A Day.

(Word of advice. Do not mix first dates and The Beach Boys. It accentuates everything.)

This I wrote after.

Tawanda W.T Mulalu was a firm advocate for the gathering of information, and therefore decided that some time on Google really wouldn't hurt. So yes, quite literally Tawanda found himself on Wikihow looking at how to handle himself the next day. In his mind, Tawanda seriously thought that he could easily mess himself up and show himself as the nervous wreck he actually was, or thought he was. Apparently, self-deception plays an integral role in the social interactions of human beings in... Does it matter? Tomorrow was going to be strenuous and he needed someway to deal with it. And the joys of internet information gathering could easily do so. Even after the extended 'research' period Tawanda had spent the time conducting, Tawanda decided he need a back-up, a fail-safe in case he was hopelessly boring tomorrow. 

A piece of paper and a pen. Not only would it create a writing opportunity and some point, he could easily say: "Let's play noughts and crosses!" to save him from awkward silence. If that happened, he could at least hear the sweet scribbling of a pen: sweet. He listened to music as he slept, and enjoyed the darkness of the night.

*

Morning. The boy woke up with a urgent sense that something important was happening today. He opened his eyes and raised his abdomen from the soft cushioning of sleep, and struggled to wipe the dream off his face. This important event, what was happening? Why was it urgent? Debate again?

It was a late morning and it was warm and sunny. The rays of the sun travelled through the windows.

And then-

Oh yes, the boy thought.  That. 

He lifted himself up from the bed, with a mixture of dread and rush. The dread as a result of his usual anxious paranoia. The rush, the usual happy sensation felt when he was confronted with such situations. It was why he revelled in public speaking and even, oddly enough exam taking. Tawanda, occasionally actually enjoyed taking an exam.  Actually more than occasionally, he honestly found his Science and Maths exams…fun.

But this pre-exam feeling would not necessarily end with a pen and paper, and if it did, that would actually be really bad, considering how ludicrous the 'fail-safe' he concocted in his mind was. Either way, he took a bath and savagely scrubbed himself, he combed his hair, though not for the full hour the Fashionista suggested he so for, and he brushed his teeth more than once. He would be clean he decided. 

*

This I wrote as I pulled out a piece of paper at Milky Way and kept myself busy as I waited.

Astounding rushing and bustling of heat expansion; energy fuelled peoples revering in the thermos of consumerism. Tawanda W.T Mulalu sits still, rather uncomfortable as the only particle held frigidly motionless by the cold of nervousness and jitters. The smell of freshly cooked meant emanates into the confines of the ice-cream joint with its multi-coloured chairs. Red, purple, orange. Tawanda meanwhile felt purple, an interesting mellow colour that revealed much but little. He was writing. It was a perfect way to pass the time as he waited. What was the first thing he had to again? Yes, smile.

The great Fashionista in all her wisdom had told him to not

(1)    Cross his arms

(2)    Whistle

She had noted that these are two habits of his in uncomfortable situations. She also told him that if they went to Exclusive Books (Tawanda mentioned this because he absolutely knew that he wanted to end up at Exclusive Books but was a bit worried because he thought he might just get lost in the books and actually forget everything around him. Which would have been bad. Really bad. ) that he should offer to buy her one of those “cute” bookmark “thingies”  for her. Though, the Fashionista warned:

“When she says no, she means no brah.”

Tawanda decided to heed such advice. The way the Fashionista’s warning was outputted was serious. Therefore he would not take such advice lightly.

*

This, I also wrote after.

Poor Tawanda shook in surprised convulsion as he heard her voice from behind him. A surprise hello. She laughed, and he quickly turned to face her. What was the first thing he was supposed to again? Oh god, is this actually happening? She looked pretty, so he was pretty sure he smiled at some point, but oh what else? Dipstick, tell her she looks pretty. Oh yeah, that. He then told her. Though quickly, it wasn't the sort of thing he wanted to let linger. Ice-cream, he suggested.

And what followed, were extended conversations about vanilla vs. chocolate, music (Justin Bieber, One Direction, Kanye West, alternative rock, and 80/90s RnB and Hip Hop) , a few movies (500 Days of Summer), and at some point the show 'The Big Bang Theory' (in which Tawanda had attempted to explain a joke  he didn't even remember quite properly using the pen he brought and the receipt in which he drew the worst rending of y = tanx known to math. Also, its probably a good idea to not attempt to explain maths that she'll probably not need until two years later. To be fair, at least  he didn't get into Calculus). 

She had to leave, so Tawanda tried to see if Exclusive Books was still open. It wasn't. Musica was, so he decided to see what discount CDs he could get. He settled on 'The Very Best of The Beach Boys. In retrospect this was both a good and bad idea. 

Tawanda then saw Thapelo and Sedia chilling, he greeted them and Thapelo looked happy with The Beach Boys CD. 

*

Alright. Tawanda was now home listening to The Beach Boys. But then his little mind then mused something.

It was good,  and no one had to play noughts and crosses.

But, Tawanda W.T Mulalu, as the sky darkens and the day meets the night and you must fall asleep again...

What do you do now?

*

Well you know, I could certainly read. There's this wonderful college textbook called 'Understanding Poetry' that I'm skimming through right now... Wait a second... OR, I could totally do the normal thing and send a text like normal real people do. 

I know, I'm a genius.

You really can't go wrong once you learn a fact about yourself and the world around you.

Elmo's View of Debate I

ELMO'S VIEW OF DEBATE I- FORM ONE TO NATIONAL TEAM ASPIRATIONS

(This is the first part of a series that you’ll be seeing on my blog very often from now on….  Should be fun right? In any case, National selections were held for Secondary Students across the country to pick the top 10 debaters. After much sweat and blood, I have decided to examine some of my great moments as a debater since my Form One Days, to the present day. I also give a basic outline of what debate is actually like for us word warriors. In the next edition I’ll tell you a detailed explanation of what Debate is and the nature of Debate, and I’ll tell you more about our upcoming tournaments as the Captain of the Botswana Schools Team.)

I've had five great moments in Debate so far since Form One.

The first was when, in the rainy downpour of the late year, I, the only Form One in the whole of the MaP Debating Society was ranked as the top debater in the whole school. I was fourteen years old, and my hair was a bit shorter. I was quite starry eyed and happy, and I had this ability to flood everyone around me with my sunshine vitriol. I had gotten this position because of one book: The Caged Virgin by Ayaan Hirsi Ali.

The second moment was when I had presented my 'famous' "Logging Off Twitter" speech at the Books Botswana Debate Tournament 2012. I got second place because apparently I wasn't loud enough. Me, not loud enough! In any case I'd tell you all what the speech is about, but it's very embarrassing because it has to do with a girl. And I'll spare both of us any elaboration. This was the Public Speaking Category so really anything goes, one could speak on anything from Neo-imperialism and patriotism, capitalism and communism, and even stupid adolescent affection. My nickname for that tournament as given by Jamie, the great Uhuru Public Speaker was "the man with the big words."

The third moment was when, the night before I had to go for the National Debate Championships, as a confidence exercise, I would cry out to the starry night sky (I had fed the dogs late: I AM THE GREATEST DEBATER IN BOTSWANA! This gave me so much spirit, vigour and passion that I couldn't help but smile afterwards. I use this as my maxim at every tournament to inspire me.

The fourth moment was when I got my Sesame Street inspired nickname at Radisele, and the National Debate Championships. We were doing what is called a demo debate where an example debate is done to show people how the whole thing is done in terms of structure, style and so on. The demo debate consisted of University students but they asked one of the Secondary students to volunteer. I was the only one in that hall of about 500 kids to put their hand. Well I think a few other people put their hand up after me, but still, I was first. The debate was based on a principle motion, so arguments of morality came into place. I used Sesame Street and Elmo as examples of basic morality to undermine the opposing team and to add a bit of humour. Unfortunately, Fangz attacked me in his rebuttals by saying that "We're listening to a guy who takes his debating advice from Elmo." In the end, I still got a huge round of applause and felt proud. And the name Elmo stuck, everyone knew me by it.

The fifth moment was when I got selected as Captain of Botswana Schools Debate Team for 2012/2013. The message I received which I got on Facebook sparked an investigative stance from me. It said "Congratulations Captain, sir" from another team member. Looking at the official statement I was given the position of Team Captain. I think, I'm pretty sure I was the youngest. I'm pretty sure I secured this position after Justice (during Monkgogi and I's selections, he also got selected for the team by the way) heard my speech about my most important concern for the future. I said my Physics education and gave a passionate delivery about why I love Physics, and got to use the famous line: "Ahhhh, What a fine day for Science!"

For me, these are the moments I remember the most in Debate. While I've had plenty of others, my favourite being that they told me that varsity girls like Debaters. So really, no matter how miserable at high school I end up being, I've got a pretty awesome future set up. And I wish to craft many more as I go on, Debate for me is a lifestyle to which I wish to uphold the most fundamental principle in everything I do. And no, to my creationist friends, it isn't to argue. The principle happens to actually be a question: Why?

Debate is all about the one simple question, and that's why I love it some much, because I can link it to my love of Science and Philosophy. Debate is the complex, structured application of the why's and how's of knowledge. And it leads to brilliant results. Though Debate is seen as mostly a political, social and economic vehicle, I prefer looking at it from the less popular perspective, the scientific and philosophical stances and implications. This is why I hate policy motions but love principle motions. And why I'm the only debater I know who wants to a Physicist.

Debate isn't just arguing all day as most people assume. Arguing all day can be quite exciting even, or it can be gratingly irritating. It depends of the people and the structure of your arguments. People unwilling to learn equals a gratingly irritating argument where despite all the efforts, the more intelligent being never seems to be able to educate anyone. Arguing with smart people can be exciting but will eventually end in anger and irritation without structure. Debate is where all of this comes. For one thing, the presence of more than one speaker can help maintain a debate regardless of the intelligence levels of the participants, and structure gives the opportunity for everyone to voice their opinion fairly and allows the clear and distinct thinking to shine through. Of course, oftentimes this can become excruciatingly boring. But, structure, plus willingness to learn plus a good topic will make for a very exciting game of intellectual blood sport. I say blood sport because debate is very harsh, and there will always be victims in the clashes. But the process in which this done, the sheer excitement as a result of the debate as a whole, pretty much negates all the little whiny behaviours as a result of losing... unless you have terrible, biased adjudicators.

Debates, likes stories, have a beginning, middle and an end. They start with an introductory sequence of statements and arguments that define and explain a topic thoroughly, and from there on the debate flows on, arguments and rebuttals, until the conclusive summary offered at the end. It is from this data that the judges, the adjudicators, must judge who argued best from three criteria: content, speech making quality i.e. vocal delivery, eye contact and hand gestures and finally style: the structure and the way your speech was delivered.

Different types of speakers are prominent. You will have strong speech makers, who are loud and entertaining, but don't actually say anything worth really listening too. Mr. Laverick thinks I'm this type of speaker, and therefore said I would make a good dictator because I “say a lot of things but don't really mean anything". They are content speakers, quite, and calculating, these guys focus on the task at hand. These guys are very dangerous, Monkgogi is one of them. What they do is completely destroy the opposition with a second thought, without caring, without any sign of effort or fatigue... and they sit down calmly afterwards. Then they are style speakers, who pretty much use the crowd to their advantage. I, being a crowd pleaser, find myself close to this category, but I'm actually a mix between content and delivery.

Debate can be a very emotional sport to partake in. For one thing, you can feel the weight of your voice when you speak, and thousands of little eyes dart back and forth between your face and lips, the ears focused on you. It is stressing. But if you suck. No such attention is paid to you. This feeling is worse than the stress. Tears fall in abundance at these tournaments. Feelings of inadequacy and defeat, of sheer hopelessness at the prospect of having your dreams and ideas shattered by a particularly intelligent opponent. Or even that horrible, horrible dread of not feeling good enough.

At a basic level, Debate compromises of these things, structure, speakers, emotion, great moments, stories, advice. But most importantly every debate is a learning opportunity. Once the tears are wiped, once hands shake together, once the silence of anxiety in a room is broken as the results are announced.... These, and so much more make up debate.

And as we continue all these journeys together, as we create more great moments together, perhaps this article will become slightly more complete, but for now...

All Batswana reading this support your team. Help get us sponsorship from the likes of Private Companies and beyond. But most of all believe in us so we can reach greater heights in Debate. So we feed this hunger for learning, this desperate need to think. Support us, and help us feel, that we are indeed, the Greatest Debaters!

Debate has horizons that extend everywhere and affects all of us. From the bickering that happens in the Security Council and the General Assembly in the U.N to the stuff happening in the government in our own country. This is why it’s so important that we foster this spirit, this want, this need to learn in any way we can. And Debate, is just another brilliant way for us to apply that simple question that has lead mankind to greater heights: Why?

Good luck Team Botswana.

"Ahhhh.... What a fine day for Science!"

Debate: The Final Selections, and The Radio Interview Part 1

Monkgogi Buzwani and Tawanda W.T Mulalu felt quite terse as they realized the impending danger of the situation. They could actually not make it. They could feel the unease echo inside their swallowing throats as they looked at the disappointment in Mr.Wale and Justice's faces. They were bored, and worse: they were telling Monkgogi and Tawanda that they are bored. They had to up their games, apparently the selections outside of Gaborone were beyond rough. People were impassioned with that fiery spirit of debate... and people cried even.

Monkgogi understandably was a chilled debater,  it  was not in his fashion to be "impassioned with that fiery spirit of debate" nor was he going to pull up a smile unless it was mockingly directed to his failing opposing team. Tawanda meanwhile was a crowd-pleaser. He needed a large audience to generate loud waves of endless applause and laughter. He was reminded of Barrack Obama's performance in the Presidential Debates. At least he won the election, well barely. 

"I am the greatest debater." These are the words Tawanda would constantly repeat to himself to give him that confidence. It were the words that he shouted to the night before his fated journey to Radisele, were he would, incidentally get the honour of being the first debater overall. The words echoed throughout his mind, his throat was dry with the rust of long term emptiness. He needed the river in esophagus  to flow with the golden words that could claim him victory. At the very least, he needed to say something extraordinarily smart quickly. Monkgogi meanwhile, decided that he needed  to be louder. 

Alrightie, let's get this thing going. It was an empty University of Botswana lecture hall that needed to be filled with the vigorous streams of arguments. And now, came the time for refuttal. 

This time Justice and Mr.Wale could interject as they pleased, they could embarrass you horribly, or could be the catalyst that finally sparks the much needed epiphany required for victory.

The catalysts  were feint... but you could her the rudimentary workings of a lightbulbs in the room. The light switch just needed to come...

Finally, the Public Speaking section that Tawanda knew he needed to redeem himself. And he got the perfect topic. 

What was his principal concern for the future? 

Global warming? Emminent financial disaster?

All of these things were too big  for Tawanda... he knew what he cared about. 

He cared about Physics....

"Ladies and Gentlemen, watching Dexter's Laboratory as a child, and listening to Dexter waking up in the morning and shouting out to the world: "Ahhh, what a fine day for Science!", this is the motto through which I wish to carry throughout my life. You see,  I believe in the fundamentals, and Physics being the most fundamental of all the known sciences"

Tawanda W.T Mulalu had finally found his moment. 

Here comes the impassioned delivery!

***

More English Coursework! Though this time edited! And Deep!

(It is supposed to be a descriptive writing piece about a moment where I felt trapped)

Form 3 Coursework English Essay- Topic 4.

TITLE: Existential Sleeplessness- A simple description.

Dammit.

The sun has fled. It is a cool summer night in which there should be peace, yet in the confines of the mind there is turmoil. The walls enclose, and the top and bottom bunks confine. Still blackness is in the bedroom. The sheets are constantly writhing with the anguish of the body, swirling underneath in confused tiredness. The eyes will not close. The slashing eyebrows do not interlink their tips with one another. They stubbornly stand apart.

The mind, enclosed and confined, brings inescapable questions to be answered by the night.

Double-dammit.

Behind the curtains the stars twinkle like effervescent bubbles, and the creamy swirling arms of the Milky Way galaxy dance. The wind is soft, and the light brushing of leaves is heard. The calmness of this night does not persuade the eyes to close. The eyes decide to watch the stars scintillate in hope. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep- God may put the sheep to sleep. Ape to man, beast to human and erectus to sapiens; then finally, the sleepless body that tumbles restlessly throughout the night.

The mind starts to think: the electric signals pulsate across the nerves.  It gravely whispers hushes of spontaneous Genesis it melodically sings choruses of days against millions of years.  The skin is dark and the limbs are thin. The sheets are like paper, the nightwear is sleek. The bed squeaks and the floor scratches. The body twists. The body turns. The lights outside gather in tiny jubilations, desperate to fend off the binding vacuum of eternity. The time is slow; millions of years or just seven days? The hand touches the opposite arm and feels the bumps and the standing hair. The slight body twitches uncomfortably. Sleep… The room is meant for sleep not thoughts. The earth is meant for what? No, the room is meant for sleep. The eyes do not close. They gaze in sad wonder, at the ever shining and singing, and beautifully brilliant and bright and white, amazing and angelic curios of the night.

Triple-dammit.

Stars fashioned out of clay. A dark twitching body fashioned out of clay. Youthful, exuberant and moist clay fashioned into a functioning doll. The doll is drying. The hands meet the face. A dry pimple of unused soil and a crack is felt. The wall too, has the cracks and chips of time. The lips are parched.  The tongue provides a gentle lick, but it is also dry. Another crack is felt. These can grow and extend until entire structural collapse. The house, the room, the dark twitching body- and its continuing crises of existentialism- fashioned out of clay by the strong hand. The sheets, the grey shining support beams of the bed and its two blue mattresses, the broken and abandoned toys in the corner, the messy stack of youthful fiction by the bed, the dirty brown sock hanging of the edge of a black school bag… All fashioned from swathes of dull, grey clay. Each little mistake on each object is a crack in the primordial clay. The clay boy in the clay house with the clay mind thinks of clay thoughts with few cracks in between.  A pathetic little laugh emanates from the chapped clay lips. A morose sigh emanates from a dry clay throat across the room. It fills the cracks in the walls.

It is dark. My open eyes stare at the sea of black in some sort of curious longing. The thick,

impenetrable black is the fortress of the night. And the thoughts of apes and clay; of existence and stars- wrap their stone hands around my throat. The questions become mockingly loud.

I suffocate indifferently.

625 words.