Herald Hippo

the ideas of an expat in the Czech Republic


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The weird dreams

Have you ever tried to get your afternoon nap, and experience weird sensations? And no, I am not talking about enhancers as weed, alcohol or other natural or not so natural drugs. Just a pure, healthy and innocent nap.

I tried to do so today. But somehow I feel that in my building I am perceived by the teenagers somewhat of a freak. Or at least something different. Some were ringing my door bell and screaming that they want to speak in English. Today, while I was sleeping I had the impression that somebody rand the bell. And that is when the freaky part began: I was not able to move. I heard the sound, my brain processed it, and I wanted to get up. Not necessarily to check who was at the door, but just to get up. It was like that nightmare that we all have at a point with either getting berried alive or stuck into a dark weird place.

I gave up and felt asleep. Or I was already asleep and my brain was making fun of me. Second try was when I heard a knock on the window. I am sure that was a dream..I hope at least...

And the funny thing is that I am the only expat in the building, and if I really try to talk to those youngsters in English, they will not know how to answer even the "who are you?" question.

Teenagers these days...

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On The Melodic Baboon

I saw a cover of Time Magazine right before I left for my first trip to the Stan, or as I like to call it, TheworldsrepositoryforalltheuslessshitthatneversoldatDollarGeneral-ee-stan. It had a close up shot of a Taliban fighter. I studied this picture closely and can recall his appearance fairly well.

He had on light olive khaki Afghan clothes: the cinch-at-the-waist bloomers and the shirt that respectfully fell past his knees. He had on a darker green khaki multi-pocketed waistcoat/vest and was wearing a turban around his head, the end of which was loose and hiding his face. And he was holding an AK-47.

So there he was: the picture of the enemy. My mind wandered through all of the ways I could spot him, what I would do if I saw him and/or how heroic I would be if he tried to capture me- how I would fight back, and live.

I kept the picture of the fighter in my mind for a week. Always in combat, always afraid.

By the time I got to Dubai I was ready. Imagine how I felt when I finally got to the departure lounge for the Afghan airline I was flying and every man in the terminal was Afghan, and every man in the terminal looked just like my picture. It was there I bit my tongue, swallowed my pride and started to face my fear, in this, my newest attempt to live.

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