Anonymous Self
Winter reminds me of news editors that print stories about what Prince Harry’s father said about his wife, Meghan Markle. It’s usually something negative and the person who gave the information is very high up there in the palace and normally has tea and cucumber sandwiches with King Charles. But, he leaked the story on condition of anonymity. The informant is anonymous, doesn’t have a face. To me that’s simple. He doesn’t exist. That’s fake news.
I’m anonymous myself, thanks to winter. I don’t get dressed, I get wrapped up, top to bottom. Going to the bathroom becomes a test of wills between what I have to peel off and the pee, which can be quite impatient. Chaayi! I finish my business and layer myself again to be anonymous before I hit the road. I am, because you can’t stop me on the pavement and say: Excuse me, are you Rosamund? You can’t see me. I have two scarves, one around my neck to block any cold from sneaking in through the back door and the long scarf wrapped around my face. Oh! Don’t forget the mask. It has nothing to do with COVID-19. It keeps my face warm. The outer jacket has a hood, so does the fleece jacket underneath.
I don’t know why Hollywood, Bollywood, Nollywood and independent film producers like feeding us gum-chewed-to-death stories, when they can do short movies about being anonymous. I’m not the only one who enjoys it. There are evil people who fled to Canada to avoid persecution for crimes they committed while in power, in their original countries. They love being wrapped up during winter. They are not scared someone will recognize them, tap them on their shoulder and say: You’re under arrest. Did you see Marathon Man the movie starring Dustin Hoffman or read the book?
Nonqaba waka Msimang
Executive Blogger
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