And came the holy book

Just like I had expected. A small, like 120 pages book with brown pages. The pages were once white I could see, but had turned due to many years of probably surving somewhere in a cabinet or even under the mattress. Who knows!

After flipping through the first few pages, there in front of me lay Tupac’s well cut newspaper photo. Beside him was well handwritten lyrics of Makaveli’s Dear Mama.

Felt so good going through the lyrics. His husky voice ringing somewhere in my head while at the same time trying to put myself in the writers shoe. Of course not talking about Tupac or whoever ghost wrote that hit, I am talking about the owner of that book. I can imagine him somewhere in 90s during preptime, most likely time, instead of studying he is writing Dear Mama. Instead of memorising BODMAS, my old boy is going nuts trying to memorize the lyrics before entertainment day comes. (Siku ya Enta. Back in MDK).

Couldn’t hold the urge to put on the track anymore. Gropped for my phone in a pile of different commodities that my sister usually stacks under the counter so she doesn’t have to keep waking up to fetch something each time a customer walks in. Got the gadget, connected the speakers and boom!

The next few pages were boring. People I have never heard of. Like who the f** is SWV or Immature? Whatever. Went ahead nevertheless and before I could go any further, I stumbled on Notorious B.I.G.

“More money more problems”. I may not have been there when the big nigga was rapping the song but I’ve heard it. I know P Diddy raps the 2nd verse. Unfortunately I dont have the song in any of my song databases and honestly, don’t know why. Maybe because I’ve never really given such close attention to B.I.G’s music as much as I’ve given Tupac’s. But it’s alright. It all depends with who your older falks listened to while you were growing up.

Don’t wanna sound boring with all this blurred old school shit, but just thought you should know how far people can go to hold on to memories. We all have special memories that we hold on to. Some are beautiful, some ugly.

Hold on to the beautiful ones, like those of that childhood flame you still find yourself smiling with teary eyes whenever you stumble on her memories. But forget the disturbing ones. Like those of your cruel stepmother who always denied you food and gave everything to her kids.

Later on I asked my hippie customer if he had kids and if they were aware of the book. He had kids the firstborn was a boy in class seven but he has never seen the book. He was waiting until he was like in highschool. I disagreed with him but as they say, its his family. His decisions!

Bye for now. See you around falks

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