Ghost of the Kabaka

Satiricus believes in giving Jack his jacket and in the case of the Kabaka, giving the man his khaki jodhpurs he liked to wear when he rode around on his (high) horse. Why were all these people denying him the Lambo Prize? Satiricus had just finished his dinner – foo-foo soup – and he was relaxing in his Berbice Chair. He became philosophical at times like this…was it the foo- foo? So, not surprisingly (to his wife) he fell asleep. And started to dream.
It was night and it was dark at Seven Ponds. It was getting towards the midnight hour. Things were beginning to stir. Who was that coming from beyond the Palm Tree? Was it Michael Jackson, doing a reprieve of his Thriller? Nah…the fella didn’t have on the trademark white glove. And he was much heavier. And his hair wasn’t long and straight. It was the Kabaka.
He was muttering to himself. “How can they possibly deny me, the great Kabaka, the Lambo Prize? How much did I not do for South Africa? Did I not tell them to stop calling me “Odo” and call me “The Kabaka”? How much more African can you get?”
“Odo, you couldn’t be African if you lived 50 years in the Congo,” said a voice from behind the mausoleum. It was Robney. “All you life you just trying to be a white man. Riding horse!!!”
“Is what the arse you doing here. I thought you lived in Le Repentir. Like you still have your high-jumping skills?” The Kabaka was mocking.
“Well my friends jump high enough to stop you from getting the Lambo Prize,” mocked Robney. “I was grounding with those brothers for a long time, Odo. Time longer than twine.”
“You may have been grounding in the dirt, you scruffy ragamuffin,” said the Kabaka scornfully, “but I sent $50,000 a year for the struggle. How ungrateful they are!”
“Ungrateful? Odo, is who $50,000 you sent? You wasn’t even a real president. You rig election and they should have jailed you ass for stealing people’s money,” said Robney scornfully.
“Listen my good man, in those times fair was foul and foul was fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air,” said the Kabaka superciliously. “Did you not know those people would have ruled us?”
“Macbeth, eh? Don’t forget I went to Queen’s too,” replied Robney. “But you squeezed your own people Odo. That is why I had to remove you by any means necessary.”
“Remove me,” snorted the Kabaka derisively. “Like you forget is who remove who!”
“Nah, I didn’t forget. And neither did the world,” replied Robney calmly, “And that is why you will never get the Lambo Prize.”
Satiricus woke up with a stare. His wife was shaking him. “You were yelling ‘Good fuh yuh! Good fuh yuh! What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just learn why Jack didn’t get his jacket. It was never his to begin with.”