Dashiki Dialogues – Fanonian takes the biscuit

2011-09-02 14:04

In defence of some uncharacteristic behaviour, my ex-accountant friend with dimples and a penchant for all things Fanonian has coined his most infamous line yet: “Oh, but what does the revolution have to do with my biscuits.”

It’s our newest catch tag for all anti-poor behaviour. However, before we get too deep about my friend’s crass statement, I must share how it came into being.

It was during an early evening of what had been an early spring’s dog day. So the city’s streets were jumping with outdoor indulgences.

We took a walk along Church Street in our administrative capital.

The former number cruncher had insisted on a snack – a pack of Tennis biscuits. Yes, I know. Not very classy, but what the hell. This guy figures he’s down with the masses.

Anyway, we then entered the theatre precinct near the empty flee market grounds.

Now, apart from evening walkers like us and commuters going to the taxi terminals, hordes of homeless people and beggars were reclaiming the streets.

Inevitably, the hungry wretched of the city ultimately accosted the Fanonian and me: “Ah, uncle, how about R2 there?” the first one said.

The Fanonian issued the standard response: “Eish! bro, sorry, but I don’t have it.” And so the first one was dispensed of.

A few paces later, the second one approached, donning a khaki fisherman’s hat – the type usually worn as part of prison uniform.

One of his battered shoes used plastic strips for laces. His dirt-marked clothes clearly spoke to his social station.

Clasping his hand and tilting his head to the side, he gestured towards my friend and then asked for a share of his treats: “Hi, my brother. No, I’m not asking for money, you see, just a biscuit please. I’m very hungry man.”

Now this blew the top off the biscuit Fanonian. Using colourful language, the unprintable type, my friend told the hobo to bugger off.

As the bucking subsided and we fell back into our stroll, we entered a moment of uncomfortable silence.

As if needing to justify himself, my friend side-eyed me and threw his now infamous line.

After some exercise in empathy, I imagined all he wanted was to enjoy his biscuits undisturbed – just as many neo-colonial leaders probably feel entitled to their pomp and plush.

Revolutionary brothers want their own biscuits, sushi, Breitling watches and personal shares in mining firms.

As my dimpled friend continued munching his Tennis biscuits, I figured we need an honest Dashiki Dialogue: Darkies ain’t ready for revolution! Not really!

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