One of the first people I encountered today was a man wearing a white Swiss Chalet jump suit.
To work.
At a military base.
How am I in jail here? I asked myself.
It reminded me of the scene from Mike Judges film Idiocracy.
Luke Wilson tells a guard that he should be getting OUT of prison today, not going in.
The guard slaps him and says “You’re in the wrong line dummy” and pushes him into the release line.
Similar to Luke Wilson, I’m surrounded by fascinating stupidity.
There are however, a very few clever beings watching me from a far.
That afternoon Major Yav ordered the man who squeezed my pockets and dick on the first night, to get naked.
I guess to equalize the humiliation.
My molester bashfully refused.
The pressure increased when two soldiers began aggressively removing the mans military uniform.
The man pleaded.
He was scared.
After 20 minutes of soldiers trying to undress him, his flippant disobedience won out.
The Major lost interest in giving me the show I had zero interest in watching.
At 5 or so there was a commotion in the small room.
My head was down but someone entered the office that made it go very quiet.
Only the sound of boots being kicked together in salute.
“Mondélé” someone said.
I raised my head, a man with brown suit like fatigues was standing before me.
“Come” he said seriously, scooping his hand over his shoulder.
I followed him outside.
Where another man dressed in similar attire was waiting.
Africain Agent Smith perhaps?
Both had long rectangular accolades pinned to their breast.
The OG Smith started yelling at the procession that followed us outside.
People, civilian and military, gathered around.
They were saying a great many things to me.
The most common word was “Jesus”
I was dizzy.
I had to sit down.
Soon barefoot Celeste was standing beside me, Michelle too.
They saw some shit in real jail.
I could tell.
A SUV stopped in front of us. I was instructed to climb in.
Celeste and Michelle were put in the trunk area.
There was a verbal commotion about something, Michelle and Celeste were removed from the back, hand cuffed, then crammed back into the tiny truck.
Two Eastern European looking Africans sat beside me.
Q:Who the fuck wears a Michael Kors belt?
A:Eastern European Africans, that’s who.
We drove down a narrow road then through a military check point.
Soon we were back in Kinshasa’s familiar apocalyptic city scape.
I hadn’t tasted food or water for 3 days.
The sun was setting.
I must be free, I thought.
If only I knew, the worst was about to happen.
Earth Bobby 