Skeffa Chimoto the philanthropist
Now, some people think that a soliloquy has something to do with speech. Specifically, they take it that an individual who speaks to oneself is engaged in a soliloquy. Fine and well.
I hold a different view, though; one bordering on scholastic grounds. Debate has been raging, on the issue of soliloquy and communication. One school of thought – I am not going into details— is of the view that communication does not take place where one talks to oneself. As they say, there is no interaction, no feedback and [no] whatever ‘brick’ that helps the communication ‘house’ stand. Communication, in their world, takes place only when there are two or more people exchanging ideas verbally or non-verbally.
Fine and well.
But others feel that even a soliloquy falls under the umbrella of communication— in the sense that, according to them, one thinks before uttering a word. That process, taking place internally, qualifies it as a form of communication.
Again, I am not commenting on this. Especially because I have my own perspective; a perspective different from whatever scholars tell us.
As far as I am concerned, a soliloquy is the movement of a human being from a place they are used to any piece of land on foreign soil! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
And, in line with my take on soliloquy, anyone who finds him or herself – do not tell me that I should have used ‘they’ instead of he or she. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!— in a place he or she is not familiar with is engaged in a soliloquy.
Now, as I said the other day, each Ha! is for the 12 tribes of Israel. Again, I do not know why!
Okay, one day I was on a soliloquy – in this case, I mean I travelled alone to Lilongwe, from Blantyre. Remember, Comic Relief uses any word it deems fit for its purposes. Lilongwe City gives me problems, in terms of knowing which road will take me to Kanengo or Area 25 or Chilinde, or wherever I want to go.
Lilongwe is a soliloquy for me.
I travelled to Lilongwe to be part of training at Malawi Institute of Management. On the second day of my soliloquy, journalist Precious Msosa decided to end my soliloquy by asking me to escort him to the convenient store at the Kanengo junction.
Well, I had no problem with it. I had to cut short my soliloquy— whatever this means.
I got into the convenient store— an unknown man in a foreign land on home oil. I mean, Lilongwe— with K4, 000 on me.
I bought some liquid stuff— the stuff prayerful people buy, to the chagrin of those who find nothing good in anything sweet— and, when I calculated, I discovered that the goods I had taken were worth K1, 500. I could afford that.
As I stood at the till— as an unknown man in a ‘soliloquy’ land— Msosa standing with his own ‘loot’ [I mean, the goods he had bought] right in front of me, something happened.
From nowhere, Skeffa ‘The Jamming Machine’ Chimoto walked into the convenient shop. He actually packed his car outside and walked into the shop.
When he saw Msosa, his face shone.
They exchanged pleasantries and chatted like twins who were meeting for the first time after being separated for years. Oh, how Skeffa smiled.
Maybe Skeffa had seen me chatting with Msosa as he got in. For, from nowhere, he said, telling the individual at the till: “I will pay the bills for these two”— pointing at Msosa and me.
You should have seen the smile on my face.
I actually wanted to kneel down, in gratitude.
But, then, I said [in my heart]: Ngoni men do not kneel. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
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