We recently moved into a new suburb. The shift was against my will, but after the Long family’s popular decision, it had to be partaken. The siren environs and expanded playing grounds in the fresh area provided a venue for a lazy weekend relaxation. There were free amenities nearby which provided entrainment for the Longlets/kids. While they screamed in joy my buddy, Buddy and I knocked the day away lubricating our souls under the Jacarandas, surrounded by our Eskimos/lager, downing them drop by drop. The refreshing breeze churned by the uninterrupted vegetation created a pleasant shield in the unfriendly summer heat.
After a hard day at the slave yard/work place, I had developed a curious pattern to take a stroll around the neighborhood with the family. This was a time to ‘meet’ new friends and get accustomed to the goings on. Nothing seemed to be ‘off the shelf’. I never smelt any Babylonians/thugs scouring for a brawl, so we thought.
Like I alluded to earlier, the exodus was not my creation. Having become accustomed to our prior residing place, it was hard for me to say goodbyes. Top of the list, the watering hole, Njabulo’s, was just a pacing distance away. Even when the regular fights erupted, I was the first one to reach my destination – safe and unscathed. Later I would safely peel the bedroom covers and peep through while the conflicts unfolded.
As always, the Binders/Police would be struggling to calm down the intoxicated nerves. Obviously, it was one of the Babylonians at the frontline of the ‘war’. The ‘battle’ was always against a defenseless loner and rarely amongst the squad. They were surely destined for a victory. None of them ever tasted the sting of the rotting cells. Never! For that, nobody ever saluted the Binders. They appeared when it was convenient – disappeared when it became inconvenient. For their sake they termed it ‘security reasons’.
However, we will never understand their system for we were schooled in parallel vocations. The ever-caring Mrs Long loathed these episodes. She was never diplomatic with her advice.
“One day you will be the next target. They will kill you at that pub that you like so much,” she declared.
The idea to migrate only matured after an ‘unusual’ sighting in the vicinity of our previous dwellings. It was one of those actions abundant Saturdays. As usual, my buddy, Buddy and I positioned ourselves, in our favourate tranquil corner at Njabulo’s. It was only seconds after a few longing swigs at our initial Eskimos that a trendy car suddenly screeched to a halt at the entrance. A burley Pretender/new comer, stepped out of his wheels.
His democratic right to quench his burning liquor cravings had drawn him to the venue. He entered tastefully puffing as his imported cigar and sat in an adjacent corner. He ordered one those expensive ciders curiously preserved in a colorfully bottle. He sat down and proceeded with his imbibing pleasure whilst he amused himself with his buzzer.
At that very moment I knew trouble was brewing. You see, having no buddy to share your drink with at Njabulo’s is an open invitation to adversity. Firstly, you expose yourself as an easy target because you are not familiar with any regulars who can defend your cause against the Babylonian’s sting for as little as a sip. Only that! A guzzle can preserve your dear life.
Secondly, by secluding your soul and parading your expansive collections reveals that you have extra Crown/cash to indulge with until dawn beckons. Automatically, you become the Babylonian’s abandoned diamond shaft. They will pounce sooner than later, like what they demonstrated to the chubby ‘foreign’ Pretender. That’s all what we witnessed. Sensing an explosion, we had to make ourselves scarce.
He later chronicled the episode to me and my buddy, Buddy at his reviving hospital bed.
Chubby Pretender had lost his campus and suddenly found himself near Njabulos. He then decided to kill two birds with one stone – a drink and meet new acquaintances. His appearance from his steering with registration from a province yonder came with a splash. The glitter and glamour resembled a loaded guy. The Babylonians sensed an all-night binge that could only be halted by a pleading pack of Binders.
He said, the moment he stepped out of his car everyone paused with their containers of Eskimos stuck to their sprouts. He dismissed the focus and that was his main regret.
A Babylonian apprentice trying to prove his worth bombed him. “Heita bra, can I please get a smoke, I really need one.” The Pretender never suspected or inspected anything. He flipped his cigarette cabin pulling two neatly rolled thick cigars and offered his visitor. The Babylonian was taken aback.
“No, I meant the one you are smoking because around this place we share. I mean we share everything in this place,” he declared. Everyone agreed. We did as well to smear any thoughts reprisal. He was right, except that some of us did not buy their survival strategy.
The Pretender shot back. “Where I come from we don’t do it that way. I gave you more than what you asked for and what more do you want from me.” He took a last strong blow and extinguished the butt with his heel.
The chubby ‘foreign’ Pretender never saw it coming…!
Don’t miss Part 2 of your favourate weekend reading pleasure next week – only on Twenty4Sixty!
