What? Python Attempts Swallowing Lover?

I read a story today, culled from the (in)famous Cameroon Post, which must be Cameroon's version of the National Inquirer. It'll be hard for me to remain serious through this, but I'll try. First, here's the entire published story:

'Python' Attempts Swallowing Lover
By Peter Mu-Nyete

A tycoon, whose name The Post got as Ndzomo Ursin Clotaire, 46, allegedly tried to swallow his lover in her residence in Dschang when he transformed himself into a python.

According to reliable sources, Ndzomo, who was a fridge technician at the University of Dschang, met his girlfriend [Henriette] for sexual intercourse. After the fling, The Post learned, Ndzomo entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving the girl lying in bed.

It is said that a short while later, Henriette was shocked to see the door of the bathroom open and a python - mboma - crawl towards the bed and try to climb it. The frightened woman reportedly started screaming for help, leaping out of the room and calling out to her neighbours.

When some neighbours turned up, they reportedly sighted the tycoon, now a human being, hurrying down the stairs and drive off in his car. By the time of compiling this report news had reached The Post that Ndzomo had fallen seriously ill with poison oozing out of his skin.

The Post also gathered that the man was receiving traditional treatment in Yaounde but unfortunately a week ago, news spread in Menoua municipality that he had died. It is believed that the tycoon was involved in a secret society on main fronts; wealth, vehicles and women.

Now, back to the issue at hand ... Maybe poor Peter Mu-Nyete is an honest bloke trying to make an honest living, but how can this pass through an editor's desk and into print?

There are obvious technical flaws in the story. The story refers to the dude as a "tycoon," which means he must be a business man of considerable wealth and power. Apparently, being a "fridge technician at the University of Dschang" must be the pathway to tycoondom, especially if you are involved in a secret society to amass "wealth, vehicles and women," whatever that means.

Let's follow the story again. This man eats the forbidden fruit with his mistress, goes into the bathroom to wash his mouth (or whatever men do after dining in the Garden of Eden), meets David Copperfield - who transforms him into a python. The python then slithers it's way into bed, alarming the missus, who gets hysterical. Busted, El Serpento summons the invisible Copperfield, who renders him invisible before returning him to his original species. Next thing we know, the man - now clearly visible - is seen entering his car (it must be a Bentley) and heading for the hills. Or, in this case, Yaounde, where he allegedly received treatment for failing to suffocate and swallow his nude prey. He later dies, allegedly, but not before his soul returned to the python, which by now is eating a freshly suffocated chicken at the Dallas Zoo, where Jabari, a 13-year-old gorilla that disappeared from Dschang 3000 years ago, was shot after trying to escape back to Africa.

Of all the cool animals in the wild, why would anyone choose to be a python? Was leopard off the Copperfield menu? If I had to renew my membership into a cult by eating my mistress, the last thing I would want to transform into would be a python. A python is a burly snake that kills its prey by suffocation, then swallowing it wholly. It doesn't even get to taste what it is eating. And once it eats something significant, it is unable to slither far away.

Reading this crappy story, as a violent storm rages outside, reminds me of a story I heard while visiting Cameroon in 1999. I had inquired about the recent passing of Hoffman Bate, a popular dude in Limbe.

"Them say them kill he beef for bush," was the response I got, and it came from a brilliant ... attorney - which is all the proof I need to believe that this stuff actually happens.

Someone, anyone; just shoot me.

The Trouble with Pools

I woke up shortly after 8 on Saturday morning, a little later than usual, but with both the English Premier League and German Bundesliga seasons in the books, I could afford to sleep in a little bit. Vaguely remembering the license plate to the truck that ran me over last night, I flicked on the tube to catch up on the news.

We've all seen pictures of animal rescue workers called in to remove wild animals - crocs, bears, snakes - from pools. Saturday, it a cow that wandered into a backyard pool in Pittsfield, Mass. [ click here to watch YouTube video ]

You might want to ask: "What was the cow doing in the pool?"

My question is: "What was the pool doing in the backyard?"

Pools can be breathtakingly beautiful, like this one. It was a stock photo intended for one of my B2B websites, but it was so pretty I decided to use it for my desktop wallpaper. It helps to look at something like this throughout your workday, especially when you know who some of my friends are. More on this later

If I had something like this in my backyard, I would become a Bakossi Buddhist and meditate nightly in the blue mist with a glass of Coppola Merlot, served chilled.

Back in 1993, my ex-roommate and had an apartment situated two floors overlooking a gorgeous swimming pool. At night, it was a sight to behold, especially if no one ventured out to disturb the mysterious calmness of the blue water.

That's when the thought first occurred to me that backyard pools may be very much like paintings; they're best left alone. We dig a hole in the ground, make it all fancy-schmancy and fill it up with water to make it look impeccable. We throw in chemicals to keep it clean, probably because we know what we do while in the water.

My worst pool experience occurred one fateful Wednesday evening at an apartment pool in San Antonio, Texas in 1999. The pool had been treated that day, and someone must've removed the "No Swimming" sign, because an unsuspecting bush Bakossi man showed up for a swim that evening. It was like diving into water spiced with freshly crushed habanero pepper.

That must be the day I decided that swimming best be left to mostly to amphibians, which doesn't apply to cows. The Pittsfield, Mass. cow seemed a tad bewildered and annoyed, seemingly asking itself: "Na which kind badluck this?," and probably taking a dump in the pool to register its displeasure.

Swimming pools have become an increasingly popular backyard fixture in American homes. Like some of my friends, pools are high-maintenance luxury items. Jokes aside, pools are deadly.

According to the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission, an estimated 350 children under five years of age drown each year in swimming pools, many in residential pools. The Commission estimates that another 2,600 children under age five are treated in hospital emergency rooms each year following submersion incidents. Some of these submersions result in permanent brain damage. Nationally, drowning is a leading cause of death to children under five.

Pool drownings are not limited to infants. In 1996, Tom Mees, the noted ESPN hockey broadcaster, drowned while attempting to save his four-year-old daughter, Gabrielle, who had fallen into a swimming pool. Mees, 46, could not swim. Most recently, two Cameroonian teens drowned in a family friend's pool in Newscastle, Del. This one hit a little closer; one of the teens was the son of a high school classmate of mine. The key to preventing these tragedies is to have layers of protection. This includes placing barriers around your pool to prevent access, using pool alarms, closely supervising your child and being prepared in case of an emergency.

In other words, you spend a small fortune to beautify your home, in the process greatly increasing the chances that someone might drown on your property. To minimize the risk, you need to spend another boatload of money to reduce the beauty of your pool in the name of safety, then increase your blood pressure every time you play host to a pool party.

Still, you walk out to the backyard one evening and find a cow in your pool.

Well, that's a lot better than diving into chemical habanero

Here We Go

I am starting a weblog, more popularly known as a blog. The applause I hear is quite deafening. Thank you.

In fact, I mentioned this to a couple of people, and each of them vehemently said it was a bad idea, but neither of them could articulate why they think this is a bad idea. I expect this reaction; people are usually uncomfortable with modes of communication they are not very familiar with.

Already, we spend a considerable amount of time chatting with friends, nurturing our friendships and occasionally brewing up trouble for ourselves, our buddies and people we don't give a flip about. Already, we subscribe to the ever-popular Yahoo email group, and nothing gets the email group juices flowing like the outbreak of controversy between warring factions. It doesn't take much to ignite one such fight. Just say the wrong word, or the right word to the wrong person ... And once it gets going, you might as well stock up on duct tape and bottled water, as the Department of Homeland Security once shamelessly advised, because it'll go nuclear.

I chat with friends, and occasionally participate on email groups, but I believe starting a blog is a healthy way for me to express opinions and communicate my thoughts regarding my life, my family, my work, my joie de vivre, my friendships - close and distant - and my outlook on life and the things happening around me.

The other day, Shiri complimented me for having an opinion about everything; I would like to think it was a compliment. As it turns out, I am not the only person I know who has strong opinions. Over the past 12 months, I have spent a significant amount of time mending invaluable relationships that were strained by my actions and inactions, but also by the actions of friends claiming or pretending to speak on my behalf, and by the deeds of closet detractors pursuing unknown sinister agendas. I won't let that happen again on my watch.

So as I communicate to and with you through this medium, I will mostly try to brighten your day with my musings. But occasionally, whenever the need arises, I will need to address a difficult topic, only as a means to clarify an issue of concern to people I care about, so that we can all make the best of our time together, as we pursue harmony and happiness.

I will also share with you the joy of raising Dibeme, my cannot-wait-to-get-home-to-see-her daughter, as well as the multiple heart-warming experiences I will have as I interact with you and your families. I want Dibeme to one day read this archive to get a very good picture of the people, events and circumstances of her childhood years.

I will talk about making friends, and letting go of friends. I will talk about dating. I will talk about marriage; mine, yours and anyone's, to debate ideas and enrich our comprehension of an often-satisfying but equally problematic human relationship.

I won't see to, but I realize I may offend someone, so accept my sincerely apologies in advance. But fear not; this is a good thing, especially for me.

Sincerely,

Solo.