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I surmised that ‘That column’ would have meant Ink Spills. I was flattered. Ink Spills is now referred to as ‘that column’, which means it is steadily creeping towards being referred to as ‘the column’ – an upgrade of ‘that column’. We are making progress, albeit at the pace of a tortoise with arthritis. It is still progress, nonetheless. When you meet a fan, there are sometimes unexpected perks. Instead of asking for a selfie, he insisted on buying me a fat cake and a Stoney ginger beer. That’s when I realized fame in Botswana comes with snacks and not necessarily huge contracts and money. I believe that when we get to the point where they call Ink Spills ‘the column’, then we will upgrade to more serious beverages. One of the fans offered me Cool Time – a frozen liquid refreshment from the Arctic Circle (I think), a neon-red, cylindrical tube of frozen, flavored sugar water. The kind that splits down the middle and stains your tongue for days.

He offered it right when I was trying to look serious. Nothing kills journalistic gravitas faster than dripping raspberry juice down your shirt. That left me wondering if this is the new currency of appreciation, like forget flowers, bring ice pops. I used to think fans would ask for selfies or autographs. The pressure to pretend I actually loved the Cool Time barreled down my system, and I started sucking on the refreshment. My tongue felt like a crime scene. But I persevered. For the fans. For the optics. One fan was not particularly happy with one part of my previous column, where I said ‘Do not bring a laptop. A laptop suggests you might actually do something like playing Solitaire in the middle of a very serious speech delivered by the first citizen.’ He told me he loves Solitaire and is not happy that self-righteous, know-all columnists with questionable credentials are always taking potshots at employees playing Solitaire- the only thing in our country that does not have a ‘system is down’ affliction. I was a little fascinated.

A small crowd gathered and started peppering me with questions like a Caesar’s salad. • Are you the owner of the newspaper? • Does it belong to your father? • Are you really expecting people to insult you like it says, ‘for comments, feedback, and insults, email • What kind of insults would you expect? • Who told you you are humorous? My meeting with my fans – ok, I think I have won the right to call them that – was beautiful. When you meet with your fans, you are expected to say it was a beautiful encounter even if you don’t believe it. So, in short, meeting random people as a columnist means free feedback, unsolicited story ideas, and the occasional fat cake bribe — proof that being a columnist is never just about twanging away at a laptop that freezes quicker than a politician’s memory when asked about campaign promises, it’s about surviving the streets too. They were just happy that I was normal and not a deadline-activated grump. One, however, said I also seemed more serious than my humorous reputation suggested. To him, I looked like a man who had misplaced his keys or someone concerned they might miss a dental appointment. Jesus!

(For comments, feedback, and insults, email inkspills1969@gmail.com) Thulaganyo Jankey is a training consultant who runs his own training consultancy that provides training in BQA- BQA-accredited courses. His other services include registering consultancies with BQA and developing training courses. Contact him on 74447920 or email admin@ultimaxtraining.co.bw