The weekend. Putting a timestamp to before the pandemic, this probably shouted with all sorts of capitals and exclamations. The energy radiated the Friday prior was unprecedented as plans set in motion on who would foot the weekend’s bill through a subtle game of rock paper scissors. I had lost twice in a row now and I was starting to feel the pinch. However, my extravagant self won’t have none of that and it would start whispering things like memories aren’t weighed in gold.

The periodic distrust was evident as we hammered our right fists on our left palms ready to seal someone’s fate for the weekend. A weekend which was never to be but, nonetheless, in that very moment we were people on a mission. Maybe not the most noble of missions but we weren’t here to be knighted. At least not by the queen for we were our own class of idiots. Clueless as we were, rock paper…. You lose George!

Needless to say, none of that happened but instead, we had a front row seat to Armageddon and how it could all go down in at least a dozen different ways. We had fire in January, Trump in February, Space rock in March, Locusts in April, zoom in May, more zoom in June, Skin colour in July, Exams in August, FPL in September, general exhaustion in October and useless app updates in November. All the while Mrs Rona having us on a tight headlock. Almost literally with an emphasis on the lock.

To put on perspective, this year has had more successive flops than your average commitments to finally read! You know that’s many! Having shifted from the celebratory rock paper scissors to get wasted to a dreaded coin toss to determine my zoom attendance. Heads we go back to bed and tails WE GO BACK TO BED! And lest I forget, honourable mentions to all the guys who couldn’t drink in their parents’ houses. May they rest in peace for we lost those poor souls in early May.

Nonetheless, even when we couldn’t throw parties with our loved ones or ourselves to our partners, we managed to still toss a couple of things apart from tantrums. For one, Combs. And even though my wardrobe choice had never come into question until then, you guys still looked sharper than a COVID spike. And who could forget the train we were also thrown in. A whole country set in just vibes and Rhumba with a mixed signal of heartbreaks and “simping”. Steady rocking on a midnight train! And at the moment, sticking up our noses in the States’ democratic process as far apart as my lips doing a chef’s kiss. Someone stop the count because I might end up loving this year with these kinds of vibes.

But ultimately, cheers to the friends that became family during these times. Perhaps when all this is over and our bets that the universe would go on reset come January 202Done(twenty-twenty-done) we’d toast to a win for the generation that ran during the pandemic. The bill’s on my friend George. But until then, hydrate, isolate and what in the libations pissed the African spirits this year!


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