These pages are usually filled with serious stories about weighty matters. Big political and economic questions. Conflicts and wars within and between nations. Disasters of every kind. And more. There are issues that concern us and make us and our leaders spend sleepless nights (those that care) searching for solutions. Those unable to do so descend into despair. And you can never know what they would do in that state. Some people even say the world is coming to an end and urge us to repent while there is still time. Maybe it is. I have no way of knowing. However, I know that it has been like this throughout human history and the world is still here. Changing, yes. Heating up, too. Pollution that threatens to suffocate us. Affluence side by side with poverty. Pandemics and other terrible diseases. But we are still here. Resilience must have been written in our lives the moment we were told we were going to sweat and toil in order to live. And so we write and read stories on these weighty matters that reflect and explain our world. We thump the chest in triumph or sigh in exasperation. Shout for joy or cry in anguish. We bang the table in anger or resign ourselves to the idea that this is how things will always be. Or calmly reflect. But occasionally, we get some stories that warm the heart, light up our faces and bring a smile to our lips or make us break into hilarious laughter. Then we enjoy being alive on this wonderful earth, delight in its many and varied pleasures, listen to its exciting voices and songs. How I wish we had more of these. Live in eternal joy. No pain. Few regrets. Forever happy and hopeful. They say that would be heaven which we cannot have here and in any case difficult to get into. And so we live in perpetual hope of someday getting there (those who believe). They also say we are paying for the sins of our forebears for their impatience and curiosity to taste all the pleasures, even the forbidden ones. Which also begs the question: why create delight and prohibit the enjoyment of some of it? I am out of my depths again. It is futile, even foolish, to peer too closely into the creator’s plans or try to explain them, except, of course, for those who are ordained to do so. So, yes, we do get on occasion some stories not about war or other violence or disease. About upsets, for instance, upending predictability. Few things are as exciting or even satisfying as an upset, especially if it involves the unexpected or unimaginable, or a little guy felling a giant in heavy armour and appropriately armed with a single slingshot. It provides a wonderful story, told and retold across generations turning the little guy into a legend of a giant. I suppose that is because the majority of humans are little guys that suffer all manner of indignities from the big guys. And so when the latter get a beating it is a sort of collective revenge. We have been living this story the last few days during the ongoing FIFA World Cup in Qatar. The little guys (according to those who have given themselves the right to decide these rankings) have been giving it to the big boys, and boy, are we loving it! On Saturday, unfancied Morocco ejected Portugal, one of world football’s top teams, from the tournament and qualified for the semi-finals, a first for an African country. It wasn’t a fluke either. They have been on a giant-killing spree. Earlier they had dispatched Belgium, ranked second in the world, and Spain, the 2010 champions. The day before, Croatia, not exactly minnows (they were finalists in Russia four years ago), but still unfancied, saw off Brazil that had been hot favourites to lift the trophy this year. The story brings joy to some and tears to others. But that is the beauty of upsets. They are unpredictable and add spice to our lives and show that even the unthinkable can happen. Here at home, these pages have carried some wonderful stories. Take, for instance, the delightful narration of our foibles as Rwandans by Nadia Lobti. What a charming way to criticise without being offensive our uninspiring cuisine, men’s terrible dating habits, hospitality that becomes a little too familiar, and many others. You can only laugh at yourself and probably say ‘how true’ and continue doing exactly the same. Or you will shrug your shoulders and say, well, we are different and have been behaving this way since we came into being, so there must be something good in it. Or take Will Wilson’s stories about birds, their beautiful colours and sounds, and wonderful social habits. He narrates their ability to look out for each other, share information about their whereabouts, where food can be obtained, where danger lurks or impending disasters. They appear to be better than us humans who tend to hide things from one another and deceive and plot the downfall of the other, and want to grab everything for ourselves. There are stories about other pleasurable things. Music, for example. But these are sometimes marred by quarrels about such things as nudity and obscenity, whether the right to bare all is essential to artistic expression. Or whether it has any moral or aesthetic value. In literature, too, there is a lot of writing, but on politics and history mostly. Not much of the creative type to excite and challenge pour imagination. Maybe all these are there but some of us don’t see them. If so, forgive us for not seeing. Let’s have more of the more delightful stories that make us laugh or cry and remind us that we are human after all, not robots. Like a character in Charles Dickens’ Hard Time says, in his lisping way: “People mutht be amuthed. They can’t be alwayth alearning nor yet they can’t be alwayth aworking...You mutht be amuthed...”
