mogadishu…
Poems

mogadishu…

i find this guy
as i’m passing by
clutching my office bag
which i simply refer to
as my ‘walking office’
though this time around
it also doubles up
as a ‘mission bag’
with two supple 750 ml quarts

from the nearby liquorama outlet
itting quietly inside
he’s seated on the car bonnet
of this nice, mini pajero
inside this ramshackle showroom
run by some pakistani car dealer
here in mogoditshane
this eastern kweneng dormitory town
popularly known as ‘mogadishu’
a mere 10 or so km distance
from the capital gaborone
and from the name
i suppose you can already quite clearly see
where it’s all leading to
chaos, destruction, piracy, loss of meaning, distortion – huh?
when i ask him across the fence
“how much do they sell it for?”
he replies: ‘’ah, this one, chief, it has an owner already.”
o it’s been bought already, then.
“ya, but how much is it, anyway?”
i persist
thirty-five, he says, at last
i leave
and on my way out
towards the combi terminus

i stop by nelson’s tavern
where i hook up with rasta
the groundsman
who is also my pal
i ask if he’s seen joey
my other more serious brother
and about the only other guy
who sometimes dares to return my favours

no, he hasn’t shown up
in quite a long while now, he says;

only khan, the indo-mullato who says he came up
with some of my cousins and folks

back in moleps,
only he is inside the shop
just then, indeed, i see khan emerge from the bar
he sees me
and comes over
o we greet amicably
like good friends
who haven’t seen each other
in a long time
he’s with another man
who brandishes some cheque
which he says

it’s all that’s left behind
from all the work of his flesh and bones

he’s got no choice then
but to blow it, he says

but it shant be
not until tomorrow at least
when the money chamber opens up
i make to walk away
instinctively towards the tavern
and, then, khan says: “am i getting one?”
i stop in my tracks

and i tell him: “well, today i’m actually just going home; here, i just need to use the wc”
adding, for his reassurance: “maybe tomorrow, pal”
to which he responds: “ok, then, let me also hit moleps , straightaway”
as he departs

i go inside for my one, one!
which equals two
before you know it
then i get on my way home
gelling with the combi driver
who lets me sit on the front seat
beside him
and takes my silly joke about the inmate
who gets an extra piece of meat
for telling on his comrades

in good spirits

concluding a typical day
getting home from craft
and that’s why i like it so much
the common folk
and ‘living in the love of the common people’
ala eric d.

© by kagiso dubla senthufhe

About the author

Kagiso 'Dubla' Senthufhe