Where the Heck is Rivers?

I’m sure the vast majority of you are wondering… what in the name of Zar4on happened to Rivers? He’d been so consistent this time! Blogging every 2 or 3 days, responding to emails, generally confirming his existence to the rest of the world as opposed to being the shy, retiring violet that he normally is…

Work happened. Not that long ago, a certain really Elder McNutt (*zing*)made a snarky-type comment questioning if I was actually doing any work, or just spending the majority of my time insulating Tanzania from the global economic crisis. This despite the fact that when I wasn’t off chasing monkeys or enjoying malted beverages, I tended to work chunks of most weekends, and kick around at the office until 7:30pm or so.

Ah… the good ol’ relaxing days. Ever since Simon Bikindi was found guilty, my workload has increased by a factor of incalculable. This is because we will be rendering another judgement – that of Protais Zigiranyirazo – on Thursday. Since much of the team for Zigi was also on the team for Bikindi, much of our focus had been on Simon Says. At least, until the day of his judgement.

Since then, I’ve averaged 12 hours a day at work, peaking at 14 one memorable/immolation-inducing day. In the same way that computer screens left on for too long may occasionally burn an after-image permanently into the display, my pupils now contain the English Transcript of 11 October 2005 in miniature writing, much like that Chinese-rice-text. I have had the same lunch four days in a row because it’s closest to the Tribunal, which saves time… but I know they take a long time to prepare it, which means I actually get a break.

All that said, of course, I really wouldn’t have it any other way. I like to think that I thrive on work – and being worked as hard as this means that either I’ve managed to carry my weight so far, or that they’re very very desperate. (*Note to all firms reading this as part of their applicant research: the former is undoubtedly both true and an understatement. I’m actually the only reason this judgement is going to be done on time. I’ve been called a “better spoken Barack Obama”. I just had to be modest for the legions of fans. They expect it. Fame can be tough, you know.)

Delusional grandeur aside, I love the fact that I’m in the game here. It’s been fascinating work, and the team I’m doing it with is either matching or exceeding me in hour-for-hour work, and is always supportive. And, once again, I’ll get to be in court when a judgement is rendered.

The fact that I’ve worked on two judgements right at their conclusion is incredibly fortunate. Both of these cases began more than two years ago, and it’s just good fortune I arrived at this specific time. (Well… not entirely good fortune. I was hired to do this particular work because they knew it’d be a crunch. But it was fortunate that I applied for this particular time.)

Somehow, in all of this, I managed to find time to celebrate turning 24. I’ve ticked one year closer to the magical quarter-century mark, and yet still feel approximately half of that age. This is probably not aided by my incredible sister Ali, who sent me a birthday card reminding me (among other things) that I at one point dressed up as Sauruman, using a tattered white facecloth as a beard. She also pointed out that at one point, during a Savage Garden song, I made my hand into a Scouts salute and rocked out, AC/DC style. Of course… she did things quite similar to this, but that’s beside the point.

In order to celebrate my birthday, I did what any other North American would do. I went to an auto-parts store that, at night, doubles as a chicken BBQ and feasted on half a chicken with chips and spicy Indian salads. I then went to the hostel where I stayed on my first night, and enjoyed a shandy on their rooftop bar. If you don’t know what a shandy is, it’s the vilest, most alcoholic and manly drink you can have. A single sip of it turns your hair 60% more Mr. T-related and increases the dimple in your chin by the depth of a twoonie. You also develop a taste for hunting and fixing/breaking things. In short… it’s a lager mixed with a Sprite. Grrrrr!!

Following one or two of those badboys, I upped stakes and went to Via Via, a local nightclub. I lasted about 40 minutes, before I was invited to leave by security. What egregious offence had I committed? Well… with shandy running through my veins, I angrily took a swing at a man who had nudged my right shoulder with his beverage, and who then turned out to be the Vice-President of Kenya. He went down like a swath of British Columbian old-growth.

…. okay okay, it was for having smuggled in a bottle of Finnish licorice alcohol I’d been given as a gift from Kaisu, one of the greatest people on the world, who happens to be Finnsh. So I went home and answered Facebook wall posts instead. What will those crazy birthday kids do next?