SHAABI

The reflections of the past paints a picture filled with colour..glamour...love and wisdom!

Colours stream across and the memories run a distance from Paris to Dakar. Clashing from time to time and changing the landscape...creating no clear picture, none whatsoever!!



 Along this journey, I met a man....80 years young. My first thoughts of this pale fragile figure left no indent in my mind. He was like every other I had met before. Or so I thought.

He moved at a pace most old men do. Shuffling his feet, step by step, from a frame that was wrinkled in every corner. I had a thought that mirrored the desire to not be like him. Or maybe it was a consideration of what I would be like at that age. My face shrugs and the lines on my forehead portray the discontent of such a notion.

I was wrong... because he matched every move I made.
 HE TOPPED THE CHARTS WITH ME. He made me see that being young was just that. He strode the park in bliss; oblivion created by the curse of the brown bottle and yet he stood strong.

Shot for shot we led the course together. There I was, with the strength and physique of a leo, against the mind, wit and fatigue of a wiser man! And suddenly the picture changed.

Yellows, oranges and greens embrace the entire screen. There was something unique about this old man. His uniqueness becoming more and more obvious. I was about to learn that happiness is just that. What did I expect of an 80 year old frame, mind and character? Someone who sits quietly and bothers no one? Is that what I thought?

I was mistaken and he was proof of that. His shuffling walk almost, yet impossibly emulating the ancient rural Egyptian dance after which he was aptly named. Its energies moving from the male Tahtib or warrior dance to the female Ghawazee that has captivated Western travellers for centuries. His spirit touched me somehow and spoke of ancient desires and secrets which passed through his soul. This aged warrior showed me that happiness at his age was to live life to its fullest. Wake in the morning, do whatever makes you happy and sleep as little as possible. Spend as much time laughing, drink and be merry (if thats what you did or wished to do).


It is said that the life of man is determined by the achievements of his past. Now who is to judge and say the past wasn't what any man wanted?



I say........... for the expanse of a man's life, let him be happy.

I say, let men be Shaabi

Patrick Terry Galloway

Copyright (C) 2011

www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSPOkc6Xd3M (Shaabi dance)

My brother, My friend

A tribute to Mozzie Joe Galloway
Raindrops fell fom the sky.   
Each drop signifying the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. They symbolise a tribute to life and they continue falling.....like clock work!

I recall the story where God promised that rain would never flood the earth again. 
 My mind races, tracing the greatness of the flush from the sky. likening it to the many days on the earth. Each drop cooling the land from the heat of the day.

I remember that there is a God. A good and lifegiving God. And so I go on, moment after moment, day after day; grateful that He has blessed me abundantly; grateful that He has blessed my children, family and friends! Grateful that like every drop of rain, He has blessed us with life, for every second and every minute of everyday.



However, what I do not forget, is that just as He promised not to flood the earth again.... the drops of rain will also end and so too does life.
 At least it does, upon this earth, upon this land.

Mozzie, my brother, my friend. Our days will never end. There is a promise that holds true.... that in the herein and hereafter..........


we live on.

Copyright © 2011

Author: Patrick Terry Galloway

We called him Soul - The life and legacy of Errol Felix Galloway

He was like the sun that comes out and fulfills its purpose according to plan. He commanded the time, space, respect and the attention. There was an aura that enshrouded him and left one awed and amazed at how he was able to manage his life in such a positive and disciplined manner. He was Errol Felix Galloway, but we called him “Soul”.

Being the eldest of twelve he knew that all eyes were directed towards him. He was smart, charming, handsome, wise and shrewd...all that and more! He therefore strove to achieve high standards and ensure that the lessons were good, easy to learn and understand. He was a tall man who walked through the wind and amongst the trees. Astute, poised, confident and driven. Mature in mind and crafty in intent, he could create out of nothing.

“Soul” took risks along the way and worked hard to achieve the ultimate. A figure that stood strong amongst friends, within the community, on the sports field and in the workplace. A powerful force able to captivate and draw you into an embrace hard to simulate. A mere handshake could leave its mark upon the archives of your memory.

This was my time of growth and an era for forming my own aspirations. “Soul” was my role model. His life bore the evidence and fruit of positive thinking and attitude. I wanted to uncover the secrets to his success. But suddenly the universe halted in its tracks and stopped......life changed........my life changed.

Errol Felix Galloway was dying. His medical results were positive and the prognosis alarming. The announcement wrought emotional and psychological devastation. It left me in a tunnel of absolute desolation and unable to vocalize my pain. I had no one to tell, no one to talk to, though my family fluttered around me. I felt it was unlikely they could empathise because they didn't know or understand me, neither the depth of my grief. I was alone with my thoughts and carried my dread deep within. I was a solitary figure wandering through a maze of uncertainty crowned with questions. Still, “Soul” remained strong and unchanging.

I carried him.......Literally. His body waned and weak. His immunity low. One memory in particular, of me carrying him, still clutches my heart and digs into me till it feels like yesterday. He was cradled in my arms like an infant, he looked up into my face, into my eyes and said, “I'm sorry.........thank you”. The unshed tears choked and killed my reply. What could I say? Yet I wanted to say so much. I wanted him to know how much I loved him. How much I would miss him. I wanted him to understand what a void would be left once he was gone. But words wouldn't come. I held him closer and tighter, my heart bowed in silent sorrow.

My ambitions seemed to hide from the heartrenching sight of brother carrying brother. The younger would outlive the eldest of twelve. His head lay heavily against my arm, his own around my waist holding on, and in those moments “Soul” gave me more than I could ever have asked for. A moment that made me realise that somehow, the essence of who we are, lives on. His wife whispered in my ear, “if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing”. No regrets, only sun filled memories.

His body had succumbed to malady and Heaven mercifully called. The tall and slender silhouette bade his time. He had run the race, kept good faith and now his journey was done. Even as death stripped him “Soul” remained strong, he conquered and won.

It was a sad and sorrowful day. Laughter turned to mourning. Summer had turned to winter. Darkness blanketed the glow of the warming sun..............

ashes to ashes.........dust to dust.

That was then,

but now and to this day,

one thing remains certain and sure;

This husband, father and friend, lived life, loved laughter and left a legacy I want to follow

Even in the throes of death, my brother was a winner,

He was Errol Felix Galloway

But we called him “Soul”.

Copyright © 2011

Author: Patrick Terry Galloway

Dedicated to the memory of Errol Felix Galloway