I can’t wait for the lockdown gate to swing open. Freedom! I can see it in the distant horizon. Jazz music bellowing from the speakers. Men and women tapping lazily along. I see an ou toppie in a Dobs hat, checked shirt and pants so finely-pressed the crease looks razor-sharp. He asks a lady to dance.
“For you Jakes, anything,” she obliges.
He takes a swig of his fine whiskey and he whisks her off to the dance floor. Her body is like an hour glass. He touches her like he would a fragile parcel. “Phatha phata,” they sing along to the music. The crowd gets up from their beer crates to give them a standing ovation.
I fly off to a different world. Laughing with friends as we dip skopo into chilli-hot powder.
“How does it taste, Zee?”
“Like…Freedom,” I say.