THE PUTSCH

Coup d'Etat_ Photo by Christine Hansen

He came to the house through the back staircase to find men dressed in MOBILE POLICE trousers and camo-T-shirts in a room that must’ve been space for the kitchen, watching over a man he suspects must be some high ranking politician, with a bowler hat on. The haphazardly dressed policemen appeared not to be looking in his direction, nor paid any heed to his presence, like he was a Ghost.

While he was there they did nothing, or said nothing to the man, sitting on a chair like he was prepped to be interrogated. He found it queer as he made to leave (with the diced pineapples he had eaten halfway), that one of the men gave their “captive” a fly-catching salute.

By the time he was out on the streets, which wasn’t familiar to him, he saw many people driving their cars out of the streets where they had parked them, while those who hadn’t parking space in their house begged those who had to allow them, like they were envisaging some disturbance like is norm in this clime, when private property bore the brunt of demonstrations when hijacked by unruly types.

He didn’t understand why there was this fervency by everyone he’d met to get off the street. Even the pineapples he was eating had disappeared and he couldn’t even remember the house he’d been to earlier, or how he got to the streets, talk more of returning to where he’d come.

To clear his confusion, he waltzed into the next house he approached and listened to conversations amongst neighbours, they were filled with disgust as to why there should be a coup on elections day, and by no less a group than the police, the first time such a thing would happen in the country.

That was when it all made sense. At the same time he woke up startled, from his sleep, and by his dream.

‘kovich

PHOTO BY CHRISTINE HANSEN

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