That is the bad thing about bullet proof jackets. At first, you fear no bullets.
Of course, you stop to respect the sun's rays and the rains.
Then, you fear no Britain.
Next, Mr Fergus Cochrane-Dyet goes home. To stumble into, and be welcomed by, the cold arms of a London day.
It's not finished. A poor woman, Gomile-Chidyaonga, packs her brankets, too. Britain is cold, at times. But Chidyaonga has no time to donate them to the poor, white kids in London. She does not need them, back she takes them home. Because she is in a hurry!
But home she goes; this being Malawi, home she comes.
Lastly, you count the damage.
Least. You feel the pain.
Evil. Politics, that is.
Made so by the people who live in a box, protected from perceived enemies by a false sense of safety.
Confident to a fault.
It is true; perhaps our leaders are over-educated for the masses. Representative politics gone wrong.
Yes, Chidyaonga comes. Home.
Cochrane-Dyet went with the winds, too.