They’re watching. Their eyes are interchangeable, like pop-out pieces, and their voices form a network, like secret notes passed from hand to hand. None of it is written down but they have amassed a dossier on your habits, your comings and goings, your schedule, even your strategies to foil them. They share it amongst themselves, though only a few actually participate in the break-ins. One happens by in the morning and takes note, another in the afternoon, then someone again in the evening. There is one who is uniquely positioned in his job as, say, a watchman at a car lot across the street. How ironic. A watchman, indeed. He is a keen observer, and he likes to talk to his friends on the street. Occasionally you might see him patrol around the neighbourhood, for no apparent reason found in the job description of car lot watchman. Perhaps he’s just getting a bit of exercise.
The data can come from anyone…the car washer, the weed puller, the gutter man, the beggar, someone in to help clean, or just opportunistic eyes drifting by from off the street. They blow up against your windows like litter glued to the glass
It’s the way it is.
The savvy South African accepts this, and takes it all with a grain of salt, writing off these relatively petty costs of the business of life as if they were taxes.
But no one is happy with these constant invasions, and in a country of astounding and expansive freedom there is no one who will not welcome the additional freedom of a genuine personal space.
Of course, this is something the invaders themselves have likely had very little experience of.
And if I was any of them, I’d likely lend my eyes and ears to the cause and I’d likely be the one to smash the glass.
My books can still bought at:
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http://www.amazon.com/
http://www.amazon.co.uk/
Curiosity never killed the cat, that's bullshit.
