My Worst Season


It wasn’t too long ago when I was boasting about spending all of my spare time in Ann Morrison Park, but from last week until today I am thinking twice before getting out of the house.

Is winter really approaching? I still remember my first winter very well because I was falling down twice or more daily. I still remember my second winter because I crashed my car twice and broke both taillights. I remember well my third because I hardly drove and spent most of it indoors.

Now it winter again.

This just means one thing for me, I won’t see my friends for three months. While Americans spend their days outside playing in the snow, my fellow Africans and I will be hiding inside our houses with heaters on high, covered in double blankets watching TV land. When you don’t see me for months don’t think I had returned to Africa, because that’s what we ask each other in spring when winter ends.

“Where have you been?” is a common question. “In my house and at work” the only two places you can see me during winter. Oh well. Once or twice a week at Winco or Wal-Mart.

When I moved to Boise from Zimbabwe in July 2006, I was surprised by the sun staying up until 10.
But one night in November I got my bicycle out of the house going to work and found the ground all covered in white,

“Snow.” I knew it was snow but it was my first time to actually see it, well besides the movies and all. I got on my bicycle and a hundred meters flat I was on the ground. Up again and slipped again and again. It was my first year, so I had no car. Actually, I could not drive at all. From my house to work was about three miles, traveling on the Greenbelt I fell more than five times before getting to work.

After work I walked, pushing the bicycle as my shoulder was dislocated due to the falling. Since then, winter is not my favorite season.