Skip to main content

Nails In The Fence

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily, gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said “you have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.” You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there. Make sure you control your temper the next time you are tempted to say something you will regret later.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Take care of yourself__"The first wealth is health".

By Strive Masiyiwa  A few weeks ago I went to the doctor. I will tell you what he said about my health at the end, but first read this: Twenty years ago, I arranged to meet a well-known British international businessman who invested a lot in Africa at the time. We agreed to meet for dinner at a leading hotel in London.  After a good meeting, we started to walk out of the restaurant when he suddenly collapsed in the lobby. There was total pandemonium as they rushed to get medical assistance. Being London, an ambulance arrived in minutes. I jumped in the back with him as paramedics wrestled to keep him alive. He had had a heart attack and had to have triple bypass heart surgery. Sadly he died a few weeks later. He hadn't been sick and his sudden death surprised everyone. And yet as I reflected on it, and later discussed it with a doctor friend who knew him, I realized he was very laid back about his health despite having a hectic business life. Even during our dinner...

Mulolongo is not just a place.

Mulolongo is not just a place. It's a whole syllabus. And deep within its curriculum is a tiny street called Zambarau where meat is sold both day and night. By day, Zambarau is a heaven of nyama. Smoke rises like prayers as meat sizzles on grills. You can find it in stew, dry fry, grilled or even boiled for the toothless. But when darkness announces its arrival, the meat form changes. It’s still meat, yes, but this one is served somewhat raw. Colourful, tender and priced depending on texture, origin, and freshness. The most popular evening meat here is called pig Porko. Everyone in Zambarau street and its tributaries knows pig meat, Porko. It is well supplied, comes in different packages and is available all night till morning. On a certain Friday evening, Katomo walked into Mulolongo feeling like a tycoon. After working for three solid weeks smoothing walls in Kalangaita, the foreman finally remembered him. He was paid a full Ksh 790. Not a coin less. That evening, Kat...