I’m writing for NaNoWriMo, using prompts from Moye Magazine. My plan is to write 30 different stories for this month, all in English (for a change). Enjoy.
“Free Palestine! Free Haiti! Free Yemen! Free Tigray!”
The shouting from the person on the corner underneath my study window, two stories down, had been going on for some time, at a constant tone, with a rising pitch on each word.
“Free Northern Ireland! Free Myanmar! Free Catalonia!”
The tone continued – a true slogan, each time listing a completely different place. Not unusual, even at this time of night.
“Free Nunavut! Free Cymru! Free Brittany! Free Chechnya!”
I had heard of all these places, but they were starting to get odder and odder as I listened. I still felt an agreement with the basic sentiment, but I had to think harder each time about the dynamics of each freedom on the market.
“Free Occupied Western Sahara! Free Orania! Free Tibet!”
Okay, now things were getting a bit harder to identify with. Orania especially. I mean, don’t get me wrong – as an anarchist, any autonomous collective was better than an oppressive system. But nothing makes racism okay.
“Free Aotearoa! Free Sudan! Free Tasmania! Free Antarctica!”
Huh? Some of those made sense, but most of them didn’t. I got up from my desk and walked over to the window to see what was actually going on.
“Free Palestine! Free Haiti! Free Yemen! Free Tigray!”
As I got to the window and pushed it open, the last syllable – gray! – assaulted me with full force. I had forgotten that the windows were double-glazed to keep out most of the other street-noises. Still reeling from the assault, I blurted
“Hey! Power to you, but what’s the deal?”
A pause in the sales-pitch, as the black-hoodied person in the tangerine pool of toxic streetlight suddenly looked up at me, nodded in greeting, and said
“Fancy a patch? Free Northern Ireland? Free Myanmar? Free Catalonia?”
I looked along the street and saw nobody else sticking their head out. Nobody else but me, in the slightly chilly mid-night air, leaning out of a second-storey window and in conversation with a weirdo on the ground floor. Before I could respond, they said
“As one of our premium customers, I am authorised to give you any number of patches for free! Free Nunavut? Free Cymru? Free Brittany? Free Chechnya?”
I shook my head, blinked my eyes slowly, but when I opened them the person was still looking at me, their offer painted on their face, waiting for a response.None of this was making any sense. As any good salesperson would do, they continued their pitch in the face of my lack of refusal.
“According to our records, you’ve been a loyal customer since 1984, and we want to show you our appreciation by offering you a free, gratis, mahhala patch. How does Free Occupied Western Sahara sound? Free Orania? Free Tibet?”
I recollected my thoughts a bit and spat out
“Fuck Free Orania, but I’m down with the others. What do you mean by a ‘patch’?”
They smiled, and I noticed that they were only smiling with their mouth, not with their whole face. A liar’s smile. A con-artist’s smile. Nevertheless, they continued
“Look, I’ve been told to be indirect with you. ‘Ts and Cs Apply’ and all that. So how about Free Aotearoa? Sudan? Tasmania? Antarctica?”
I laughed this time, directly at them, and said
“From whom does Antarctica need to be freed, you fucking weirdo?”
The smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine hurt, as they said
“Now there’s no need for insults, ma’am. I didn’t come here and insult you, did I? All I offered you was a few Free patches. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I took a deep breath, looked around my shitty flat, and back down at the black-hoodied person in the pale circle of the streetlight, and thought (to myself), ‘What the fuck is actually going on?’, before I responded:
“Okay, sorry. How much does it cost?”
The smile returned, this time with an actual lick of the lips. The voice responded
“You have already paid for the version you are currently using. You just need to accept the new Ts and Cs and then we are A for Away.”
I honestly didn’t think there was anything left to lose, given that I was having a shouted conversation with someone who was an actual Loon, board certified. So I simply said
“Sure. Why not. I accept the new T’s and C’s.”
The smile broadened, and suddenly there was a tablet in the person’s hand, stylus at the ready.
“And which one do you choose?”
I thought back over the options, and said:
“Is there a ‘free me’ version?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, then patch that in and see if it makes any difference.”
“All done, Mr Smith. Enjoy.”
uMabhengwane 