. Boring. Why was she watching CNN anyway? A quick flick of the remote and she was on the next channel. BBC. Which had yet another Ebola headline. She rolled her eyes in deliberate slow motion and turned to the local television stations, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to watch international news channels without Ebola being shoved in her face. Couldn’t a girl watch a little news to keep up with the world and go back to the Food Network in peace, without being forced to think about crazy virus infections? Eh? She was even starting to believe that these big news networks exaggerated the extent of the infections to keep people glued to them. But she was above that sort of emotional manipulation.

On second thought, perhaps it was better to watch something else altogether. She threw herself into the couch in a lying position, one leg up on the arm rest and the other down, grazing the velvety maroon carpet. She stretched one arm to her laptop to log out of Twitter and turn the computer off before it began its normal routine of freezing like it too had a case of Computer Ebola. Just as she began to click, though, something caught her eye. A tweet mentioning that Marburg was apparently back in the country. She sat up and in the process almost slid and fell from the shiny leather of the sofa. The news was all over. How is it that it had come back right when Ebola was in full gear across Africa? Did these viruses sit down in a secret meeting and plan to all come at once? Somehow, though, this one made her scared. It was close to home and it spoke to her subconscious in a way she couldn’t quite explain.  All thoughts of watching TV vanished, not with the speed with which her fingers were flying across the keyboard. She hit Enter and Google brought it all forth. Cases. Warnings. Uncertainty. Virus beginning to spread. But the words “Mengo Hospital” stood out like a sore thumb.

In the next two minutes she flew off the couch and halfway around the house to look for her phone while at the same time trying to remember where she had left it. When she found it on top of the microwave, she speed-dialed her father as smoothly as her fidgeting hands would let her.

“Dad! Where are you? Where did you say you were going today after work?”


“Just tell me,”

“I told you I’ll be visiting your uncle in Mengo. You should even be coming with me but you children don’t care about you family members and-”

“Dad, are you already there? Are you inside the hospital?”

“I’m actually getting out now. I’m almost at the gate. They’re acting all funny here and chasing out all the visitors……”



“Marburg, Daddy,”

“Let me get out as fast as I can,” Continue reading


Mirror mirror not on the wall

 Daily Post Blog Prompt; You wake up one morning to a world without mirrors. How does your life — from your everyday routines to your perception of yourself — change?

I knew something wasn’t right the moment I woke up, but I was too lazy to find out. I brushed my teeth. I had a shower. I dressed up. I took a cup of tea. I still didn’t feel right.

One step out the door and everything got strange. It was a weekend, yes, but there just seemed to be too many people just there hanging around. Allan, a guy from across the street, never ever speaks to me but he stopped me and I heard the first ever words from his mouth; “Your hair. It’s messy,”

I instinctively raised my hand and patted it, then I realized things were very bad. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was shoving my hand into a bird’s nest. Allan had already disappeared and I didn’t have the chance to say thank you before sprinting back inside, grabbing my wide-tooth comb and yanking at the kinks with a passion. For a second time I left the house for the supermarket, the weird something-wrong feeling still nagging at me.

Down the street a stranger tapped my shoulder oh so softly and told me I have a little speck of food on my lower lip. She smiled and walked away. I randomly ran my hand across my lower face, confused. It began to seem like I had walked out of my house looking like scarecrow on an evil mission.

Frowning, I watched other people, looking for signs that they were like me; that they were a mess too; that today was a royally awkward day for at least one other person; that I wasn’t going a little bit crazy. I noticed people talking to each other; talking much more than usual. People were standing in the streets straightening each other’s collars, arranging each others’ hair……..but mostly, complimenting each other! Helping each other! Smiling at each other!

So that was what was wrong……. People were not able to look fine on their own, they had nothing to tell them what they looked like today. They were being each others’ “beautifiers”. That’s it. I woke up and that reflective glass surface on the wall with beautiful wood adornments around it, that mirror, was not there.

I just had to tweet about it. Jeez, this was better than any zombie apocalypse end-of the-world whatever. Too late I was. I found #BeMyMirror, and it was already the craze. I didn’t know, or care, if this was a dream or reality, but I was going to head out and be someone else’s mirror.


To an unkwown destination

Loneliness is an interesting feeling. And that’s probably because, ironically, there’s no one there for you to explain it to. You can’t quite express it, too. When you’re happy you’ll do your happy dance. When you’re sad you’ll play that soft rock music that you know will make you weep, but you play it anyway. When you’re excited you’ll call up your best friend and scream a bit. When you’re depressed you’ll take a pill. But when you’re lonely…

They told me these rails would lead me to the next town, but I feel like I’ve been walking since the beginning of time. I keep trying to take one step at a time, literally. Not that I would be able to take two at once. I would if I could.

My bag slides off my shoulder and falls down. Good. I was thinking of resting my arm, anyway. I bend to pick it in the slowest motion possible, trying to buy myself some time for rest. My legs think ahead of my brain and decide to give way. In a flash I’m seated in a little patch of grass with my bag lying haphazardly strewn beside me. Normally I’d fret and set it in an upright position. Today I can’t even think in that direction; I’ve never been so happy to be sitting down.

I’ve walked for all these hours and I’ve not seen a thing. Now that I’m not walking, I’m starting to see the stones; to see that each one has its own hue of grey. I’m just starting to see the little specks of rust on the rails, the vibrant green that gets thicker as it goes further away to a place that I don’t know. That’s the other thing about loneliness. If you don’t know how to handle it, you turn inwards and focus entirely on yourself for entirely too much time. You end up like me, supposed to be focusing on getting to the next town and finding a new life again, and instead missing out on all the beauty around you because you’re just not letting yourself see.