Neighbourhood Patrol

The doglet and I are out on neighbourhood patrol (i.e. walkies) every day. Sometimes there is interaction with people. As I noted earlier, there have been far more recruitment attempts by Christians (three so far) than by homosexuals (none): 'Do you love the lord?' Random man shouting at me across the road. Eyeroll + 'Never met the dude' - me.

What always baffles me are men who, walking towards me, will wait until they are almost past me to make their approach - and then often squeak out their 'hello' in a falsetto voice (What *is* it with the falsetto voices?).

Yesterday, however, a young man upped his game: He wriggled his eyebrows at me and said 'hello'. I took a quick look at him and didn't recognise him, so I decided to ignore him. He tried again, again with eyebrow action. I was just as determined to ignore him. But then, just as he walked past me, he went: 'Do you like to fuck?'.

Mind you, a few weeks ago, an about nine-year old street boy at the roundabout told me confidently 'I can fuck you'. I think manners around here are really deteriorating.

On the upside, the crazy dreadlocked mzee at the roundabout is pleasantly reliable and friendly: 'Hello!'
'Habari mzee!'
'I like your hair!'
'Thank you!'
'I like your hair!'

Every single time.

Siiimba!

One of the drivers in our compound is a tall guy. Not tall-skinny, but tall and broad-shouldered. Still: He’s afraid of Ollie. It’s happened several times that he hops sideways onto the grassy bit when we meet him out on walkies, or that he walks a careful curve around the doglet. He does realise that this is a little comical: whilst the doglet is technically a dog and therefore fearsome, he is also the size of a malnourished housecat.

He has taken to calling Ollie ‘simba’, lion – maybe because of his fluffy chest? ‘Siiimba siiimba!’ he almost singsongs when we walk past.

And Ollie is indeed fearsome when he has a go at the German shepherd guard dog who comes to our compound at night (always safely on a leash, and Charlie the guard dog mostly has a look of concern on his lovely face): bark-yelling furiously, shaking his head and spitting with rage, and all back fur up like a row of dragon spikes. Demon doglet. He also wags his tail, but nobody at the gate really understands dog behavior well enough to pick up on this confusion.

Toes and Doglet

Doglet looking at the garden and fresh pedicure from Aromatics Spa, with OPI nail polish 'Lincoln Park After Dark', and mother-of-pearl button flip flops from Annabel Thom's shop Zebu shop at the Junction.

Before that, I was wearing 'I'm Indi-a Mood for Love', also from OPI, with my new, supergorgeous shoes from Mocca at Westgate:

There are shoes, and good shoes, and shoes that you just know will change your life, and make everything perfect:

Tales of the Doglet: School Lane

Ollie the Doglet needs to go for a walk every day. He’d happily go for several walks, but has to have at least one. Otherwise he’ll sit on the sofa next to me (i.e. almost at eye level) and stare at me persistently with an expression that is both eager and a bit anxious. It wears you down.

These were from my old neighbourhood, on School Lane:


‘Is it a dog?’ (10-year old girl)
‘What do you think it is?’


On Matundu Lane, an older man walks towards us in a calm and composed manner. As he comes closer, he raises an eyebrow, ever so slightly, and then glances at Ollie, without breaking his stride, without really turning his head:

‘Cat?’ he says
‘No’, I say. ‘Rabbit in a dog costume’.

We both walk on.


There are always guys on bikes with crates on the back who deliver milk or bread or other goods to the small kiosks in the area. One of them – either perennially cheerful, or very proud of his knowledge of dogs, or possibly both – saw Ollie chew grass and, cycling past, called happily ‘It’s taking its medicine!’.

A few weeks later, a different corner, he threw us an exuberant ‘It’s glazing!’


Ollie was still very little when we lived on School Lane:

Find Ollie Doglet on Facebook.