I think I have been poisoned.
Neo-colonialists are on the move…must clamp down on the press… free speech… freedom of movement…must pass legislation…my head hurts.
It must be those revolutionary gun toting bastards in their Toyota Hilux vans, complete with machine guns bolted to the back.
I see Paul Theroux leading them. It must be him! Always, always sarcastic about African dictators…
…A pox on the mining industry. They started this…must nationalise, must take over…Paul you bastard…in and out of my dreams, like a pale white ghost, you white freak…oh wait, that’s Brett Kebble..no wait, he is dead.
Must be Glen Agliotti then…no…no…I will not pay back the bribe…leave my Mercedes…how will I get to the airport to flee then? Shame on you…leave my suit, my shoes!
Paul??
Paul…where is your passport?
Whats this?
I can see the fighter planes…across the mud huts as the children sleep…through the alleys of a quiet city street.
Up the staircase to the first floor…I turn the key and slowly unlock the door …the communist bastards breathe deep into saxophones and through the walls I hear the city groan…
Outside is America…
Outside is America
Like I always knew they were…
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