It was a dark and stormy night. Everyone in Cliftonia was asleep. Except the animals.

The wily fox was awake. The prickly hedgehog was awake. The wise owl was awake. They were awake because the markets in New York were open, and there were shares to be traded and deals to be made. Sleep was a luxury the bankers of the animal kingdom could not afford. The jungles of Cliftonia were known throughout the world for their woke banker beasts. 

Patras, the panther, was sitting by the pond, taking selfies in front of the water lilies. 

“Why are you still up, Patras, my friend?” asked Harry, the hyena, as he took a drag of his cherry-flavoured vape.

“I can’t sleep, Harry,” replied Patras. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s because you are woke. You see, woke individuals have a hard time falling asleep. The curse is in the word itself,” said Harry.

All animals drink chamomile tea, but some drink it more than others… to escape the woke curse. Presenting a Cliftonian fable…

“Wo(k)e is me! So what shall I do?”

“Relax. Don’t worry,” said Harry. “I have fixed many an insomnia in my day. All it takes is embracing the bigotry resting deep within you. Do that and you will see yourself dozing off to every prejudice, with nary a care in the world. Oh, and you must also drink chamomile tea.”

“I have tried chamomile tea. In fact, Zulekha the zebra, swears by it. It’s tough to get, but she managed to send me some from Aitchisonia last week. I drank dozens of cups over the next two days, but it didn’t help. All it did was make me rush to the loo every five minutes, with a bursting bladder. There was too much chamomile in me, Harry, too much chamomile!” cried Patras.

“That’s the price one pays for good quality chamomile. And the zebras know their chamomile better than anyone in the jungle,” said Harry.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“If you want, I can arrange another prime quality consignment for you. But it will cost you. I would need to talk to my dealer and see what’s available,” said Harry. 

“Will you do that for me, Harry?” said a grateful Patras.

“Sure I will. But things are a little tight in the jungle these days. The real estate market’s taken a big hit across Cliftonia and liquidity is a serious issue, even for the big boys. Most of us are looking forward to Donald Trump winning the next elections, because only he can take care of the satanic lot sitting on hundreds of billions of dollars of chamomile stock that doesn’t belong to them.

“They are ready to flood the markets of Lagos, Phnom Penh and Reykjavik with their stash if they don’t get their way. So it’s essential we get our boy back into the White House. And, as my grandma used to say to her mafia contact in upper Aitchisonia, ‘The sooner it happens, Mario, the later it doesn’t!”

“Your grandma sounds like a real mutha!” said Patras.

“You bet! She was the meanest cat in old Chicago town… She was the meanest cat, she really mowed them down… She had no heart at all, no, no, no heart at all! She left her husband flat, he wasn’t tough enough… She took her boys along ‘cause they were mean and strong! Ma, ma, ma, ma… Ma Baker!”

“Your grandma was Ma Baker?” asked a surprised Patras.

“That’s not the point! She could’ve been. What do you care? Do you want your chamomile or not? Here I’m risking my life, trying to arrange a shipment for you in these wild and dangerous times, and all you can think of is Boney M? You better show me some respect, babydoll, or get used to spending the rest of your life as a hated woke soul!” screamed Harry.

“No, no, Harry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I just got a little confused when you started dancing while singing about your grandma, is all… nothing to it. No disrespect meant,” said Patras. “I’m really sorry. Can you please call your dealer now to see if he can organise something for me?”

“You think my dealer is just some Gen Z loser like you, sitting by a pond somewhere taking selfies? You think he has nothing better to do than to share his ‘hashtag-ugly-mug’ with the rest of the world? Do you even know who I am dealing with? He is probably merging and acquiring multi-billion dollar businesses as we speak. He is the frikkin’ CEO of the First Bank of Cliftonia and you expect him to launder your tiny stash of chamomile tea, instead of the billions he is laundering right now for some Russian oligarch staying at Mar-a-Lago! It’s over. We’re done!” said Harry as he got up to leave.

“Harry, wait! Please!” cried Patras. 

“There is more to chamomile than meets the woke… don’t ever forget that,” said Harry as he walked away.

Farid Alvie was born. He currently lives.
He’s on Instagram @faridalvie

Published in Dawn, EOS, October 6th, 2024