Haji, a thin, bearded watchman in his 80s, rests. His bed is carefully placed within the solid shadow cast by broad glossy green leaves - between a tree trunk and a high wall. People who want to drive in or out of the compound toot their horn in front of the gates and then they must wait. Haji lies still. Is he alive? ... . Yes. Thank God. He stirs; from the shadows one leg swings out, another follows. Haji gets off his bed and shuffles towards the doors. Reaching the doors, his arms shaking, he extracts a key out from between the folds of his robe. Comically, he tries to fumble the key into the lock - scrapes metal. He doesn't allows anyone to help him. If you are in a desperate hurry, then too bad. You do as my mother did: Wait. Bite your lip. Grit your teeth. Stamp your feet. Give the wheel a thump. Say: "Jesus! Now I am really going to be late." Haji finds the lock, turns it open, swings each panel of the palace gate open. Call out: "Thank you Haji" and be ...
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head