Bloody nationalisation fanatics will suck us dry

2011-11-19 11:05

Mosquitoes have been keeping me awake these days. Like this other rainy night when I was suddenly roused from my sleep by what I thought to be a chorus of chanting youth leaguers.

Why on earth, I wondered, would the economic freedom seeking youth march on poor me who, like millions of others, lives in a house owned by a bank, drives a car on the books of another bank and sleeps on a bed that is still partly owned by a furniture shop?

I mean, I have absolutely nothing of value they can nationalise, repossess or redistribute, you see.

I wondered if perhaps I wasn’t suffering from the effects of having waged war on a bottle of affordable red wine a few hours before. But my ears, this trustworthy pair that have been my companions ever since I graced this unforgiving planet, never lie to me.

Still drowsy, I jumped out of bed into the slippers I liberated from a hotel (my employer was generous enough to put me up for a few nights) and switched on the light.

So far, the municipality had been gracious enough not to cut off my electricity owing to that outstanding rates bill. Or it could be that the personnel responsible for this gory task were on a permanent go-slow, you never know.

What I saw when the light came on almost made me jump out of my debt-ridden skin. There, right at the corner of my bed, I saw a raging swarm of youthful mosquitoes, brandishing posters and doing what
I assumed to be the mosquito version of the toyi-toyi.

“Blood!” they chanted in mosquital harmony, seemingly spurred on by the light. For a moment I stood there, pinching myself.

Phela these damned mosquitoes do not care that you have royal blood like yours truly, they just get the business of sucking your blood dry done then literally buzz off.

“Blood!” they roared again.

“…is thicker than water!” I heard the young mozzies respond with vigour.

In the middle of the group, I spotted a fat mosquito holding what I assumed was a loudhailer made specifically for the mozzie world. Hey, that one was quite vociferous, telling the other mosquitoes that it was time to nationalise all the blood in this world!

“We don’t care! Black, white, Zulu, fat or small, blood is blood,” he roared, sending the other mosquitoes into a frenzy of buzzing which I interpreted to be their approval.

“It is a travesty of justice that people can walk around with so much blood while others go hungry! We need to share this blood! If you don’t want to share, we will suck you dry!”

This got me all scurrying about, searching for the arsenal of mosquito repellents in my drawer.

Now, these mosquitoes have amazing eyesight. Just as I was about to unleash this spray on the rowdy group, I heard the fat one with a loudhailer exclaim loudly: “Hey! We come in peace! All we want is our equal share of blood! This blood comes from God!”

The mere mention of the word God disarmed me so that I put away the damn thing and turned all my attention to the toyi-toying mass of mosquitoes.

I saw some of them brandishing a range of posters. This particular one drew my attention: “Nationalisation of Blood in our Lifetime!”

And here I was thinking that if someday the bank and the furniture store decided to repossess what belonged to them, I would at least still have the only thing that belongs to me 100% – my blood.

But now these mosquitoes were threatening exactly the same thing this God they were calling upon gave to me.

I was contemplating the meaning of this poster when this squeaky voiced mosquito rattled me out of my thoughts.

“Your blood is my blood!”

Ijo!

“We know where you sleep!” howled yet another.

At this point I went straight for the repellent. But guess what?

Just as I was about to flush the living daylights out of the damned mosquitoes, my room was engulfed in darkness. I recalled immediately that I hadn’t recharged my pre-paid electricity that week.

In the darkness, I heard the chanting of the mosquitoes rise to a crescendo.

My body shivered. I jumped into bed and slid under the covers.

Minutes later I heard them circling over my head singing: “Igazi lam! Igazi lam! Awulethe igazi lam?.?.?. My blood, my blood, give me my blood!”

My blood was about to be nationalised!

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