31 May


MAP north africa photo: Africa Map Ani afr_map.gif  “There is,” thought Owongo (an ancient ancestor of mine from the dim and wonderful past) “nothing quite as exhilarating as a good long walk. Nothing at all.” Then he turned to Mirumda, his patient and ever-loving woman, and grinned.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said, smirking.

“That’s good!” she exclaimed, “and while you’re walking why don’ t you pick up half a dozen eggs from the ostrich nest?”

Owongo might have sneered, but sneering at Mirumda could be a dangerous thing, so he smirked again.

“Not that kind of walk,” he murmured. “I’m going to go for many days’ walk. I’m going to go up to the ocean and round the land at its eastern edge and right up to the great river! I’m going to create a record! I’m going to be the oldest caveman to achieve such a feat! You wait and see! There will be praise from every quarter and even the chippers of the Daily Sun Tablet will engrave my portrait for all to see.”

“They only make one copy of the Daily Sun Tablet,” pointed out Mirumda. “The chippers are fully engaged producing that! They don’t have the time to make multiple copies!”

“I know that,” almost sneered Owongo. “But everyone reads it. Every single person from the Western Hills via the Northern slopes and the Eastern humps right down to the Southern river!”

“I hope you know what you’re planning,” she muttered. “That’s a long walk that you’re planning and as far as I know you haven’t walked anywhere near that far before, in one go.”

“But I’m a man,” explained Owongo. “And if I set my mind to it I can achieve anything I like!”

“When a woman couldn’t?” grated Mirumda. “Well, man of mine, when are you going on this long walk?”

“Next month,” decided Owongo. “I’ve a lot of preparations to make, a lot of organizing to do. I need to invent a wind-proof umbrella, to start with. And I’ll need maps, loads of maps if I’m not to get lost, and as yet I can’t find rumour of even one cartographer! And supplies. I’ll need a back-pack full of supplies. It’s many a mile I’m planning to walk, and a man can’t do that on an empty stomach!”

“And what about me?” asked Mirumda. “What’s going to become of me while you’re gone? Chief Longi has eyes for me, you know. I’ve caught him gazing in rapturous lust at my bosom! I think he’s got a hankering for my mammaries! And there’s that mate of yours, Yongi. He tries to cuddle up to me when you’re not looking, and if you’re not looking for week after week I hate to think how far he’ll get with that great serpent he keeps between his legs!”

“You’ll be all right,” sighed Owongo, “there’s aren’t so many men around here who could stand up to a tussle with your tits!”

“That’s cruel…” almost mewed Mirumda.

“Now give me some peace!” demanded Owongo. “I need to make preparations! I need to pack my bag, and without interference from a woman who can’t possibly understand the more intricate needs of a man!”

“Intricate shit! Suit yourself,” glowered Mirumda.

From the above you might conclude that my own DNA, stretching back through innumerable years, owes more to the female line than it does to the male, and I suppose that may be true. Anyway, whatever the case, I have no intention of braving the miles of a truly long walk myself. I’ll leave that to more many men and take the girlie option, and stay at home.

So for the time being I’ll leave Owongo and his preparations for a really long walk while I get on with my tatting…

© Peter Rogerson 31.05.15


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