In Jukistopia there is a proverb, Never judge a fight by its rumble. I learnt this lesson as a fresher in the School of Hard Knocks, Kawangware.
I was standing at the bus stop, quite pleased with myself for being ghetto-savvy. But how pleased? Perhaps you would understand if I told you I had just bought myself—despite their condition—a bargain pair of sand-washed Wrangler jeans and a crisp white denim shirt with an upturned collar. Now all I needed was to practise a smile, and by the next day, I would cut the image of Ray Parker Jr. It was the early 90’s, you see.
That is how I found myself at the bus stop, holding a well-stuffed green paper bag (the kind that had a calendar printed on the side), rehearsing my “Ray Parker Jr” look. In Kawangware, people are everywhere, so I didn’t notice the two ruffians until they started quarrelling.
Quickly, the grumbling turned into a slugfest, with loud, reckless blows being traded. Soon, the fistfight escalated into a full-blown melee, either despite or because of the arrival of more ruffians claiming to separate the two.
When it finally died down—how uncanny!—I was minus my luggage. Then, as I prepared to board the bus, I instinctively checked my pockets. My wallet was gone too.
NYS monkeyshine
Many years later, the same trick is being played on me at a grander, better-choreographed, and more colourful scale.
Picture this: it has been more than a year since the “whistleblower,” turned chief architect, announced that she had spotted a mischievous hand deep in the NYS cookie jar. The mischievous hand, she said, had not stolen anything yet, but she had called in the sleuths to check anyway. This would kick off the greatest monkeyshine of the Jubilee administration.
Since then, the spectacle has attracted so many characters that it is now impossible to identify the original plot or theme of this tragicomedy. Fists are flying without hitting any targets. Mud is being flung generously, but aimlessly. The police arrest the belligerents selectively and then plead with them to appear in court. Meanwhile, others—careful to keep their distance—continue to hurl missiles into the heart of the fight without ever being invited.
But mark my words: all the heavy blows you are witnessing are fake. The gloves are stuffed with thick foam and feathers. They are designed to create noise, dust, and spectacle—without causing any real injury.
When the show is over, your money will be long gone. The trail will be so muddled that it will be impossible to follow. And it will be just another day in jukistopia.
