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Do You Know Dawae?
I sat on my lawn chair with a drink in one hand and a book in the other, sipping cool juice in the warm sun while battling my boredom by attempting fruitlessly to process the words that were flying from my eyes and through my brain.
The sidewalk in front of me was empty of the distraction of other human beings trying to participate in the awkward interactions that occur between neighbours who want to get to know each other but are too shy to properly meet.
That was until I heard approaching footsteps on the pavement in front of me.
I buried myself into the book, trying to look preoccupied while my brain battled over whether or not to greet this human being and make conversation.
The decision was made for me as I heard the footsteps move from cement to grass. I looked up from my book to see him approach.
"Hello, my brudda," he said in a thick African accent that sounded almost too stereotypical to be real.
"Good evening," I responded.
" I am lost," he said. "Do you know Dawae?"
I looked at him with a confused expression. "The way?" I asked. "To where?"
He looked equally confused. "No, I need to find Dawae."
Annoyed, I set down my drink and my book. "I understand," I said. "But to where?"
"No, you don't undastand. I need to find my friend, Dawae."
"And I need to find out, my friend, the way in which you are wanting to go," I said mockingly.
He sighed. "You do not know Dawae."
"Well, I might," I said, "if you told me which way, or where exactly, the way you are trying to go!"
He angrily stormed away muttering under his breath as I shook my head, picked up my drink and my book, and continued reading.