Sunday Tribune - - TRA VEL - HENRY HIG­GINS

GI­BLETS are a top bite. Go down very well es­pe­cially if the drinks are com­pli­ments of the host. With the silly sea­son in full swing, in­vi­ta­tions come flood­ing in from folks in my beloved Bangladesh Mar­ket dis­trict in Chatsworth. Peo­ple who don’t bother to buy you a drink all year come rush­ing all at once in De­cem­ber.

There are some who turn their noses up at the in­nards. “Not like you was brought up in Hil­lary,” Maya smirked at Babloo as he fid­dled his fork around the chicken livers. As he creeps to­wards his Sassa pen­sion card, Maya re­mains blessed with his own teeth and hair. Some, at least. He brags about be­ing Trevor Noah’s scriptwriter. If I didn’t know bet­ter, I would surely be­lieve he did the Global Ci­ti­zen lines too. When it comes to a wicked wit, Maya is a Wild West rapid-fire gun­slinger. Babloo, on the other hand is shy and bet­ter known for his coiffed good looks. But be­ing hand­some is no rea­son to sniff at the gi­blets.

“Did you know he was born a crim­i­nal?” Maya has a knack for ask­ing an un­re­lated ques­tion. Our con­ver­sa­tion was around the ap­point­ment of the ut­terly di­vine Shamilla Ba­tohi as Na­tional Direc­tor of Pub­lic Pros­e­cu­tions and Maya de­cided to give us a lec­ture on the Im­moral­ity Act. The fact of Noah’s par­ents be­ing a white Swiss fa­ther and a black African mother, is old hat. He tells the story with a typ­i­cal hu­mor­ous bite in his au­to­bi­og­ra­phy Born a Crime. The dif­fer­ence be­tween crime and crim­i­nal is not ma­te­rial to the point Maya wants to make.

See­ing this was go­ing to be a long con­ver­sa­tion, Babloo gal­lantly in­structs Sarge: “Pour an­other shot brazzo.” My friends who are ac­cus­tomed to buy­ing their own liquor from the lower shelves are not shy about the top shelf stuff when it’s free.

Mayas downs a spicy kid­ney. “Mnandi kakhulu (tasty).” Signs of his ap­proach­ing ine­bri­a­tion can be one of three things. One is speak­ing poetic Zulu. Two is singing Luxmi en­ter­tain­ers songs in praise of brothers. The coup de grace is be­com­ing overly af­fec­tion­ate when his wife ap­pears in the door­way with “that look”.

The con­ver­sa­tion about books ob­vi­ously gets me worked up. I pick up a piece of in­tes­tine be­tween del­i­cate thumb and fore­fin­ger. Us­ing uten­sils while hav­ing a dop is the equiv­a­lent in­sult of tuck­ing into a bunny chow with a fork and knife. Our con­ver­sa­tion turns to the best chicken for gi­blets. It has to be the free range corn-fed va­ri­ety that run af­ter to catch. Babloo in­tones in his best higher grade English: “Would you hap­pen to have a book on that?” That’s rich com­ing from some­one who did crime and pun­ish­ment for steal­ing a chicken as a boy.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from South Africa

© PressReader. All rights reserved.